Days, weeks almost, go by and I rarely see the light of day from the four walls of my home. It's vaguely depressing. AM's are spent eating a hurried bowl of instant oatmeal and finding socks. I get home at a decent hour, 7is, but I am so tired I usually am sleeping within the hour. By home I don't mean any of those. I mean home and doing the things I love: cleaning the floor or making my bed. Seriously, the state of my house...
I believe that if I spent more waking time here, I would be more grounded. But, there are only so many hours in a day, week, year. Sleep and wake and dream are tangled together in the sheets of my unmade bed.
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