Ghosts

Dearest Frankie,

Lovely to be back.  Motherhood and workeyhood have indeed got in the way, but like a 1990s girlband, I've re-grouped, am back in the lycra and raring to go.

I suggest you make a Mother's Day card for said person. Make it look like a ransom note but then decorate it with bunnies, roses and kittens and it'll confuse the fuck out of her.  See if you can find the 'bunny ears' you described earlier and pop them in for good measure. It'll be like getting a card from Michael Madsden AND Blue Peter.  Worth a thought...

I don't believe in ghosts, but I've seen a lot of the feckers in the last month.  Coming back from the dead like the Sixth Sense.  Or Scooby Doo.

It was doable on Facebook. You didn't have to actually see them, and sometimes it was rather lovely to be reunited with a few.

But in person...

So. What do you do when someone you haven't seen for years is in the room with you? Next to you?  Then you see them again. By accident.  Third time lucky? Who knows? They may disappear once more.

But do you know what. I ain't spooked. In fact. It's ok. It's ok to see people that I may have been fearful of in the past (not good enough / thin enough / happy enough).  I'm not spooked because, as Cheryl says "I'm worth it".  Take me or leave me. Seriously. Enough pussyfooting around. (I've put that in for the dirty readers).

I'm kinda enjoying work too - feeling more in control, more worthy, more like me. That's good. I want to be able to move on from there, when I want to, on my terms.  Sod 'em.

Right. That's enough from the Iron Curtain.

Love you more,

Dobson

PS.  When you see that Justin Timberlake, tell him he left his Oyster Card here last time.