fuck you, God, it's friday

I'm being followed. I know I am. Everywhere I go I see a flying insect of death, with some huge stinger and a terrifyingly intimidating demeanor. I always think I'm going to be attacked in the face or something. I'm not being paranoid.
(1) On the bus ride home from Ithaca there was a yellow-jacket on the dashboard, I was sitting in the first seat.
(2) Very early this morning, in my room, a wasp was crawling around on my window, and every time I got too close it would fly out a little; telling me, "No funny business, pal."
(3) On the subway, after class. Yes, on the SUBWAY. The New York City subway. Some huge fucker with a stinger an inch long. It just walked across the ceiling of the train and looked at me. I guess bugs gotta take the train too, sometimes.

I saw my art teacher, Carol, from my Junior High School. She looks exactly as I remember her, and I bet you if I had said something she would have remembered me. She used to say, "Five min-ooo-toooes, darlingggs!" at the end of every class. We made things out of clay and drew things we would hang on our refrigerators.

Tell me why your hearts been sick
(Mixed messages)
Tell me why my arteries cease to work
Show me to the sharpest
(The right one to plunge in)
Strike out the fiercest memory
Could someone please be, more of a mother to me
Clean the scum off my face
Help me tidy up my verses
And show me I'm wanted, every night
I'm so sorry...
(You already know that it's true!)
I'm so sorry...
(You already know that it's true!)
I'm so sorry...
(You already know that it's true!)
...For who I am.

Go buy the new Park (Building A Better _______) album, and while you're at the record store pick up the new Matt Pond PA (Several Arrows Later) album too, they're both fucking rad.