A Cold Cup Of Tea

Sigh.
I always let my tea go cold.
That is not a metaphor. I've been sitting here with a huge mug of delicious tea. And I let it go cold. Merely that.
On Tuesday, I am auditioning for The Vagina Monologues. I am nervous as all hell (supposing hell gets nervous).
There is a hole in the middle-upper-inner left thigh of my once-upon-a-time jeans (they are now cut-off shorts and very thin and worn).
My dog is staring at me through the doorway to my mum's office. She looks a little bit sad.
My left foot is asleep.
Davy Jones is staring at me from the side of the refrigerator. As is The Mayor from The Powerpuff Girls.
Yesterday the wind was mighty strange and powerful. It woke me up. Sounded like adventure.
Freddie Mercury wants me to find him somebody to love. Freddy Mercury is dead.
I pass time in school by furtively scribbling poetry in the margins of notebooks.
I want to be/do/create something fantastic.
But I don't feel like walking like an Egyptian.
I just quoted the Spice Girls in an academic forum for my AP Literature class. Is that bad?
I leave my computer now, in favor of frozen yogurt.

Ramblingly yours...