Uncontrollably calm

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    The radio informs me that Edward Munch's The Scream is on display in London this week, for a single week. I think a lot of us might be able to emphasise with the main character. He's obviously just changed, grabbed his male clothing and walked back to normal everyday life, and exclaims his frustration. He's screaming because she's not the woman she knows she is.

    I'd like to commence Hormones and enable my body to travel, naturally, to a location closer to where my brain resides. I scream with Munch's figure - we are both stuck, but at least little Munch is of to New York next week. Good shops, that'll cheer her up.
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