Result of a mixed feeling

I'm incredibly bored at this fragile moment. So it would appear, to me and to the what should be dear ones around me. More exact they're walking around the house as I write, as they are not with me in this softly orange colored room where these words appear on a spacey computer screen, as the following of weary fingers pressing black buttons.

Today my mission is to structure several questions, which is planned to be sent to a man at the top of his brilliance in life. This man has somewhat promised to answer them, and I can only hope it will be truthfully.
The man I'm delicately aspiring is no other than Dean Butterworth, now official drummer of Good Charlotte.
I would not mind assistance in my desperate making of subjects towards him. If you have the slightest idea of what your mind may want to get out of the whole situation, please leave a comment and let me know. I appreciate any suggestion. The reply from Dean will be carefully outspoken in one of our radio episodes, hopefully gracefully read by either myself or my partner in radio crime.

I would prefer to finish my task and have my wonderings sent by this weekend, since I'm meeting the great man face to face in the beginning of next week.


Something just flashed in front of my eyes. Throw a fit at me, the growing sentiment of alteration is enduring in my gut.
Change in some form is needed for continuous living with eyes open.