rough draft

where have i been?
why have i forgotten this fabulous place that exists out of time and space and is made of words and pictures?

to tell the truth, i have been afraid. 

i feel too much. it is too much to find words for. 
or rather, it's too hard to find words for. 
which is just another definition of cowardly, isn't it, though.

all right. let's clear the air. 

i've been floating in the ether, just waiting. catatonic since March. my fate will be decided at an indeterminate time by undetermined people who may or may not have actually met me. 
in the mean time i wait. 
and i lie under the duvet. 
and i periodically i have to talk about it which causes further retreat. sometimes tears. i can't always get my stories straight. 

my self is eroding. 

if it was ever there to begin with. i have entirely too much time on my hands which leads to, of course, existentialism and a general shiftiness about being alive. 

i have, apparently, too many blog posts built up inside from the past 6 months that i just want to vomit out here, but i don't do that any more. 

i don't write that well any more, but we'll see about that. i need to come back here and not not-eat the feels. 

maybe there is something in the ether to hold on to. 
maybe it's just my own feet, but hey, that's something.