Tuesday, February 15th, 2005 | 12:45
"Take me with you to the place where everything is unsaid."

This is the part where I explain the entry I didn't have time to write a few days ago.
I was driving home Friday night, around two in the morning. I fell asleep and drove straight through a red light at the St.Laurent Blvd.-Montreal Rd. intersection, one of the busiest in the area at about sixty km/h. I woke up when I hit a pothole on the other side. I'm still a little shaken.
For all my big talk about wanting to die, it would be a wicked irony not to be able to go out on my own terms.

I've been writing on paper a lot more recently and reading more than just the newspaper.
Maybe things are finally coming into focus.
Maybe I just have more time on my hands than I know what to do with.
I still don't know where my friggin' Hawksley Workman album went. I think my sister lost it.
Lisening to music has taught me the art of the comma-splice.

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