Rather, they’ve been breezing past me like I’ve been stuck in warp mode. Moments have been fleeting, and I can barely remember what I did yesterday. I draw significantly less now, my sketchbook that I proudly acquired in a local flea market lies in my bag most of the time waiting to be grasped and flicked open and marked upon. I’ve come upon the stuff of Eden without a dongle though; Wacoms are beyond reach. Consuming more bits than words. Running less and lifting more. Sleeping a good eight hours every day.

Work is fun. Can’t say I struggle to stay in touch with friends and family, but the pack has grown tighter and more real. Simultaneously, have become numb to the coarse sand and cement texture of the capital’s suburbs; I’m more used to clay and leaves. The air is spicier, the noise follows suit. Suits are aplenty under beacons, but each day I dread more, paying for them.

Hope. That’s all.