No

I cannot sing no I cannot carry a tune I cannot run no I stumble and run like a clown I cannot hum no my tunes are all in my head I cannot sew no I'm not in love with thread I cannot cook either no this gives no patience or joy not even satisfaction nothing, just annoy its all just too much work all too much domesticity Id rather have more quiet time to read, to sleep to think to walk with dogs in the woods and sit nevermind anything on the stove, or sink my life has turned to what I need no I just here by myself.