Betty gave me a four-leaf clover yesterday. If I had a digital cam here, I’d show y’all, cause it’s so pretty. Saw a tribe of 25 or so emu’s yesterday, too. I see kangaroos every day on the farm. Went out for dinner last night for mum’s and Clay’s Birthday’s (technically, 5 days apart, but one can’t go out every night when one works like this.)
I’m tired, I’m sore, Clay is just as bad, if not worse, but we’re happy. As M told me: “It sounds like you’re living a rerun of Green Acres, which makes you Eva Gabor”. huzzah. I’ve always wanted to be her, or Marlena Dietrich, so I’m happy with that.
Lately, I’m hiding inside a parcel of fish and chips, wrapped in a dark blanket, hidden inside a closet in the basement, not wanting to let anyone inside to see what’s there. Can’t let them in, I haven’t let them in, but they’re here already. Who left the door open and the map on the kitchen bench? He’s getting so close lately, I feel like I have nothing left to myself. Time and freedom is all I want. Time to myself, and the freedom to be me. But what I am is this, is that, is not enough, but too much. I’m everything and nothing, and he’s realising it, but it seems like he doesn’t know how to deal with it. He can see that my father is all or nothing, and he doesn’t like that; I’m so used to it, that I don’t know if I like it or not, I just know how to deal with it. I’m sick of being treated like daddy’s little girl, I don’t want dad to have so much of an opinion on who I am and who I’m with, but at the same time, I’m not stupid enough to burn all of my bridges. Or any of them, for that matter. In my case, bridges burn of their own accord, anyway. I never start fires, things just combust. I smell the faint foul odour of smoke, and I’m scared.