Today I'm sad, and will therefore sulk in the bathtub. I will read my book, possibly eat some cold chicken, drink a gallon of water, and maybe go pee. I am sad, so because of that, my heart won’t be singing to you tonight. She won’t sing to you a lullaby, or a punk song, or even Love my Tender by Elvis Presley. For the most part, I think she'll be sulking alongside me, in the tub, with a bucket of cold chicken, trying desperately to understand the struggling characters motivations, before it's done with, and they've all gone to their bitter ends.