O solitude, my sweetest choice,
Places devoted to the night,
Remote from tumult and from noise,
How ye my restless thoughts delight!

Antoine Girard de Saint-Amant (1594-1661)

I wish I had marketable skills.

Oh wait...

I wish the arts were still considered marketable skills.

There. Fixed that for me.

There's a fine line between comfort clutter and depression squalor and boy do I walk that line like Johnny everloving Cash

The amount of things I *don't need* continues to boggle my mind.

It's disquieting to realise that I would have probably been put in an asylum for my mental health problems, had I lived a hundred years ago.

When you realise there's no point in keeping all the lovely things you'd collected and found for your future life together.

Loss trifecta: my Dad, my 'nephew' cat, my relationship. 3 kinds of grief wrapped up in a loss of self, and future.

I'm so tired.

I'm tired.