sometimes, sometimes.

Sometimes the days and nights go by slowly. You're just sitting there, thinking about, well a friend of mine put it like this "couldn't the bus just crash, or explode, something, that will kill me" and thats when i find myself sitting in my rum, on my bed and not in a bus, and what I hear isn't the sound of the engine, it's my music. It's these days that harm you.

I have a text I've been working on. Should I send it?

Last week wasn't a good one, even though it was week six (or sex in swedish). But hey, you know what? It's a new week, and I've been talking to my Man and my Woman and right now, i feel good. But I still need to find myself.

freaky me, here again, johan