Fuel, running low

I really have little to say today. Um, it might be because I had such an exciting day at Discount Tire w/ sick Brookelyn and fussy Ashlee. I took B to dr. and she has an ear infection. We have had our bathes and are all in p.js and it is not even 5 pm. The day is over in my opinion. I have attached lyrics to one of my favorite Ani songs, one that is always playing in my head when I'm out running errands. I have no idea why. There is no deep reason for it. In fact, my brain becomes more shallow the more I overload it with cries and mundane errands (i.e. tires on the toyota). Ok, I really have to go now...as B is not understanding my reasons for why she is not allowed to put newspaper under running water. Cutting it into tiny shreds has lost its thrilled, she has to put it in the sink and run water?? P.S.- the picture of B next to tree is from yesterday. She was very excited.


Fuel- lyrics by Ani Difranco
they were digging a new foundation in manhattan
and they discovered a slave cemetary there
may their souls rest easy
now that lynching is frowned upon
and we've moved on to the electric chair
and i wonder who's gonna be president, tweedle dum or tweedle dummer?
and who's gonna have the big blockbuster box office this summer?
how about we put up a wall between houses and the highway
and you can go your way, and i can go my way
except all the radios agree with all the tvs
and all the magazines agree with all the radios
and i keep hearing that same damn song everywhere i go
maybe i should put a bucket over my head
and a marshmellow in each ear
and stumble around for
another dumb-numb week for another hum drum hit song to appear
people used to make records
as in a record of an event
the event of people playing music in a room
now everything is cross-marketing
its about sunglasses and shoes
or guns and drugs
you choose
we got it rehashed
we got it half-assed
we're digging up all the graves
and we're spitting on the past
and you can choose between the colors
of the lipstick on the whores
cause we know the difference between
the font of 20% more
and the font of teriyaki
you tell me
how does it make you feel?
you tell me
what's real?
and they say that alcoholics are always alcoholics
even when they're as dry as my lips for years
even when they're stranded on a small desert island
with no place in 2,000 miles to buy beer
and i wonder
is he different?
is he different?
has he changed what's he about?...
or is he just a liar with nothing to lie about?
am i headed for the same brick wall
is there anything i can do about
anything at all?
except go back to that corner in manhattan
and dig deeper, dig deeper this time
down beneath the impossible pain of our history
beneath unknown bones
beneath the bedrock of the mystery
beneath the sewage systems and the path train
beneath the cobblestones and the water mains
beneath the traffic of friendships and street deals
beneath the screeching of kamikaze cab wheels
beneath everything i can think of to think about
beneath it all, beneath all get out
beneath the good and the kind and the stupid and the cruel
there's a fire just waiting for fuel