With shortness of breath, I’ll explain the infinite… how rare and beautiful it is that we exist. - Sleeping at Last
The hour glass is back on my kitchen table, aka the writing desk. She’s been pouring iridescent teal sand for about ten minutes now, and I’ve just been watching the grains move from top to bottom.
The steady march of time, and I don’t want to think about it too hard.
Last time I wrote to you, I was in a state of “do everything shock” because I had just lost my role at the art collective I was a part of for almost six years, and didn’t realize how much I was on the verge of literally everything changing again.
It’s nearly impossible to get perspective in real time. You’re too close to the activity to see the bigger picture.
Do you ever feel like you’ve already done the “big life transformation” thing before and so you start to subconsciously assume you’re “good” but then you realize that change and evolution are ever present? Yeah, fuck.
“You can’t avoid that stuff, unless you want to become more and more bitter…” She whispers to herself as she sips her coffee. Oh yeah, I’m still here. Molly’s inner chorus of voices. Hey, missed ya.
It’s been almost four months since I posted on Substack and the first month and a half I was manic. Truly, just caught in a spinning web of endless tasks trying to fix my life that felt out of control and stuck at the same time. Tell them. Tell them.
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