Driving round
Downtown and feeling alone
With my paper plane co-pilot watching me ash out the window
As the pieces of grey carbon that used to be a cigarette fly down the highway in my wake
I'm listening to a band that makes music I would make
... if I could write songs, that is.
And music.
But then, if I could write songs and music then I wouldn't be here, now would I?
No.
No, I would not be here at the computer at 8:14 in the morning on a Tuesday
Waiting for a friend to wake up so I don't fall asleep
Because "I'm going to stay up all night so I'll be tired tonight."
Yeah (and here I chuckle bitterly) insomnia's a crazy thing
Everything's slightly blurred around the edges, like looking through smudged glasses...

And my mind wanders off in another direction...

My contacts are almost shot, and I can't get new ones
Being dirt poor and jobless and homeless does that to ya.
So I'll just have to go back to wearing my stereo-type college girl, just-like-everybody-else glasses.
You know the kind:
They're thick and have bold black frames
They scream, "I'm an indivdual, just like everyone else!"
And I'll have to wear them and blend in with all the other art students that walk past me through the town
("But will you still think I'm gorgeous when my face is hidded behind these things?" is what my brain worries to the boyfriend that's an hour away.)
And silently be disgusted with myself.

Ah well.

Such is life.

I think I'm content with being hard-up.
Hey, it's worked so far, hasn't it?

... and my mind wanders back on track as my favorite song comes on and I sing along as loudly as I can
The headlights and my subconscious and my paper plane co-pilot my only audience
As I drive back home