Good on paper

Today is unexplainable anxiety. Bonsai conversations and ricochette thoughts behind bullet proof screens. Too much caffine and not enough food. Honesty comes in stacatto, blunders into idle chit chat like an ex wife on valium; vaugly innappropriate, full of appeal.

I am long distances and narrow goat tracks. A check list of ideas pinned up on the fridge. Nothing gets behind the texta marked facade. It's all plywood and mirrors.

Looks good on paper, not so flash in the flesh.

I am 10 rationalisations. Yep, I'm happy. I really am. Just ask me to recite the reasons, monotone like a national anthem, like a manifesto someone wrote a long time ago.

It's just a minor crisis, a loose connection, a crackly line. I'll be over it by dinner time.