My Name is Angela

(How refreshing to use my real name.)

And so as Seal flaps his vocals I'm flipping rapidly from sober to wtf.

So I penned my red leather diary to the max and then noticed the last entry was Jan this year. 'Lot happened in seven months' I thought as the breeze from the gaping window ate into my neck.

I was only worried then. But now I'm falling, fooling around like a lost kid in a concrete park at midnight without kneepads or hand to hold.
Scared but thrilled, cut but not quite bleeding to death,

Losses.
Of self-esteem, not in abundance at the best of times, yes the Great Glo skins herself.
Losing ideas, mostly creative. Losing momentum. Time was when I'd take reckless chances, having knickers for goalposts...Nowadays precautions with a capital P.
Losing people. Some by death, not their fault, some by being Angela. All her fault.

Now I must fly to the oven, Seal is telling me "Don't Cry"
Perfect timing:)