So, sometimes it’s pretty hard to be me. Not for any decent reason. Not because I’m colourblind or left-handed in a right-handed world. Not because I’m poor or because I had a good upbringing with good parents with good parenting skills in a world where it’s so much cooler to have a lot of anger at all of the above.
No.
It’s because I’m moody as Hell and people know how to deal with you when you’re depressed out of your mind but I’m NOT always depressed, sometimes I’m grinning frenetically and people are unnerved that I keep turning to see if they’re grinning too. Poor Heather doesn’t know what to do with me. We’re back on the road and I’m enjoying the sunshine and we’re listening to Michael Berkowitz’s new CD which is pleasantly melancholy and beautifully elegant and I’m just feeling pretty good.
Poor Heather, she just doesn’t know what to do with me when I’m happy.
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