Skeletons

I haven't been here because I've been catching up on my really well-needed beauty sleep. Too many late nights school-projecting have taken their toll. So I've been sleeping a scary kind of sleep. It's the sleep which resembles anaesthetic sleep, that deep dark sleep which makes you blurt out all your closely-guarded secrets. Quite thankfully I have been talking about figolli! Not really a secretive subject to go to the Times of Malta about. So far, so good. I've always shied away from anaesthetic. For one, I smoke too much, and the only time I was under the damn drug I just could not stop throwing up. A second reason, there is too much hidden inside. I do not want it to come out to anybody. And although I really write truthfully here, my closet is overflowing with skeletons. I like skeletons, I like seeing them. They make me feel safe, because they mean that under all that, we are all the same. Kate Moss might fetch thousands on the catwalk, the truth is that her skeleton would fetch just as much as mine. Perhaps mine would fetch that bit more, I like to think that my brain is a little more developed. And that means big shit, I'd have the big issue even in skeleton form. And my closet... it's a walk-in closet which is brimming with skeletons. And no, I'm not gay. That is one skeleton which does not exist in my closet. But there are so many more. The big skeleton. The small skeleton. The brainy skeleton. The stupid skeleton. The sad skeleton. And the happy skeleton. Because after all, we're all skeletons waiting for our turn in the post.