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to tell my story. The events of my life have never been recounted, and I think endlessly at the momentn about making posts where I discuss that of the dim and distant past.

I was...
born in a war zone
a battered baby, an abused child
a homeless teenager
a sick, fucked up puppy
I helped bring down a multinational corporation and drive it from the country. Am I the last person in the world who remembers the debacle of 7-Eleven's brief stay in Ireland, and my brief days as a shop-steward?
I was...
a young mother
a college student
top of my class, great things expected, more 'college scholar' titles than anyone else

I was... adviser to government ministers
only as one of many on a committee, but still, ministers of state recognised my face, remembered my name and listened, briefly, when I spoke

I have had moments of a story worth telling, and I will have a story to tell again, if I can just beat this fucking illness! (except I don't really believe that, not deep down inside)

but for now, I don't tell my story, I just talk about wanting to, for I am waiting for a friend to arrive, and we will be shopping

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farnam

April 2011

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