well, that last poem was ultra-crap. i've done bad, but that was probably worse than when i started. i'm tired of christmas, of stripping, of credit cards. of plane flights. i don't want to go to alabama, but i do want to see amanda, badly. i want to go, but i hate planes, i hate packing. i'm just on a rant today, aren't i. down, girl. saw the eight: reindeer monologues. brilliant. too much has gone on to make a short update. i'll try again later. bronchitis blows. as does alliteration. and that last poem.