Since I was a wee lass growing up off the coast of Ireland, I made it a ritual of mine that when a due date is fast approaching I listen to "no sleep till brooklyn" to signify my metaphorical embarkment on a laborious tour of extensive esssssaying coupled with too much coffee, trips to the bathroom and a lack of sleep.
alas, once again, in honor of me ma and pa were meager potato farmers, i say unto you:
NO SLEEP 'TILL
DA NUHH DA NUHHHHHHH DA NUHHH DA NUHHHH
ohhh fair sleep! I barely knew thee!
and for the record, the painfully loud ticking the looms over my living room, which radiates from the toaster oven in my kitchen is just ironically tortuous at this point in my post, i fear what i will do what it dings...
aye, you ever sit on your couch in your old high school leadership hoodie, cookie crumbs caught in the grooves and wrinkles of your exes boxers that your wearing, eyes puffy and swollen from one part allergies, (oy curse my jewish blood!) and another part hours of crying, the salt from your tears rolls over the nipple like pimple that has formed on your upper cheek, and think to yourself, "how the fuck did i get here?"
no? just me?
well in that case this joint is just for me