My house feels smaller than usual lately, and colder -even with the air conditioning off; It’s like a crypt, and I have been interred herein with my wife and daughter for weeks, only leaving to go to the store and to work when there is work on-site to be done. The monotony and isolation have made me increasingly weary and anxious. I know others are dealing with this same blight, not the plague at hand, but a different plague of the mind, one that dims the spirits and suffocates joy; a persistent and virulent malaise that wreaks havoc on those of us who are perpetually restless and without the balm of something, anything to do outside of our homes.
So, here I sit in my home office, plunging deeper and deeper into a bleak head-space. I can only distract myself from my thoughts for so long before they creep through, penetrating as worms through soil after a fresh rain. This house is a dungeon, and I am its captive, neither dead nor living, but a host for parasites and demons, an incubator for pitch-black misery.
I will try my best to continue writing and posting on this site. It’s been a while now since my last album review, or anything. It’s funny in a way, I always said “I could do so much more if I only had the time” and now I’ve got all the time I could need and have done nothing with it but sulk. We want a thing, plead for it, and when we get it, find ourselves disappointed and wishing to return to before.
It could be worse, though, and for many it is. Reach out to your friends and family, talk to them and tell them you love them. Have a conversation. Take care of each other and yourselves.
Towers of Rust 