Dotty Needs A Bit Of Help Please

 

There’s something strange afoot in Dottyworld. Mischief is being made somewhere, somehow and I need to get it sorted before something unfixable happens. As you should know by now I don’t have any mirrors in my house, nor do I have any shiny surfaces. It’s hard to catch a glimpse of myself ANYWHERE and that’s how I like it, if I wanted mirrors I wouldn’t have smashed them all. But this afternoon, when the sun shone bright through the window and hit the lid of my frying pan, I DID catch a glimpse of myself (more than a glimpse – about 7 seconds worth of glimpse before I jumped back, which doesn’t sound long but you try looking at something for 7 seconds and it’s longer than you think it should be).

I say I caught a glimpse of myself – well that’s not quite true because although I SHOULD have caught a glimpse of myself I didn’t, I caught a long 7 second glimpse of LITTLE EMILY. Except little Emily went home early this morning to make sure Charlotte isn’t taking the piss out of Anne again by getting her to do all the cleaning. And she hasn’t been back since, and she isn’t due back till tomorrow.

So how did I see her in the frying pan lid?

Little Emily is dead – I’ve seen her grave many times over the years, I know she’s in there but obviously SHE isn’t in there, and anyway it’s not a secret that I SEE DEAD PEOPLE, lots of people see dead people, they even make telly programmes about people who see dead people so it’s nothing to be ashamed of. But seeing dead people when it should be ME I’m seeing is a bit eerie.

At first I thought maybe it’s because we’ve become such good friends and I see her face much more than I see my own and the facial recognition part of my brain has forgotten what MY face looks like so it slapped little Emily’s face onto the frying pan lid instead.

Then I thought I wonder if it’s me, I wonder if I’ve finally lost it, but then I thought ‘No, Dotty, don’t be daft, you’re mental but you’re not fucking MENTAL‘.

Then I thought it must be something to do with little Emily’s ectoplasm, maybe it’s fucked up because she’s doing something she shouldn’t be doing like eating too many of my Cumberland sausages, or trying to follow Rah Rah Rasputin on Just Dance 2 (or 3? I can’t remember, she puts it on herself, I don’t like it), or killing wabbits for her wabbit pies, or looking after Branwell when he’s in a fugue, or arguing with Charlotte, or too much writing writing writing, or any number of things she does that I don’t even know about, who knows what she gets up to on that fucking moor every morning, there are more dead people roaming around up there than soft Mick, she could be doing anyTHING with anyONE of them.

All or none of these things could be the cause of what happened earlier and that’s what I need help with – knowledge of ghosts. If any of you know anything at all about ghosts will you tell me please so I can try and work out what’s wrong with little Emily and why she appeared on my face? I don’t want to lose her, she’s the best friend I’ve ever had.

Thank you.

 

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