I was sleeping the other night, alone, thanks to the exterminator.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
I was dead inside.
I was asleep, in the upstairs bedroom, in the rear of the house. There was this tremendous crash, there was a terrible wind force hitting my body, and then I blanked out.
I needed to run away in order to come home.
I almost died, secretly, behind closed doors.
I was a bit of a sleeper-inner.
I was out of my bed in one second, trembling with excitement, and I dashed to the door and into the adjoining room, where I could watch the streets below from the windows.
I can't imagine anything worse than being just left alone, scared out of your mind.
I was 22 years old when I met Robert Johnson. I was there the night he was poisoned.
I was held hostage and almost executed by a man who was robbing us in the middle of the night.
I lay in my dressing room after being in make-up waiting to go on. They knew I was feeling pretty rotten and they tried to give me time to rest. But I couldn't sleep. I couldn't do anything.