Oct. 17, 2003 @ 3:43 a.m.

The stopper of my sink spits a self portrait back at me only it’s a crude, distorted, reality of my big, intense hazel eyes and brown roughed hair. Tonight I am tired, my mind running on rehashed and patched belts to run the gears that are missing teeth from every other sprocket, yet somehow it manages to continue turning the cogs and working machinery. Today, my teeth were yellow and tomorrow I will wake up from my dreams in white enamel eradication of false hope for a perfect smile, because my gene pool decided twenty years ago that the bottom row of my front teeth were going to look like a broken, Japanese fan. This place of slumber has become all too familiar. I look forward to returning to it, opening the door to the soft light of my 3-touch sensitive $19.99 lamp from Target. Every time the sun is gone, that lamp is on, smiling at me like a lost friend but it's hug just isn’t as good. This place has become my dwelling, quite literally. The safe house, the place where I can capture the flag and return to with safe haven. This place, where I know that I am always welcome. Right now my bed is beckoning me like a sexually peaked lover and I think I’m off to go satisfy her.

“I’m glad you were home.”
“I’m always home, Man. I’m uncool.”