I have realised that time is a currency and I have to spend mine wisely.

I seem to spend half my time asleep, in a world of mismatched people and frightening faces that remind of a time that made my soul feel dark.
Why do these dreams haunt me so much?

I am spending too much time alone, refusing to go out. When I do venture out for supplies it’s not a pretty sight.

I am not wearing a bra under my winter anorak, and I am no longer caring that I am wearing trackie bottoms that I wear to bed as I shuffle along to the shops. No make-up on, hair in a tangled ponytail.

I must look like those women who I remember looking at as I walking to the shops years ago, letting themselves go….no longer caring about their skin or hair.
I would mock them to myself and think “Surely a bit of make up or a decent hair brush would make all the difference, I will never let myself go”
I think I have.

I can’t be arsed doing anything right now, except getting onstage.

I am like a junkie waiting on my next hit…a crack whore waiting on her next rock.

I will get dressed nice for a gig, then let myself go tatty till the next time…

It’s all downhill from here….I fear.

Time is a currency and I am running on empty.

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