It's a hot and muggy Monday morning here in the Buttcrack of Mississippi, and I just want to run away. I want to run away to about 1987, where I can drop some acid and go see the Butthole Surfers play, and then have the free time to spend a couple of days looking at the world sideways, and then maybe do my English major homework, which consists of lying on the couch reading some novels. It's not so much that I want to be 19 again, because, fuckity fuck, 19 was a brutal age to be, and I wouldn't be back in my 1987 relationship for all the money in the world, but I don't have any escape outlets now like I did then. I think the time for psychedelics is probably over, and the trippy intense live music available to me occurs 30 miles away and after midnight, and I have a stupid JOB, where I have to be on time and dressed like a grown up and can't dye my hair random colors. I have to be NICE to people I'd much rather kick in the eye. I have to listen to people's stupid fucking DIET TALK all the goddamn time. Some days I am just sick and tired of being a grownup. Today is one of them.