The House Is A Factory.

In All My Life I'd Never Been Approached This Way, The Car Pulling Up, The Where You Going? It Was Something I Wish Had Happened Hundreds Of Times. I Was A Looker - Someone Who Looked Over At Every Car At Every Traffic Light, Hoping Something Would Happen, And Almost Never Finding Anyone Looking Back - Always Everyone Looking Forwards, And Every Time I Felt Stupid. Why Should People Look At You? Why Should They Care?

People Say I Talk Slowly. I Talk In A Way Sometimes Called Laconic. The Phone Rings, I Answer, And People Ask If They've Woken Me Up. I Lose My Way In The Middle Of Sentences, Leaving People Hanging For Minutes. I Have No Control Over It. I'll Be Talking, And Will Be Interested In What I'm Saying, But Then Someone-i'm Convinced This What Happens-someone-and I Wish I Knew Who, Because I Would Have Words For This Person-for A Short Time, Borrows My Head. Like A Battery Is Borrowed From A Calculator To Power A Remote Control, Someone, Always, Is Borrowing My Head.

I Think I'm Far Too Hopeful And Trusting. That's Something I Got From My Mum.

She Felt Some Measure Of Relief Knowing That In The Very Least, On The Open Road She Would Have Some Time To Think.

How Many Times In Life Can We Make Decisions That Are Important But Will Not Hurt Anyone? Are We Obligated- Maybe We Are- To Say Yes To Any Choice When No One Will Be Hurt? We Use The Word Hurt When Talking About Things Like This Because When These Things Go Wrong It Can Feel As If You Were Hit In The Sternum By A Huge Animal That's Run For Miles Just To Strike You.