Life in General loves Stevie Nicks

I'm driving in my (shitty) car, watching a train go by. I don't think about where the highway leads or even the lines on the pavement. I think about the marlboro man and the world in general as a Cranberries cover comes on the radio. The train trails shadows and with it- light. Then the road curves, and I curve with it.

I've decided that rap is a dirty, pesky, un-yeilding, convulsive disease. Yes. A disease. A dirty one. You can't just listen to one song to, you know, indulge periodically. IT won't let you. IT stays in your head for weeks... WEEKS! IT's not even the good stuff like The Beastie Boys or MC Hammer... no. Think the chickenhead or hell... the chicken-noodle soup. Blech.

I've got a feeling...

I've been meaning to pay my student loan, but I had no clue who to pay. You'd think the bank that supposedly loaned it to you. No. Four 800-numbers and 45 minutes later, I finally track down my debt. You'd think they'd want to be more accessible, right? At least send annoying letters or call once in a while. The student loan system needs revamping... along with mainstream porn.

I feel like I'm standing at a crossroad. I can do what's right for my coin purse and continue to travel the corporate realm and more than likely jepoardize everything I am right now, or.... I could seek a more bohemian lifestyle. I could start a commune! I don't know what I'm to do, but work is scheduled for mañana. Ugh.