Shunted and hunted and chased by the pack..
I look back in despair.
There is no longer anyone there, it seems they gave up on this ghost.

Sometimes the things that you hate are the things you love most.
And now with nobody chasing I find I am pacing the floors..slamming doors..bored to the death of it.

But I shall fit in this groove..be unable to move...be tied to the millstones...no thrills in my old bones.

Someone please call for the Doc..I think I'm going in shock with the joy of it all..this quiet life is too much of a ball.
My heart starts to race..I can't keep up this pace..How do I keep a straight face when I lie through my teeth.
Good grief..this is a slow way to die..being as nice as a slice of stale apple pie.
I am really wondering why..
I don't break out of this mould..leave the safety of this fold and meet again with the pack at my back and the wind in my hair..when I just didn't care it was great.
Fate takes a hand..makes a stand and I am pushed to the ground..
Which is where I found
The answer.