Another thing that…

Dreaming of Margaret Thatcher again. Waking up all sweaty and terrified. All the unspoken joys of reality TV. Being late to work and singing Bodyrockers’ hit morning song as I climb up the hill.

And at work. I know she knows you too you too there again a little… even if I do not hear your voice for two or three consecutive days. Or that laughter…oh…how much how little how grand
Forgetting what you I me you too us there need need need…

Christmas and New Years are going to be fantastic I begin to think. Whoopeyyyy like Carol says.

I believe. I believe there is a cure to your insanity. I believe all the prayers unspoken by the Ethiopian starving children and those bouquets of diseases proudly stapled to the tablecloth in a pitch dark room….o shit….and waxed fruit in a waxed fruit basket. Always wondered why some kitchens smell of graveyards. Ode to the loneliness. We will sing, darling, we will sing to the skies. Yes, the song will be your salvation. Put me in your pocket and we will travel to those countries. Loud and obnoxious. And so quiet in Their sight. So calm and even serene, full of peace because how else will you endure the walks in a country where crimes of passion are forgiven by the law.

Have you ever, will you ever, do you tomorrow and been you yesterday standing there, you know, on that particular spot under the shoulder of a cloud where you cannot really blink at the sun but so warm!!