I feel like I should take a spray can with me when I go places. Last night, after the Wolfmother show (attended with Martha), even after some idiot hit the fire alarm and some drunk jackass threw a cup of crappy beer on my car (at least show some respect and throw a bock or a porter or something; does anything deserve to be doused with Bud Light?), I still had the overwhelming urge to find a random brick wall on that block and write:
"Know that someone thinks you're beautiful."
Today, I'll keep preparing my standardization terminology report for submission to the database. I'll rock for Jesus. I'll write about Clint Eastwood. And I'll feel pretty damn grateful for that gray area between night and morning that always manages to make the next day a bit brighter.