So I’m here at work and it looks like I must remain so until someone comes in to replace me in the morning to watch over this little crop of sleeping survivors. Should be about 8am I’m hoping. Sorry y’all, but as soon as some poor unsuspecting car pulls into the driveway? I am outtie. I’ve been here since six last evening.

Not that I mind really. Stefanie had to go home sick, which is understandable, and by the way, if you’re reading this, this is as hate as the hate mail is going to get. The clock ticks; I fill my time. I pace. I wonder aloud (which is actually much better to do when you’re by yourself and it’s the middle of the night and everyone might, just might, think you’re on the phone or something). I read a little. I “surf the web” a lot; I should have my own techno-wetsuit.

But let’s get personal. Wait, no. Instead let’s have me write the words to a song that I like: It’s hard to remember/It’s hard to remember you’re alive for the first time/It’s hard to remember/It’s hard to remember you’re a live for the last time/It’s hard to remember/ It’s hard to remember to live before you die/It’s hard to remember/It’s hard to remember that our lives are such a short time/It’s hard to remember/It’s hard to remember when it takes such a long time. I don’t know why that’s comforting exactly but it is. This is the first shot you’ve had so you’re bound to screw up. It’s the last shot too so don’t waste time. And though it may be fleeting, it will take forever, and remembering will most likely be difficult.

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