Buyer's remorse

It's kinda late now, I admit. I mean I spent 6 hours last weekend moving all her stuff into my apartment. Five plants, a cat and some weird hair stuff I don't even want to know about. So she is here now, in all ways. So it is more than a little late to start thinking about telling her to leave. How would I even start the conversation:

Hey, Brenda, about that stack of magazines you put in the bathroom-could you just take them with you when you move out today?

I really did not see it coming. We had that great road trip to Austin and she used to come over and read books and stuff without getting in the way... she fixed great meals and helped me buy some clothes so I don't look so lame. When she brought it up, (How 'bout I just move in here? -hopeful look-crooked smile) I was so shocked I said Yes before I really thought about it and, well, to be honest it sounded like a good idea at first. But now...
all the messages on the machine are from her friends, she is burning some sorta nasty incense stuff and the bathroom looks like an ER.

Too much, too fast, for sure.

So, yeah, so I will tell her next week. It's not like I don't want to date her and stuff... but this is like some sorta weird occupation or something. I'll tell her next week.. really...she's making lasagna this weekend.. hey, ya wanna come over?

So he dropped a Benjamin at the bar last night
like he can afford it in these trying times
at least in somebody else’s eye, he’s a regular all star.

At home later, surrounded by a vast assortment of CD’s, DVD’s and DVR’s,
he remains bored out of his mind,
those sort of things don’t make for good company.

He glances out the window,
and looks upward toward the stars,
they shine brighter than the glow of the warm tube

The morning finds him returning to the same old routine,
and he wonders if this is what remorse tastes like.
At some point he realizes there’s going to be some explaining to do

Most of these words appeared on the back of some envelopes,
hastily scribbled while sitting at the dining room table and alone with his thoughts.
He hopes someone will decipher them because he sure can’t.