The long term missed deadline. Freelance existential misery is self-inflicted torture

Not doing a piece of work that has been long due is the loneliest place in the world

Deserts. Landscape as metaphor.

I write from the dog bed on the flat’s tiny balcony absorbing the last of the warmth and UV light. The coming end of summer is always a sad time, especially when for most of the last few months I’ve barely left my desk, let alone the neighbourhood.

Staying home didn’t bother me especially, there’s no self pity to see here …