I am an air compressor. Not that I'm a new super breed of airhead or anything, though that may be debatable, but I compress my feelings -- bottle them up inside. Then I chuck the bottles. But they always come back for recycling -- before they're empty. Or else I rediscover them by accident -- slice my hands on their smashed remains. Teach me to bottle things. When will I learn? Money is for spending, feelings are for expressing, dreams are for living. But I don't want to put down that money! I might not get what I paid for. I don't want to express my feelings! Someone will drag them out in the street. Few people tread softly -- and those who do usually carry big sticks. *Thwack* I don't want to live my dreams! (They're not always that great anyway.) Someday I might wake up with nothing. So yellow is my favorite color. It's a good regulator. Without it I'd be at the mercy of people's reactions. Reactions...aren't them those things in Chemistry that blow up? Blow me up anyhow. But then as the saying goes, no pain no gain, right? And then I wonder why I don't get anywhere.  ¶ 9:24 PM