7

dingleberries


Ó lá go lá, mo thuras,An bealach fada romham.Ó oíche go hoíche, mo thuras,na scéalta nach mbeidh a choích'.

A little while ago I was talking to myself. Actually complaining. Whats there not to complain about? hard bed. bugs. hunger. restless sleep. Now dingleberries.

Well, thats what I think they are. Only I'm not sure. I think you just eat the purple ones that look like a little bunch of grapes. I think. But then I found the red ones and well, they might be the poisonous kind. They don't look like the purple ones.

I should know this. Its like I'm having a brain freeze or something. My mother taught me all this stuff. Only I wasn't really paying attention. I kept thinking what I could be doing. Like really traveling in style. Meeting princes and dances and you know, princess stuff. Not survival tactics.

Look at me, nobody would ever know I was a princess. Just what she wanted. I bet he doesn't even know.

Yes, I've been thinking about him too. What was going on? I mean, is he watching me right now?

Who is he?

I keep thinking I should know, but I don't know. I never met anyone like that. I think I would remember. He's definitely not forgetable. Just whats his secret? If he knows I'm here, why won't he show his face?

Or I'm just delusional. I don't even want to think about that. Now I'm imaging things. My imaginary friend. Its just I never thought about him that way.

Not that I'm imagining my prince charming or anything. I'm not. My mother didn't raise me that way. No, I don't need anyone to save me. I can do that myself.

That is if I figure out the right berries to eat.

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