Graveyard Dirt: Two Worlds and In-between

Empty Interface

Sometimes I'm afraid there's nothing more to me other than "housewife" these days. (It's present in every thought, in every breath, in every motion.) I wake up most mornings and sit in front of an empty interface and stare at the blank screen, remembering a time when all I had to do to get into work mode was just turn on the fucking computer.

And that was //work//; that was pulling something entirely unplanned out of my ass and going with it for an hour or two. This? This is my life, my daily thoughts. I don't need to be creative for this. It's all here, sitting in figurative piles, and all I have to do is pick up //one// thing - one memory, one conversation, one feeling, one thought, one action - and record it.

I can't do that, not anymore.

(I wake up most mornings and sit in front of an empty interface and stare at the blank screen, remembering a time when all I had to do to get into work mode was just turn on the fucking computer.)