I'm really irritated that a successful recovery from surgery means that I can't work out temporarily. That, coupled with the fact that I recently quit smoking, means I might actually gain a few pounds over the next couple months and will subsequently take me further from my physical ideal, which is a cross between a coke-addled supermodel and AIDS chic.
Honestly, I look sort of like a Muppet, Grover I think. All skinny with a swollen belly... Sexy I ain't, right now. But, that aside, my fur is coming in nicely. And, FYI, Vicodin does nothing for emotional pain whatsoever, nada! So abandon any ideas you might have about us running away together and spooning, because there aren't enough monkeys in the zoo to make me wanna spend another smidge of energy thinking about what the possible ramifications of the impact of.... Where is that prescription bottle?
I just want a time machine, you know? Take me back to the 14th of February, 1979, Cologne, Germany... I will sit, all of eight, quiet and attentive. I will make resolutions and ration my reserves. I hang on your every word. Fall into your backlight. I am uncool and God only knows what Valentinus did in the first place.
I feel empty
I feel dark
I am mesmerized
By my own beat
Like a heartbeat