Volcanoes Melt Me Down...

Sorry. Haven't had much time lately to write anything substantial.

I'm currently obsessed with Damien Rice. It's my brand of suicidal melancholy music without being as hipster as Elliot Smith. Not that I have a problem with that or anything, but I have a bit more of the surreal touch to my melancholy.

Sharon's seen this on my LiveJournal, but here's two examples of stuff that could have been ripped from here or from my actual physical diary at home:

What I am to you is not real
What I am to you you do not need
What I am to you is not what you mean to me
You give me miles and miles of mountains
And I'll ask for the sea

Or try this little ditty on for size:

We might kiss when we are alone
When nobody's watching
We might take it home
We might make out when nobody's there
It's not that we're scared
It's just that it's delicate

I had said that it breaks my heart. My heart breaks so easily though, at this point, I'm not even really sure I have a heart anymore; it's turned more into a heap of confetti.

Late night at work last night. Thanks to Marina for helping out from D.C. It's hard when you wait late enough in the day to make plans and then a minute after get an assignment that keeps you there for hours and hours beyond what you were expecting. It's the lack of consistency that I find frustrating. I threw a pen. But we were all in it together, and that's teamwork. Go Team!

We have now been attacked by an army of boxes that I must attend to.