BORN TO BE WILD

I once came upon myself by chance.

I was hunting around for something on the internet when - there I was! - being mentioned by someone I didn't know in a forum I hadn't heard of before and have lost track of since. She was saying she liked this blog because I laughed about having fits. No, not quite that . . Made light of . . . ? No. Can't get it right. But the point was clear. And, ever since, I've felt a responsibility to drop it in occasionally - mention that I've had a fit - keep it 'ordinary'. (Two first thing yesterday morning). It's my way of being supportive of the invisible readers with invisible disabilities who may, from time to time, be encouraged by . . . whatever it is that is encouraging.

I slept all day yesterday, having slept all the day before which is very annoying when the sun is shining and the sky is blue.

And it is blue. It shouldn't be. It's January. The birds are singing, there's not a cloud in sight, the moon was full in a clear sky earlier on, 63 varieties of wild plant are flowering in the streets of Cardiff because the weather is so mild and I'm sitting in bed. I'll write this. Then I'll lie down again.

And it's Wednesday.

My intention, on Wednesdays, is to say a word, a word that has a lovely sound, regardless of its meaning.

Today, though, it's the song 'Born to be Wild' which keeps banging around in my brain so that's what I'll say.

BORN TO BE WILD!

Even on my best days, no-one would guess it. I'm a bit sombre. A bit Puritanical. Not easily amused by amusing things. Yet those words

BORN TO BE WILD!

won't go away.

Inside . . . it's not that I want to be a rocker. Rather, I want to wander the earth. I'd like to walk all round it with someone towing a camper van behind so I could lie down safely whenever I needed a rest. That kind of wild - the out-there kind. (Not the 'out doors' kind. I'm not hey-ho or hearty. I wouldn't want to climb a cliff or carry a gun.)

So my song is inappropriate.

(And I don't know the rest of the words.)

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