Going back to where I came from in a few days. I prepare to go with a project in mind–I’ll steal a few moments alone here
and there to make use of the rental and drive around my old town. Documentation for research purposes is one way to say it. Feelings
range from place to place–affection for some and a throat-full of bile for others. The visual is just a map back to how things
felt, cul de sac pockets in the brain, the hard-to-reach curved corner of the hippocampus. Then I will print them out, clothesline them over the writing desk and get to work.

Ink idea is the works for Jessica, my exquisite first roommate. I feel compelled to do something for her, in thought of her.
Ever since I found out about her murder, I haven’t been quite thesame. I think about her often. I’ve been in touch with our other roommate,
as she found out about Jess just as recently.We’ve taken to trading our stories back and forth, reminding each other of things forgotten which is the most precious & strange
thing–for someone to tell you so clearly about something you never remembered. Then, there. It’s back as if never gone. There
connection is key for me in dealing with Jessica’s death. It’s also pretty brilliant to have an old friend give you a lengthy
run down on their life and what they’ve been through over the past 8 years. That is exactly what we did for one another–the
summations are asymmetric, as significance is weighed differently in retrospect. In a way, we are talking about another lifetime,
or multiple ones with clumsy progressions. Anyway, it’s been nice to talk with someone who was there. It’s kind of like saying
“this happened and we lived through it.”

More thoughts, always more thoughts, but sleep summons me. Work was long and busy, and my therapy session cracked the
head and heart open. And some things are best when they are stirred up then reabsorbed into the body.