Big big clicker.

It's not like I'm really committed and I still can't stop what I'm doing!

I need a way out, a toning down at the least and god to just sit and drink a chocolate milk or something with the Simpsons muted is all it would take, if I could pull it off to do that forever.

"Hey, John."

"Oh, hi, Nate. I didn't see you there. This infinitely filled glass of Hershey's chocolate syrp in milk is really hard to peer around. And the silent cartoon in the sky washes out a lot of the other colors."

"Nice setup. So what are you up to?"

I will also have thought-controlled lightning bolts.

My couch is bigger than the horizon and I've been thinking of turning off my phone so you can't call me back.

A mother told me in high school that after you give birth you forget how much it hurt you, probably so you'll get pregnant again. --And that you remember it all in a moment when you're pushing out subsequent children.

That pain is a secret, is depth, only relates to itself and to you. To be fair, she didn't say that last bit, but I've got stuff I'm trying to keep out of mind.