Successful Despair Mindwarp

Amidst the wreckage of academic defeat, I am surprised to find myself in dual universes tonight: the first, where I kneel over broken things, and a second, warm and inviting place, where I apparently have a new gig: an artist residency.

Golly.

I'm excited about this. And terrified.

You asked the other night how we envisioned our future selves. A fascinating question, but too easily blunted by inane chatter. I snatched it out of the air, filed away for later consideration. Our future selves...

I see an ocean; the sand at our feet. We run along as the tide rolls up, splashes against our ankles. Is this the future? The past? I don't know. Probably neither. And both.

I've missed you these last few days: the heat of my routine. I got used to staggering around in the predawn gloom. Purpose. Fire. Impulse. Structure. I daydream about finding a poet to break these words for me. In my fantasy we hold up the paintings for him and he translates. Wonder of wonders, wouldn't that be something to behold?

For the time being, we'll have to get used to walking in the dark.

sheesh.