Balloons make everyone happy & joyful, like the shiny soul of Jesus. It's silly to think they're kind of pointless, but pretty, like rainbows. Or like it's nothing, a beautiful, colourful nothing, moments you catch, they make you happy but they slip through your fingers, or they burst. And you watch as other people take them beneath their weight, between their thoughts and burst them, even as you're reaching out to stop them. And they're so fragile, but they twist and they change and they can pass from person and between. And you can aim them at people and give them to people, they aren't anything but they hurt sometimes, I guess. Or they're harmless but they make a noise.

So we got married; then I got pregnant and Gretchen and Donnie appeared. People passing and floating, snatched words and fragments of conversation and barbecued

[expertly by the ever-wonderful Steve]

burgers, I hadn't eaten a sausage for a decade, twohunderedandfifty balloons?

The BALLOON of ultimate HAPPINESS and JOY. It makes you realise that you are SPECIAL and that you are LOVED.
Floating slips of colour and alcohol [too, too much] holding hands, with Bowling for Soup and Beauty and the Beast. I guess I'll meet you in the red room, just to say that I guess I do think so, that even though I'm not doing much at all, I really shouldn't bother, and maybe I know, I knew all along and that perhaps that was the most compromising position I've been in for a while, but it wasn't anything except a hollow hope and perhaps, I would hope, a spark of any real goodness I might have, that I'm not just doing it for myself. I'm still going to care, always, just like I'm still going to be Little Miss Stopgap, and not always Little Miss Giggles, although I think I laugh too much, because I'm trying to prove something? That you mean something but I can't figure out why, because I have to earn it, so it's worth it? And this must be right? Because there's nothing I can do, but sit and not understand, look on but not figure out why it's going on and when you touch me to feel so cold and fake, plastic and only for show. But there are so many people who are too willing, too warm, too, but they need to be touched too. " i am human and i need to be loved just like everybody else". I need to be needed, but this is new and I don't like the way you do it, but I'm turning to it, even if I don't want to. I want you but you don't exist; it is part of them and the right of everything that is wrong; and it doesn't exist. I want to feel fingers round my waist [a tiny waist, no folds of fat, flat and clean] and kisses on my eyelids, I want to be beautiful and I don't want to be sad anymore, I want to be able to sleep, and have you there; and cry; and not do anything with you. And phone you up at three in the morning, everything dark and have something to talk about, to be so much the same person that I wouldn't have to question it. And I'd be worth something, because you are and in my own, even when I'm only taking pictures. I want to be so light that I wouldn't feel guilty when you picked me up. I'd like to look at the sky so much more, because I suppose it could be the definition of beauty. So I sat there and cried and you slept but pretended not to, and I disappeared in the face of competition, to my Holly and my Jen, who have no competition

because they know and I know, and I love them that they do

To much tidying and the cutest mini hoover [l'espiriteur magique] and to Scott and Tom's shameless selected enthusiasm, which made me laugh, because the music overtook us a little perhaps, maybe it was coincidence, but I hope I'm not picked like that. I have a map of the valleys;

If I'm gone when you wake up, please don't cry, breaking hearts has never looked so cool

I think that in dreams you can experience moments of extreme lucidity, does it happen when you're drunk too? [Although I know thats something of a paradox] Because you are watching you as well as being you; and nothing got sorted, but one and I don't think you'll remember, you can be a genius but you'll never know. But you're only part of it, and it's important but I can't do this and I need to look elsewhere, even if, all the different pieces are here, they just don't belong to the same puzzle, and although this, they do belong to mine. I just need to be needed and I want to feel, and I want to know.

'Don't you know, there is no modern romance? Time, time is gone, it stop, stops who it wants. I was wrong, it never lasts. There is no, this is no modern romance'.'

We aren't grown up and this isn't the beginning of forever. I can't help myself, I don't have a reason and I hate myself for it. At least sadness is real, happiness is real, jealousy is real, jealousy is truthful isn't it? But why is love so ambiguous?
I don't know how long I can still believe all this.

And someday you'll forgive me for who I am, because they don't love you like I love you, but I don't think that's what you really need. I don't know how it all got so blurry, like a stream of negatives and overexposures. I don't know how I managed to fall so far and want for comforting that didn't come, but we're the same, you and me, and you make me so happy. I don't know what I put on people, I need a slap and some idea of realism, I would never leave this dream world, I'd be a hollow shell without it, but it blinds me.
[sorry]

Don't hold on. Go, get strong.

Feeling:
Listening to:
Pretending: