I'd forgotten about Julie Andrews, I'd forgotten about the Sound of Music...
There's this one girl, she asks me all kinds of questions I should have the answers to. I did, I used to, after all they're all about me.

Things I used to know before I degenerated, before the system failure, are now all blank answers, generic responses, clichés to end all clichés.
Before I believed myself to be extraordinary, now I know myself to be nothing but average.
I am uninteresting and lame, I am severed at the head: lost all connection between my mind and other parts of me I might need, my groin, my hands, my stupid clumsy feet.

When I was little, my mom would ground me months at a time with no tv, we had only a couple of kids movies, so I read, all day, all the time, and then when I wanted the fantasies to play out, I watched the Sound of Music over and over again.
I could sing along, except I didn't because I can't.

I can't tell my favorite movie from a hole in the ground.
I'd have to separate, be fully aware, record, acknowledge.
Time to think about myself, requires time. I haven't got any.
But I sure do fucking love Julie Andrews.