Everything’s quiet now; roller-coaster day. Work was manic, home was depressive. I’ve been working on some pretty interesting pieces at Interrobang, only gearing into bigger and better things as the May issue gets closer and closer to print, and focus begins to shift toward the June issue.
Travel around the city. Press events. Interviews. Thunderstorms. And now, the weirdest quiet disturbed only by the keys, the softened clacks of my fingers as I write. Because it’s becoming a habit? Becoming mechanial? It feels dramatic, but maybe I’m just thinking dramatically. Maybe I need sleep. Probably more than probably.