The fabic of our lives

Procrastination is a funny thing, its just fear holding on and dragging us back into a standstill. I mean really life keeps moving forward, it's us that stops the motion. It's those voices in your head, the ones that pull you down and drag you into the mud. Very small children don't have those voices. They are fearless and open, excited and exhilarated by life. I've never seen a child hold back.

So today I sat down at my computer to try and write my book, the story of my music career, and there was nothing, or rather I couldn't sit still. So with the nervous energy I decided I would go off to the market to look for some fabric for the couch. I just had to get out. I had to get away from the pain inside that was squashing my head. So off I went running, but you can never leave yourself, and there amongst the fabric shops were all the answers staring me in the face. There were so many beautiful fabrics each with its own beauty, like so many beautiful tales but which story would I tell and would my fabric be beautiful or the kind that ends up in the bargain bin begging someone to take it for nothing. And then in another shop I heard the answer. There behind the tailored clothes so perfect in their linen, so pristine and manicured, was the sound of a Thai soap opera. So there it was, me trying to be so pristine and perfect, trying to be casual but in control and all the time knowing that underneath the layers lay the real me, the soap opera of madness, ridiculousness and pain. If I was going to write this story I would have to show all my colors and weave my own fabric with all its beauty and all its pain. Because although a natural linen dress is lovely it can be quite boring really. It's color that makes the world beautiful. And so with that I begin...