As if...

...I've swallowed a bunch of razor blades without chewing them properly, reading three different newspapers and skipping the classified section -as if I don't really need a job- I seat in front of the TV, keeping the remote close to turn the volume down when all the crap shows up at the Grammy ceremony and hopefully preparing myself for M.I.A., Radiohead or at least Adele's (the literal opposite of our Amy in many different ways, but nonetheless enjoyable) performances. This may be the closest that I would be from Thom York since I'm not sure to be in position to grace with my presence his upcoming concert in this city… By the way, isn't the music industry sick of Justin Timberlake already? I mean, he's cute and all, even with some talent, but seeing him everywhere do not necessarily make him a genius.
I've been on my back these last two days that it aches, the shower misses me, my hair looks like shit and my horoscope says I'm my own worst enemy, as if it's saying something I don't know already... Tomorrow I got to wake up to fight all predictions, wear my optimism mask and walk out of the apartment to sweep off all the bad news as if I really believe in such thing as luck.