overnight, i had to morph from a whatsis to a bibliophile trash to catch up on my reading.
why?
i’ve been a tetchy bitch these past few days and that stack of bound wood pulps would end up as premature ash wednesday rites smudges if until next week they remain unread and piled-up like moist goat shit on top of dried up ones (huh?).
that, the classic human experience called boredom and all the other jazzier yet un-blog worthy port moresby trivialities keep me at bay from this on-line journal stuff called blogging. and my friends-turned-martha stuarts reckon that “it’s a good thing!”.
meanwhile, another alanis morissette for everyone:
Right Through You
Wait a minute man
You mispronounced my name
You didn't wait for all the information
Before you turned me away
Wait a minute sir
You kind of hurt my feelings
You see me as a sweet back-loaded puppet
And you've got meal ticket taste
I see right through you
I know right through you
I feel right through you
I walk right through you
You took me for a joke
You took me for a child
You took a long hard look at my ass
And then played golf for a while
Your shake is like a fish
You pat me on the head
You took me out to wine dine 69 me
But didn't hear a damn word I said
Hello Mr. Man
You didn't think I'd come back
You didn't think I'd show up with my army
And this ammunition on my back
Now that I'm Miss Thing
Now that I'm a zillionaire
You scan the credits for your name
And wonder why it's not there
23 June 2006
