I feel like a raisin. Starting to look like one too.

The funny part is that the tired is showing on the outside, like a house that’s been painted too many times without being power washed or scraped first. Like crepe paper half-heartedly pasted over a piñata. I understand I’m 57 years old and have been rode hard and put away wet for most of them.

The delayed reactionary way that I deal with past trauma is catching up with my happy ass. Why do I still have nightmares about situations from 20, 30, 40 and more years ago? Why do I still freak out when people come up behind me?  Will the hypervigilance whenever other humans (save for the exception of a blessed few) are around me ever end?

Anxiety is my default no matter how well I mask it. It has been since my earliest memory. Granted, that’s my problem because it’s my reaction, but the older I get the more tedious and exhausting the masking becomes. Sometimes my dearest fantasy is to be left alone so I can put my guard down and just be.

I thought I’d have a bit of fun with a black and white pic of Blue that I printed off in error when I was setting up my new printer. It kind of has a bit of an Andy Warhol vibe even though Blue is neither on acid nor a hippy.

I don’t do much art or writing anymore and that’s sad. I let life get in the way of living, and that’s not healthy. Again, the masking is tedious and probably unhealthy.

I updated my pic on here, with Victorian dress of course. It’s morbid but the historical period that seems to look best on me.