Chills

Chill in the air, chill in the room, chill in the head and heart. How appropriate.

"The correct term is 'Autumn'; 'Fall' is a verb". Immortal words from the tall blonde Dane.

Today, Mrs. D is hiding and won't be making much of an appearance. At least I hope not. She does get around sometimes. But no, I think she's still angry with TBV's directions. Poor Mrs. D, who can blame her. All this toing and froing - it's enough to drive one distracted.

It doesn't matter, not if Polly has anything to say about it:

And this is what Polly had to say (parsed). Quite the diatribe actually. I'm not sure it's actually helpful to the one who wrote in asking for advice, but then again, who am I to know. Mrs. D will probably get some goodness out of this though.

Forget about being lovable. Forsake [TBV]'s idea of what gives you a spark or no spark. Block the "other" from this picture. No more audience. You are the cherished and the cherisher. You are the eminently lovable and the lover. You are a million brilliant sparks, flashing against a midnight sky. Stop making room for someone else to sit down. Fuck waiting to be let in. You are already in. You are in. Cherish yourself. Fuck asking someone else, "Am I there yet?" Fuck listening for the answer. Fuck waiting, alone, for a verdict that never comes. You are here. Sit down. Feel your potential in this moment. You have accepted too little for too long. That is changing today. 

Ya. All those F-words, and Polly's certainties send chills down my spine on Mrs. D's behalf. It is quite exhilarating though. And on the same note, today, I must remember that I (not Mrs. D) am half a chirp and a quarter churl which makes me three-quarter something or other starting with a F and ending with a D.

The scheming old dinosaurs who run the so called Foundation (ooh - spooky isn't it?) have inadvertently made my life that much easier this Autumn by shutting the gates to the poor - They run the Foundation on opposite lines than those of Heaven: If you have, you get in, if you don't have, well that's just too fucking bad, go away, and don't come back until you do have, but don't expect us to help you have.
Well, I'll just have to say to them what Polly said to thingy: Fuck waiting to be let in. You are already in. You are in. Cherish yourself. Fuck asking someone else, "Am I there yet?" Fuck listening for the answer. Fuck waiting, alone, for a verdict that never comes. You are here. Sit down. Feel your potential in this moment. You have accepted too little for too long. That is changing today.

My. Such powerful words, and multipurpose too. Polly is quite the smart one. 

So where was I? Yes, I'm a three-quarter F-D, can give bugger all about the Foundation Dinosaurs, and have also five submissions in play with a sixth, and maybe even a seventh, to come. The list is getting shorter, and I even have time to read now. Now to chivvy Drs. K and Z into a room so we can do something useful and whether they play nicely or not, I don't really care after what Polly had to say: You are a million brilliant sparks, flashing against a midnight sky. Stop making room for someone else to sit down. Fuck waiting to be let in. You are already in. You are in.

Lovely Polly, I feel like giving her a high-class cream cracker now. And maybe I'll yield into temptation and see what Polly has to say about "Ghost Sex".

Mrs. D is clamouring for attention now, so she'd best be let out to get flowers of something. Mrs. D stepped out of her lovely home in Holland Park and thought, I am NOT going to get flowers today because I feel let down and I hate being let down - it's bad enough that one's bosom is already let down without having to have someone let you down. What can you do? Saggy grey tits are exactly that. 

So Mrs. D is going to listen to Tito but eschew the Clemenza bit. Nothing like hearing Dame Janet Baker go on a tear and punch through the scenery and the wall of notes with her anger, lust for vengeance and general irritation with what life has dealt her. Mrs. D will not listen to the bit where Dame Janet stops to think, and garner insight into what she's brokered and done. No. She. Will. Not. You see, Mrs. D is not in a forgiving mood. Who would be, when the first face you see in the morning is that of a smiling Buddha with the heart of a scorpion...And Mrs. D doesn't mean the mirror either. 

Mrs. D suddenly thinks about flickering hopes and hot water bottles, and another Dame - Dame Judi this time who talks about bothersome flickering hopes that blink, wink and entice in the dark of the night, only to turn out to be will-o'-the-wisps that lead you into the dark marshes and bogs of Mordor where Suaron's brightly coloured fish-eye lens seeks you relentlessly. Such a difficult decision to make - stay in the bog and damp marsh and be cold, or stand in front of the fish-eye lens to be warmed by the fires of thwarted desires for rings of power etc. Maybe best to settle for the bed socks and hot water bottles and hope the hot water bottle doesn't fall out of bed because Lionel isn't likely to pick it up for if he were young and enthusiastic, there would, as he pointed out quite rightly, no need for a hot water bottle. 

The thing is, posturing doesn't achieve anything does it? Anything less than starting out as you mean to go on is delusional. The narrative - oh what do I know about narrative, thinks Mrs. D - points to trust and safety and that is good enough. Good. Enough. 

Now, must remind Mrs. D that she too is a million sparkles (not flickering bothersome hopes) against the dark skies, that she's is here, she's in, and she doesn't have to wait to be let in. In fact, she can go buy flowers  OR not. It is her prerogative - see Mrs. D? Am I not a kinder and gentler soul than The Bitch Virginia. Mrs. D also needs to be reminded that TBV has her own problems to wrestle with and not all is easy being an author who has to direct such a creation as Mrs. D.

Okay, maybe Mrs. D will listen to the Clemenza part after all.