And thank you Colette for yet again being you – the whisperer. Maybe that is why I see you and hear your whispers the way no one else’s words get to me. Because, like me, you are frightened too. I like being alone, like you do. I prefer it.

You are very special to me Colette.

I love The Allman Brothers with all my heart, by the way.

Oliver Shiny I have listened to the whole thing of Mississippi Bones a couple of times right through – the entire album – and I actually purchased this album and Tracks as well as the Songs For The Rejects, Slackers and Rabble-Rousers (ha, awesome name) in itunes.

Can I just say OHMYFUCKINGGOD.

I don’t even know where to start on how good these guys are but I don’t need to because you exist and you did it already, better than I ever could.

You did that – with your words – yes, the band is fucking amazing, of course, but it was your words that made me do it.

So, because I don’t want to starfuck you, I want to say it’s because I have the most mutherfucken kick arse Sonos speakers in my kitchen to listen to while I potter and make tea and do my dishes but that’s not all of it – it’s more than that, it’s that it now takes me so long to wash dishes and I always actually feel really happy when I wash the dishes– meditative, loud music from kick arse speakers, etc – but that’s not all either, it’s more than that – it’s because you told me about the band and about not about the band and your words, as they always do, about the things in your brain, bring something important to me I’m not capable of describing, especially not at this hour of the morning but I had to write this because I’ve seen Colette’s lovely words and I’ve had a terrible thought that maybe, Oliver, I have not said something I should have or I have dream sequenced when I should have just said, point blank, as I normally do to you ‘me too’ – that I am all those things you, Oliver, mention and Colette mentions but that I never mentioned in my dream sequence. All those things and more. Not the stuff around ‘alacrity, specificity, and eloquence’ you, Oliver, can be, the other things – flip the coin to the other side – I am those things. The less impressive things. The raw things. The things that make Borscht tasty.

That’s how frightened I am – I have a dream sequence. I do a dream sequence.

Ha. That’s my disingenuity. I sometimes — maybe when it most counts — omit information, out of fear. Thank you Oliver. I learned yet another lesson — this hour of the morning.

Then I realised you probably didn’t need my feedback anyway, this thing you are trying out. But I’m happily giving it to you until you get your Alice Cooper golf shoes broken in, here in this new way, on Medium.

I can, because I’m the chick with the metal hair cones and dishpan hands and sass. Sometimes. Often. Not really. When required. Not today, maybe tomorrow.

Thanks Colette, as usual, for being you and thanks Oliver, as usual, for being you. Oliver, I nodded at everything – including the music.

You both know what I think of you. I’ll pull an ‘Oliver’ here and suggest ‘If you want to know all the ways please ask me’ and I will forget about how frightened and lonely I often am here in my head and tell you point blank – not a dream sequence in sight.

Oliver — you are, to me, a beautiful unique snowflake. Like it or don’t.

Now I’m going back to sleep.

Fucking Oliver Shiny – so pretty inside out, both sides of the coin – not a unique snowflake to himself but definitely enough of one to me that I’m writing him shit in my sleep. Wait – does that constitute a dream sequence? Fuck. I promised no more dream sequences. I guess it’ll take me a while to find my feet too, Oliver.

And Colette – you and your owls… and your Southernness, and your love for The Allman Brothers…

Fuck. Now I have soundtracks to try and not let in, just like I try with people.

I don’t even want to press go on this comment but I have to or I won’t be able to look myself in the eye when I wake up. Fucking vulnerability sucks.

Fucking Medium.