so, I've written little for Bloodlines but I've dreamed and dreamed and imagined. OMG, how terrible for Rachel:a dungeon and not your Hollywood one but ewww, human waste (read poos and weeze), cold, very cold, little light. Then, her going 'what the....?' I see it all. I hear the conversations and can picture the senarios but, I do not have the time to record for I must mother, be wife, teach children. All good things. And, let me tell you, all of those enclosed in the previous sentence suck dry every part of me.
I am torn. I wish that it was not on my shoulders alone that I ferry my whanau through their day; I wish that it was not I who must ensure that said whanau is kept (financially) afloat. I did not get a Creative New Zealand Grant for Banquo's Son (you're kidding? Nup!) which means I, the sole organiser of our wonderful family unit needs to look elsewhere to keep us afloat.
Elmo speak: Me tired. Me cry. Me sleep.