asking

When Boss with signature frown recruited me for the job, he said, it was because I could always ask for help. And I wouldn't feel embarassed asking for help. Because admitting that being incapable, was not how I see it. It was for a bigger picture.

Because I don't know, I ask.

Because I ask, I know.

Do I want to know?

It's always been this don't ask-don't tell thing. But I always tell. I could talk till the cows come home (and I miss my homecoming cows and rivers of margarita) and I would still be talking. When I'm not talking, that's the thing. Something's wrong.

My throat hurts, I still talk. My cough triumphs, I still talk.

I am tired. So tired of foreign beds. So tired of being cold. So tired of crying. So tired of waiting.. and waiting..

The weekend is here. And it wouldn't make a difference to me anymore.

Going home on Saturday, public appearance scheduled.

Lying on the floor on Sunday, being with The Boys and CSI and Race Day.

And the rest of the days, might as well be called Weekends, for how I feel mostly on weekends.

And I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues.

If I have complained about having just a little bit, then my worries are gone. But the solution to that, has left me with so much more grieve and tears.

And I Guess I'll Hang My Tears Out To Dry... gonna take a while. This place is so humid. Isn't it ironic?



At least tonight you can drink the entire bottle and drug yourself. For free. Thank You, anyway.