12 hours of miraculous, pure, innocent sleep. Lame ass excuse. No, not from me. Yet, my severely cutting back my screen time was actually a clinical imperative. Self imposed pause because I'm still strongly contemplating any potentially dangerous folly to my communicating various minutae about my fragile daily life, here. Absolutely no adventure in feeling nor being hunted down. Well-slept or not, I still awoke to a deep sense of creeping dread, anguish, apprehension, worry, and deepening self-doubt. My eternal optimist is cold, dead and buried. In 12 minutes or less, I've my daily shower planned. Clean's not an unreasonable expectation for a day's beginning. My shower soundtrack: Infinity: Guru Josh Project (2008).
But, before I shower, I'll definitely be taking all of my personalized security precautions. That's an imperative.
Not impressing anyone but for yours truly. I am necessarily lonely. My passionate persona aches. Not beset by overwhelming, crippling grief, per se. For now, my regular, increasingly challenging physical workouts act as a warm injection to numb my emotional pain. As tempting as it might be for even subtly, sweetly reinventing myself again from my skin outwards, I'm now far too wise to be willingly participating in those sorts of games, anymore.