It's sad how some Sundays end. For some reasons I wanted this week to run over. But somehow Mondays are never my days -- it has some cheesy optimism in its smile, and I'll just watch myself groan over it. I suppose I can't really be honest -- but it doesn't quite bother me. Everything's terribly ordinary. But if you think about it -- it's quite terrific in a twisted sense. Of course you have no idea what I am talking about. Isn't it like overhearing someone's conversation and trying to find a string of sense in them. And you think you have some right to because of course the internet is a graveyard where anyone's writing grave can be dug. You can hear the ancient dead's stories -- and then you can slip back into norm. But what about the imagery of it? Was there happiness or was there was some funeral. Of course, I'll just sit here and wait -- think about rhymes.