between fostering and the Norfolk Probation Area mentoring Scheme, in a small brown board matt finished for pins and between MDF (the new asbestos?) and card; adjacent to Aspergers' and Red Balloon Centres For Bullied Children and Brain Tumours is, wait for it: A Space.
So i write this:
You are were born and you have lived
You are perfectly fine
it's all going to be ok.
I've considered it and there might be too much that can go wrong and maybe there is an argument for: "Stopping Mythering"
But I still can't, so I take out the pins from the Brain Tumours and I place it over my glib and indifferent form of compassion fatigue writing, because, in all honesty and actually, I think, apart from the Brain Tumours, you are and it will be.
Who's going to pay me to tell people they are OK?
Maybe this is my message for The Big Society?
Maybe Cameron, maybe Brown, maybe Cleggy
Norwich. European City of Culture two thousand and twelve.
maybe i'll get some money then.
Maybe I should take my Vileda Supermop and my bungees and leave this library forever.
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