Sound filters through the darkness and she wonders if she is the only one listening to this song. She's written over forty pages of poems and songs this summer, and she doesn't know what to do with the rest of the notebook or the words she's already put to paper.

She feels grown up, and scared. Sometimes thinking that this year counts for everthing and nothing all at once. Part of her wants to stay in Calgary and succeed at this life she's making for herself here. Yet there is that constant, overlapping voice that pushes Toronto to the front of her mind, making her desperate for her family and friends. Being bicoastal is an oxymoron because neither Calgary nor Toronto are on coasts, so she is simply caught in the middle. She knows she's changed over the summer. She's more and less secure about herself all at once and isn't exactly sure what to do.

Is she even a writer? Has she picked the wrong path to go down? Is it time to forget what might have been and concentrate on making the here and now the best it can be? ...probably but there's thinking rationally and being rational. She has found the two to be extremely different from each other and while she has mastered the thinking...the being continues to allude her.

The screaming of her music distracts her from the reality of these thoughts. It's really too late to be thinking them. Over forty pages and 21 new cd's later, her mind is so crowded with her words and others, she's not sure where hers end and theirs begin.