8 no 3 on the register key and she’ll hear it better.. Hushed but i can always hear your aerials. Ya got me pinged. Of the few people I keep around without a cellphone number, they really are the sweetest. It’s been rare to be on a roll. Just a night toiling in writer mode is all we’ve wished for since I got back.
2 weeks to feel the slug off, and make sure the medication was getting through to me. A night of seizures and morning mini ones to shake off, and my medication finally isn’t making me sleepy in an hour or two at night.
In fact, I finally woke up with energy.

Feels like ripping the label off orange juice. Like Yum, good drink and healthy enough to drink. And that weird two-way label that works perfect for me almost every time but I’ve never seen anyone else rip off correct. I believe it’s a myth anyone but engineers know how to work em.
And then I think about that, the days. What does it look like to wake up to do what I do?
Lemme let you in on a secret: for who I represent, very rarely does a fuck up reach me that is irreperable or will-let-me–down quickly. And that’s the worst part and usually starts with lack of communication and lack of trust. Those are buildable, what’s the worst part?
And I look at my ring wondering if people think it looks fake, the doubleband.
That’s why we keep the mirror on the desk corner.
I don’t wear fugazis, I wear raw materials.
Like perfect mood-melting irish rose gold.
The only type theylll let me wear unless its steel and stone.
Tiger’s Eye, they know its good for me.