Oh, the insanity of um, beer and candles and scary 70s music, and faeries, hookers, witches, screamers, devils, peter pan and robert smith. But, most especially beer and candles. And cleavage. And chocolate. Or beer flavoured kisses, or trippin' and sitting on the roof, at two in the morning, waving at Steve's dad.

Holly and I unleashed our inner(evil)faeries [dude, Tinkerbell IS evil, I tell you!] once again, with the aid of much black lipstick..yay! And Jen channelled Robert Smith, to absolutely
astounding effect!

We spent the day running around, putting up decorations, making things look scary.. and amassing millions of candles, making the room, so glowing and pretty, and such a fire risk. So
pretty! People randomly turned up, and floated around, drinking the beer, oh so much beer, and singing to scary - truly scary - music..[ Abba..,um, yeah] and dancing, scary dancing


- quite appropriate really. Heathcliff..it's me, a-Cathy, a-come home...bluerggwerrrgh..... See?
I'm so good, you know it.




Aren't they so pretty? Grr.



And when it got just a little later, it got slightly more blurred and coloured more prettily...

"Do you like my cleavage?"




And sometimes sat outside, spilling beer on our fishnets, shivering and glowing yellow, but being swallowed by the dark. Inside glowed pink, warm and pulsed with music, inviting attempts to form our own band, and the traditional queen bounce-a-long. We lit more candles, so it glowed yellow and lay on the floor, trippin'..haha! Listening to Jimi Hendrix and things,
and floating away, laying on meine Matratze, who I need so much more than meine kleine Matratze realises, but who confirmed that, thankfully I do have a pulse. I couldn't think, and that was obvious, the lines of that song, drilled into my head and more achingly relevant as it went on and I didn't even realise it until I sat outside behind the car, not realising it was the middle of a Saturday afternoon and that people actually all lead their own lives. That really makes my brain hurt; that other people exist the way that I do too. Sucker love is heaven sent / You pucker up, our passion's spent and, erk, how odd. I can't say I haven't been thinking about it, I know I have - but it was so strange. That, I suppose, is all I can really say. Except it didn't change anything, not like that, not the way perhaps it should have - if only because you have, & you continue to reaffirm what I never really stopped thinking. And it hurts, so much, to see that I hurt you and even worse, for me to appear as if I do so willingly. I can't, I just can't.
Alcohol, it doesn't help in the slightest. Because... I don't know what I do, and I'm a slave to the
seconds, as they pass by, rather than the consequences they bring.

I escaped to my Holly, to the perpetually beautiful Holly - who I'll never stop chasing, in fear of
losing and I'll always be her Tinkerbell, 'cause I love her the mostest! - and our roof, to sit in the cold, wrapped up in a dressing gown, whispering into the darkness and the sky that was really quite clear, arguing with Bobbit and scaring poor Steve's dad, afraid Cass was going to commit suicide. I spent the night grasping at anything beautiful or meaningful, wishing she was happy, and spilling things out that I never meant to actually turn out real. Because I'm beginning to want to run away, 'cause I'll only turn to find you've seen me for what I am, and Holly, and Jen, I need them, so much, they don't know. Having them both, couldn't imagine. I needed and I need them, and I finally, finally got to see my Jen properly!

The morning and the night, the night especially began to drown in red and pink, and glowy lights, and things that happened, which made everything so much sharper. I really would carve your name if I knew what it was (I could have, I almost did, but saltwater isn't good. Except for teardrop tea) ; but I'm beginning to realise whose it isn't; perhaps. Another love I would abuse and it'll only turn into that all over again; and you I don't want to hurt, because you are so very, very good & it seems I have a corrupting effect on people.
I know I'm selfish, I'm unkind
Sucker love I always find
Someone to bruise and leave behind
And that will be poetic justice. Yes, perhaps, but I don't want it. I don't want this, I want someone, and I want someone, and I want someone to want me. want me need me.
It was all so soft, I wish I could have stopped it all still, my girls and my boys, you're all so pretty!

It's this morning, we're the afterglow here.

And I'm always going to be your Tinkerbell
squiggle, ha!

Feeling:
Listening to:
Pretending: