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.

So here’s what we got. This is interesting. Are we going to say anything? Sometimes I just don’t know.