Wednesday, 2 May 2012


The tiring voices. They were like a knife slicing my brain in half combining with needles penetrating in my temples. The mouths moving, spluttering, and I sat there watching as particles of saliva melt on my sweater. They should feel embarrassed for that. I just kept gazing at the lad's bald head, how shiny it was. I wonder if he polishes it every morning, it matched the girl's glossy forehead. The couple. Lustrous couple.

My problem was I wasn't sure what I wanted to be , and sooner or later you will have to be something. You can even be a homeless with a dog, but even that requires attitude, you need guts to be a bum. When I was 12 I used to recriminate homeless people, especially those with no apparent disability. But now I don't blame them, they might even be happy with a dog as companion and a bottle of booze. My life itself wasn't hard but I knew it would get . Although I was young I was just like a 60 year old, dumsy woman who lives alone and all she would get into her supermarket basket is red wine and cat food.