if i knew what i was doing would everything fall into place, or would it just continue to fall around my ears?
why is real life more complicated than fiction?
why am i doing this???
ok, i thought i could write, thought it would be as easy as talking and i can talk the hind legs off anything and anyone, but ... it's not as easy as it was in my head during the middle of the night. the words of the night flow free, all problems are solved, i wake up to a wonderful world before realising that my dream world evaporated with the morning dew.
what am i complaining about, i have a lovely daughter, 3 gorgeous grandchildren and a big and beefy son in law, my parents are still alive and kicking, my sister is, and always will be, older than me and my niece is nice. i have no complaints, not really, it's just that i want my life to be something that it isn't, what i don't know, the only word i can think of is Zingy but does anyone really know what that means - answers on a postcard please.
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