You let me change lane, while I was driving in my car.

In which she gossips about her heroes.

Well, now.

How have you been? I just came back from hell. Funny place, hell is. If you don't believe me, ask my old friend, Dante. He even wrote a book about it, called Inferno or something. Go read it! Just remember to cock your head to the left and squint a bit to get into my perspective, m'kay?

I started to write a poem about going home.

Into the shadow gate, I thread barefoot;
To the dark realm, no one dare stood
Tip-toe on thin wire with shaky legs
Pray to all deity that my knees shan't cave.

I cannot fall. I just cannot.

Shards of glass under my feet
Splinters cut into my heels
Burrow their ways into my head
Exhale slowly. Thread lightly.

The wolf is waiting. He is hungry.

Close my eyes and count to ten.
When I get there, it'll start again
Bloody footprints, rusty stains
Will lead me back where I begin.

The Captain saw my poem and told me I was being silly and the poem is lame, in fact, it's not even a poem. So, I gnawed at his hand. Captain called me "Madame Cranky Pants" and gave me shiny-buckle boots, so that I don't have to worry about walking on glass shards with no shoes. He gave me bangles that make sounds which reminds me of the hoops on the sails hitting the poles, too.

There were also unexplainable surges of melancholia while I was in my "cranky" state. I thought I was loosing my mind, but my friend, Mister Superman – who looks better than that Tom Welling guy on the tele, mind you - told me that my brain is not turning into mush and I don't have anything to worry about. I ought to listen to him. I heard that those Supermen sort got some kind of defective underroo-checking x-ray eyes or something.

One quickhand cowboy told me that beer and carpet are best for writing aids. We, pirates, only have rum so I use that instead. Beer and rum made an interesting combination; however, I don't remember anything that happened the 2 days after. I shall remember this information, in case I need to take down a 500-stone bull. Tipsy the hattie for the deadly concoction.

Alright, I am going to crawl back to my hammock. The beer-rum love potion has not completely worn off and already there were too many talks of orgy today. I should be quarantine and kept away from the mass population.

Thank you to those who helped me got through my blue zone. ..whoever you are, I want to thank you.. (I got this bloody song stuck in my head since yesterday when I came out of the depression. So, I thought I'll be generous and share. Bwaahhahhah!!)