The Excuses.

Its been too long.

I dont have the words, anymore.

There are the things I need to talk about before I forget, or before everything is forgotten.

I got to do the work, and reclaim my inner freedom.

When I was 16, I studied hard in school, didnt smoke cigarettes, and snuck out of the house some nights.

When I was 18, I lived off the main street in Marseille in a grand flat with marijuana plants growing on the balcony in the Mediterranean sunshine. My boyfriend was from Madagascar and had a beautiful singing voice.

When I was 20, I narrowly escaped being sent to prison for drug trafficking. It was more than a few ecstacy tablets, but my partner and I thought we were making people happy, as well as paying off his debts. When he got sent inside for 5 years I had to deal just to pay the rent, stayed out late most nights, and slept through my university lectures.

When I was 25 I cycled from Poland to Greece on a beat up old bicycle called Pegasus that I found in the Jewish neighbourhood of Krakow on the Sabbath day. I had my flute wrapped up in my pack on the back of the bicycle. I played music on the street for money, pulled my food out of bins, and slept under the prettiest trees. In Athens, at the end of my journey, Pegasus and I ended up in Tom’s Recycled Garden in Plaka, drinking retsina and discussing the passers by.

When I was 30 I was a squatter and sex worker. Men used to pay me just to drink their wine and discuss their fantasies with them. I did very well, although so much wine was consumed that sometimes my memories of this phase of my life are blurry. On the way back to the squat after a booking I would change in the back seats of the bus, pulling torn leggings over my suspenders and skirts.

When I was 35 I was approaching legitimacy, or whatever that means. I had become a qualified Massage Therapist, stayed in a friends spare room, and had some good friends around me.

I m not 40 yet, so the next part of this entry has yet to be written.