Man, insomnia sucks big, fat donkey schlong. A few years ago, during my annual bout of Summer Sleeplessness, I wrote how I should use this insomnia to my advantage. Think, muse, write something brilliant and awe-inspiring. Yet, I can't seem to think of anything more revolutionary than 'Fuck the Man' and I'm using such phrases as 'big, fat donkey schlong.' To make matters worse, my brain is fuzzy w/a handfuls equivalent of Benedryl so I'm misspelling simple words and pissing myself off in the process. Oh yeah, rock that insomnia, Molly. You're doing swell.

Think. Write. Keep it coming. Stream of conscious. See where certain words and observations take you.

My wrist is aching. That and the fact that I still have the tanline from my brace are reminding me that boys are *so* not worth it. Really. Another failed relationship and what do I have to show for my troubles? A broken wrist that won't heal properly, a few half-finished rants, and even more cynicism. Just what I need. Even more pessimism to add to my already doubtful view on boys. The glass ain't just half-empty, it's probably poisoned.

Boys are dumb. I don't want to talk about boys. Not tonight. So I am going to make a list.

Top 10 Things I'm Going to Do Before I Croak

1)Become so famous, I have to wear a fu manchu mustache to go buy smokes and Lotto tickets

2)Write the Great American Novel

3)Have said novel banned from all public school systems

4)See AC/DC live

5)Get drunk off of tequila and shoot stuff w/Hunter S. Thompson

6)Be a guest voice on The Simpsons

7)Own a 1969 Pontiac GTO convertible, cherry-red

8)Make out w/Jimmy Fallon

9)Write a movie that John Waters directs

10)Run for president, raise hell w/my campaign strategies but lose. Or get myself kicked out of office w/in 6 weeks if I win.

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