cracked lips, homesick

Sometimes I get so tired I can barely speak. It�s as much as I can do to look someone in the eye when they speak to me. Today is one of those days.

I�m leaning forward onto the bathroom wall with one hand while I relieve myself.

When I go to someone�s desk to help them with a difficult claim, I make sure and drag my chair with me so I�ll be able to sit down while helping them.

I�ve had more nasty letters from lawyers than Jamaica got mango.

Yeah. I�m not too tired to bust a lyric on yo� cracka ass.

I think I shall do as she does and have a self-imposed media blackout tonight. I can�t take anymore. I think I�ll just be sitting on my front porch, silently strumming my guitar, and drinking some beer.

You�re welcome to join me. Look for the greenish house - first one on the left when you turn onto 47th St.

I�ll be waiting. I may be drunk, but I�ll be waiting.

September 14, 2001 | 3:19 p.m.

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