Don't Change Your Address Until You're Sure No One Could Give A Shit Day!

Perspective, we're talking. Irony is always messing about, and the most overt it can get is when you have no idea what's at play.

For example, you're lying there on your undressed mattress in your 8 square feet of bedroom and everything's so static and still your pulse just stopped. Nothing will ever happen. Never again will you ever see a reason to put on black shoes (a funeral is too much too ask?). The phone is not going to ring and you will most certainly not open your front door on a rainy night to see a suitcase and a wet face you thought you never wanted to ever see again ever only to discover at that moment that all those empty hours were just you waiting for that knock on the door. And that face won't ever ask for "money. whatever you can get in cash before dawn" but if it did, you wouldn't even care. You'd see it as the price of admission for (FINALLY!) a movie of your life that's worth watching. There, on your undressed mattress, wallowing in regret over that last self-admiinistered orgasm, you know that you couldn't even get the fire department to drop by if you set the building on fire and stuck a Tot Finder sticker to your bedroom window. However...

While you're singing "Poor Poor Boring Old Me" by Pity Partridge and the Sad Boys, somewhere on some nameless interstate highway someone's got his or her thumb out over the road. The thumb casts a shadow over those lips that once spoke those four beautiful words, "You Ruined My Life." There's a rig coming down the road, and it's slowing to a stop.

I'm just saying, don't go back to Illinois yet. You never know who might drop by. Happy Don't Change Your Address Until You're Sure No One Could Give A Shit Day!