writeright

I feel as though I've spent my whole week trying to capture something that is always on the tip on my pen. But, as with the whole 'tip of the tounge' debacle, I cannot find the right words. I don't even know what it is I'm meant to say. Something is there, though. I would almost hate it if it weren't a reminder I am alive. It's a bad night to be alone, but that's the way it goes. I'm counting the days until a vaction. The number still seems too high. Too high. hahah. (I guess I'm having inside jokes with myself now, great, that seems sane)