...and vacation was good.
I danced barefoot in the grass and sang at the top of my lungs.
He carved our initials in a tree.
And Ween was silly, and Beth Orton was lovely, and REM was timeless.
And everyone and everything felt exactly right.
I can't explain it.
I want to. I wish I could.
Let's just say that for 3 days, everything was ok. And i didn't care about my stupid job, and had no desire to find a fucking machine to check in here. And what you think of me didn't matter.
It's the end of the world as we know it...and I feel fine.