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0067. { 2 for 2022 }

( 01.04.21 ) 01.04.22 I'm so rested. It's a peculiar kind of rested where I'm freshly home from vacation - my LI isolation (lol). We slept, watched shows/movies, ate (mucho), watched salty water in the fog, waved and shouted to my quarantined mother, talked on the phone before midnight - together even while apart. Lived, it was the fittest ending for shit year numero dos ~ 2021! Even so, it's tough to let go. Today I noticed that I've written '21' for four days now. I don't know about you but for me the transition is always like this, inadvertently I write the wrong year for days, sometimes longer. It's weird b/c I'm always jubilant for a new year - 12 whole months to fill with new dreams, goals, ideas. Or old ones, you know - important tasks ignored and forgotten. They are me and I am them. It's the reason I find myself struggling with my studio - the sheer volume of 'me' is real. My journals and papers - trash to anyone else but pr

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