Humpty Dumpty

You know how it is, when you pack your laptop and tape recorder to go to Backyard, listen to Mark and transcribe your interview in between sets...and then suddenly people turn up and invite you to join them and the whole thing turns into an impromptu party and suddenly you think, to hell with it...life isn't about trying to transcribe interview in pubs. Rather it is loving the people who love you, hanging out with the people who actually want to hang out with you...getting famously inebriated and singing at the top of your voice, dancing like there's no one watching.

I hope you dance, hey?

And then...when everyone leaves and Mark has one set to go and I'll wait it out until he finishes...by which time I'm too drunk to get out my computer and it's so much unnecessary baggage anyway, so instead, I pluck a napkin from the centre and start to scribble (because being drunk usually means that feelings bottled up rise to the top like cream...and have to, have to, have to be expressed)

And today, I uncrumple the napkin hastily stuffed into my little red bag and here's what I find:

So much of life is waiting around for permission
Holding our breath till someone says it's OK...

It's OK, it really is
and until we hear those words
we tie ourselves up in knots
don't sleep at night
cry into our pillows
because we're never good enough
never, never, never, never, never
And it's alright
it really is.

Just fall apart
and keep shattering
and when you're done
pick yourself up
piece by piece
piece by piece
until you're all picked up
and put yourself together again.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.