My actions have no enthusiasm behind them, an even worse, my words have no power to bind them. They’re void of meaning but fiercely vulnerable to influence, of, those who I deem wiser, more mature, more go-getting of life while I, on the other hand, run and trip over my feet, I can’t tell my left from my right or what’s suited to me. So toothless, unarticulate, clueless, meaningless, thoughtless, lifeless – where’s the mighty roar? Let me become a vulturous creature and soar to where they say my head is at up there in the clouds. In my own world, a dream world, called ‘Vicky’s world’ where everything is how it should be, metaphorically, but never literally or physically. Who am I fooling? To who do I perform my acapella? Soliloquay. No one, just me. An audience with you, me and Irene. The irony.