And my time was running wild
A million dead-end streets
Every time I thought I'd got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet
So I turned myself to face me
But I've never caught a glimpse
Of how the others must see the faker
I'm much too fast to take that test
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-Changes
Don't want to be a richer man
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-Changes
Just gonna have to be a different man
Time may change me
But I can't trace time
*Lyrics used without permission.
The last year of my addiction to alcohol was a sorrowful, sad, pitiful existence. I did not care about anything or anyone. I had no friends to speak of. I rarely shaved and did not cut my hair. I wore t-shirts and old jeans. I was a wreck. My appearance mirrored the life I had created for myself.
A lot has changed these past one hundred days. I only wear collared shirts in public. I have a pair of nice jeans that I wear on Fridays and to do yard work. I own six pairs of slacks which are two sizes smaller than the old, tattered jeans I wore last year. I like sweaters and no longer wear tennis shoes.
