All the intentions of writing regularly go out of the window when I find everything I want to write about is something negative. And I’m more tired, and incoherent than not when I want to. These feelings, tangible and intangible, make my writing suffer. Most times I want to care, but I don’t. Other times, I care, and try to write on paper, especially now with electricity outages occurring as if they’ve been paid to do so. Writing on paper is easy access, and reliable. It’s also less about editing and more flow. Even that, though, isn’t remedying the restlessness, the inefficiency in me. Exercising, long walks, music; nada. Meditation just makes me sad, and is always being interrupted by family. I want to return to gicagi. I’ll trade red spiders with smooth skin for non-productivity and feeling overwhelmed by anything. I’ll trade hot rooms, being awake at 2 am after sleeping four hours, I’ll stay in darkness and shower in a room I don’t like to write and write well. To put things out that feel like what I want them to be. To have space to feel, and think, and execute my plans. To ge back to writing, and writing well.