Acknowledge the awkwardness.

Tomorrow morning I shall give Deja Entendu a rest from my own selfish interpretations and comforts. But it won't stop me from tearing the next CD apart into bits and pieces fit to be swallowed. Selfish hunger. Selfish selfish hunger.

And now there is the censorship that occurs when others are in the car.
(You don't want songs to give away your secrets.)

Dear Wit, Sarcasm, and Apathy,
Please run through my bloodstream tomorrow afternoon at a number far above the legal limit.
(Egyptians couldn't mummify me enough.)

--Lauren

[what was ... what will be]