Truth is, I've been toying with the idea of buying some paper cups and string again. I don't know, I can't remember the last time we tried using those homemade phones but I always remember thinking that they never really worked. It's worth a shot though, I think. Dangling one end out the window in the hopes that somebody'll come along and pick it up and listen while I talk myself to sleep. I found a greeting card the other day with a little bird on the front that said "Thanks for listening... and listening... and listening". I should've bought it and stashed it away in the drawer with all the other sentiments I've been saving. "I love you." "I miss you." "Your hair is fucking stupid." I just haven't matched them to their respective owners yet. Honestly, nobody deserves much of anything. They're flaky and disgusting and pretentious. Why is it so hard to say "I'm really fucked up again"? Put that on your stupid greeting cards. Speaking of stupid hair and all that silliness, I got most of my hair cut off and I've been called a dyke more than just a few times in the past few days. I now have pretty much exactly the same haircut as a boy I used to know. We used to wander the streets in a haze, holding hands in a silly, naive kind of protective manner. It was all platonic, but I will admit to swooning at his northy accent. Sometimes I have to wonder if he even remembers my name, now. We don't talk anymore. Or, at least I don't. "I don't know how to talk to you anymore." Now there's a card we can all relate to.