She was different. I though she was different. But in the immortal words of Sia: "I'm not important to you." And that is fine. I mean, it'll just have to be, wont it? I lay in bed and try to meditate. I fail. So I try to sleep. Fail. I get up, and write. I write and write, but why? I'm tired and sick. Punishment, I assume, for a rather wicked friday night. Delayed, but these things happen. Often. I burnt my hand on the coffee machine at work today. I love this song.