Blind Item #8 - The Dancing Boy

For the twenty years (this past January) since the overdose, I've suffered from nightly insomnia (which is a shame since coming up I was a talented sleeper). Lately I've been waking up around 4 or 5am, wanting to tell things. Here is one, a thing of things. You see: I share something in common with the subject, at least, of a recent very popular blind. No, I don't mean that we grew up in the same place, although we did. This person revealed this thing, and really I should say other thing, about a half-decade ago, I think. The reason you don't want to is what happened next. The sibling, who in kid times I once counted as a friend, reacted that way. Even more sadly, that most important of older women did too. And then what happened next, which won't, I hope, be happening now.

In a grim coincidence, I grew up on the same block as a woman - then nearing old age - whose fictional likeness was already one of the more famous grand-daughter characters (of course, and sadly, that's not all she was). I like to refer to the writer of this one - one of the best of all time - who deserved the award for it.

And much as in this other person's case, the two additional types of conduct toward me were also present, and persistent. In one case, when I was eight, the door was flung open on a Sunday morning - refer to the original blind for my state of dress - and I was thrown across the room and against the wall because I wasn't ready to go. Where as one happened in secret, and this one in private, the third one happened basically in public. Lots of people, including friends, will have stories. And I won't hesitate to mention that mine was to me as much I imagine as this other person's, also a booster - someone who believed in you and what you could do. That's the part that makes it all so messed up.

By "what happened next" I mean I hope I won't be forced to do/say what happened next.

For the connection to the grand-daughter refer to experience of the mother.