July 12, 2018:
You can see the change of life epochs plainly in the change of light.
Before: blue water, blue sky, brown skin, strong shadows, vibrancy, frequently outdoors. Where work and exercise and sex and beautiful happy color all lived hand-in-hand.
After: gray water, gray sky, gray skin, weak shadows, drabness, literally never outdoors unless waiting for a bus. Where work was sedentary, in fluorescent green tint, there was no sex, or wish for sex, or desire to be outdoors, which would have been grayly pointless anyway.
I had no way to know how much I would hate it there. Or that it would last thirty years. I'd always before been excited to be there.
As I write this it's sunny, 78 degrees, birds are singing, I'm on my back on a couch I own writing on a laptop I own in a house full of bookcases and guitars and guitar amps and microphones and plants and tables and washing machines I own. Where I really couldn't give a fuck. It's nothing, not one thing, like home in 78 sunny degrees. The light is always dull here, no matter how warm the air.