Grey Autumn

Days are going by.
I work.

When I don't, I feel brain-dead. I don't want to talk. I have nothing interesting to say. I feel tired.

I shop a lot. The addiction returns.

Why are there so many addictions? Why are we so prone to them? You stop eating and then you start shopping. What the fuck?

Anyway, I digress. I am tired, I was saying.

But on Tuesdays, I am myself.

I stay at home. I read and prepare for next week's class. I wonder in the empty house and look out the windows. I talk to my plants. I dig out my old music. Like the Beth Rowley version of Nobody's fault but mine. That reminds me of Motherless child. That if I were romantic, I would ask to be played at my funeral.

I sit in the empty house, trying to get psyched to start working. And I open my ancient ibook, that has all this ancient music that reminds me of a different life and a different me. And I feel like a kid in a sweet-shop. I am by myself and I can put it as loud as I want and I can sing at the top of my lungs " if I should die, and my soul becomes lost, it's nobody's fault but mine".

And this makes me feel strangely happy.
And not tired.
And a bit myself again.

Music saves.
How many times have I said that already. But it's so true.