Been feeling unmoored lately. The gravitational force of whatever I imagined is holding me to solid ground is weakening beneath me. The great Photoshop Jockey in the sky has reduced my opacity to 50%. Moving that slider with his fiery finger, and having slid, moves on. Is this how it’s going to be? There’s a sense of wonder at the core, but the edges are curling into brittle self-pity. Am I drifting into “bottoms of my trousers rolled” country? Exposing my pathetic ankles (which the dominatrix valiantly tried to strengthen, to no avail)? I must dig into my desk-drawer detritus and find an old hallucinogen and demand answers! Until then, I’ll see how uncontrollable sobbing works. Yeah, I know, #firstworldproblems.   #fuckyou.