Alive, yes. Happy or generally ok, well, no, not really. But I haven't got time. So, y'know. I'm fine. And ~hugs~ especially to imago for sending me a tape...thank you sweetie. And to everyone who's called or texted. I shall be at The Calling tonight (wearing, shock horror, something I wore fairly recently, but please forgive me for not having had time to get together a new outfit) so I'll see some of you there.
Incidentally, I shook my brain this morning and this fell out, though I don't know if it's poetry or song lyrics or just bad.
She was taught so early on
And when you watch her dance
Don't always assume her movement is freedom
It's a way to hold onto innocence
It's hard when you know
Not to look twice and wonder
But at least she's dressed up and the boys are her age
But she can pose for photographs like a professional
Just don't push too hard
One misplaced thought and it's a twisted confessional
Don't push an inch, you know she can take a yard
Her smile can glitter in the mirrorball
So long as she doesn't look right into it
'Cause a hundred shattered images of herself
Is an idea she knows too well
If I touched her I'd know how she feels
But I think I'll leave her to what she does best
Well at least she's dressed up and the boys are her age
And she can pose for photographs just like a star
Just don't talk that way
If she does lift her skirt all there is is a scar
And who in god's name do you think that you are
Telling her with looks like that she could go far?
She's gone further than you know and she's still running away
See some of you later. Hugs will be much, much appreciated tonight.
Incidentally, if any of you've got the new Harry Potter book, keep copies out of my way, I still haven't mastered the urge to set fire to them all. ~s~