Cubic zirconium eyes, and a tip toe too far that I'm tittering on the cusp of something that is even remotely coherent. I've been repeating sentences in my head, over and over again so I'm not to forget it. This waltz with reality is getting tiring, and my wits are too dull to cut this rug. I believe that there is an old saying about that but I could be confused with something other then words. I never did like the number seven masquerading as cylindrical. Never the less, there is just three more steps, and a skipped heart beat, and then, and only then I can finally come to my conclusion.