I've been back three days and already it all seems...stale. I feel misplaced and uncomfortable in my skin. Those old feelings of isolation are popping right back up again. I feel as if I had never left. But there's a ring on my hand and scars on my arm that demand the contrary. I'm grasping at the pale, empty, dark for a feeling of comfort or belonging and continue to clutch in a vacuum.
Not to alarm, this is a work musing, a testimony of the toxic space. Home life is lovely. I wish I had more of it to burrow back into my skin of a while before I have to be human again.
Today's Drawing (inspired by the word "Portmanteau" from MW's word of the day. It's a large suitcase or a synthesis of two words. I went the simple road.)
Today's "365" Project (Make something that rolls.)
"Return Cycles"
Not to alarm, this is a work musing, a testimony of the toxic space. Home life is lovely. I wish I had more of it to burrow back into my skin of a while before I have to be human again.
Haiku of the Day:
A distorted face
peers back with metal sheen in
the urinal crown
Today's Drawing (inspired by the word "Portmanteau" from MW's word of the day. It's a large suitcase or a synthesis of two words. I went the simple road.)
Today's "365" Project (Make something that rolls.)
"Return Cycles"
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