Oh, fun fun.

It's 2:37 on the morning of Christmas eve. It seems like a good setting for a story. That would take place in a hospital. A hospital waiting room with an array of month-old magazines coated with the germs of hundreds of patients passing through. Maybe I'll write that story someday. And the people who read it will think to themselves "Oh. Ah. How clever she is with her subtle symbols and her myriad of metaphors and her shameless alliteration." But I'll probably never write that story, because I'm too busy listening to Yvette's Myspace playlist and being stupid and weepy and feminine. And it's 2:43 in the morning, and I'm never going to sleep ever again.