Some of those memories are so painful, I expect that we all tend to bury them for years. Even buried memories come back to visit now and then, like ba... chili.As I walked along in the very front of our little group, I was isolated, not by distance so much as by who I was. It was as simple as that. I wasn't like the others and I really never had been. I was, of course, even less like them at that moment.When I never really liked playing with dolls as a child, I probably should have known then. I always make a point of telling my Mod how great a job he isdoing and that's even before I've read all the posts... they like thefeedback you know. Enough! I'm continuing...I banged on the door again... rat-a-tat-tat, rat-tat. I was gettingquite musically minded with beating out that rhythm; I had visions ofdrumming behind Mark Knopfler in a swirl of pink and mauve mist. Markcame over to me and took the drum sticks from my hands. He held me inhis arms...he pulled me close... Ouch! My. More

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