Dancing To The Smiths.

Woke up in a daze, from some disturbing dream. I could feel the rain hit my face when I opened my window to the dreary day. The little maple tree that almost didn't survive two winters ago is now blooming seven shades of red and three shades of yellow. What kind of coffee did the old man make this morning? White chocolate caramel, the last cup still making me warm. It took me a half an hour to decide which cd to put in; also making me realize that I need to reorganize my music. I finally settled on Meat Is Murder by The Smiths, only hearing the rain outside in the process.
Days like today make me really wish I could afford a studio downtown. You can't take pictures of a family when it's raining outside. You can't really do much of anything in Newton, Iowa.
Dear Mister Morrissey, you make me want to be in love and dance. I need to get out of this place. Mom, I love you, but I hate it when someone knocks on my door eighteen times. Dad, I love you, but sometimes I get fed up with being the middleman. I know that I'd be nowhere without you, but sometimes I want to be everywhere without you.
My to do list seems to be never ending. I want to bake something today. I want to lie on the floor and read until I finish by book. Maybe I will, when I'm done dancing to The Smiths.