I cannot wait for Conan's new (well same but in a new time lets be honest) show. :D :D

my life is being ruined by some douche named sean wilson

The wind pulls me towards you
but still i stand away
i can admit i want you
but only for a day

I'm always interested to see how people react when someone starts singing on the bus.

I enjoy bowling.

Sometimes.

Sometimes I think of myself as a piece of toast, crispy and burnt around the edges.

Waiting for butter to be slathered over my middle.

It gets to be dirty, sometmes, in here.

The sweet taste of cola sitting out in the sun, the warmth of freshly laundered boxer shorts, the slick feeling of a diaper wipe, the barest whisper of breeze through the dew-dappled oak leaves in the calm before a storm. The sway of tree limbs in the morning song, the tap of a pen against the desk of a tired, overworked man. The grease of a hair product. The smell of an ironed stuffed animal's ear. The wet spot on your sleeve where you wipe your dripping nose. The jiggle of a bobblehead, always agreeing.

The scribble of ink doodles on a paper held while on the telephone. The beep of an alarm clock when waking up just isn't a possibility. The vvoosh of an umbrella, opening quickly in the lazy drizzle on a Sunday afternoon in the city. The tap of shoes on a damp, puddled sidewalk on your way to the park to meet a friend on a bench.

The snap of scissors cutting through a credit card. The click of joints. The feeling of fuzz on a dry, parched tongue and throat, red from laughing and yelling with old friends. The air around a well-liked gathering place, thick with honey-soaked warmth, rugs and comfortable seats.

What am I to you? Or, to be more exact and terribly more important in the scheme of everything: What are you to you?

I am the lone cricket, silent on his rock.

I am the ripple of water from the drop of a smooth pebble.

I am the click of the spacebar in a hurriedly typed draft.

I am the slightest swallow when faced with a new situation.

I am the folded paper, passed around the classroom.

I am the whisper, the laughter, the cough, the sneeze, the gloating, the bemoaning, the dog, the rooster, and the ever important letter A.

I am nothing potent in this world, I am everything that escapes notice.

I am, as are you.