Noise bombards me, children demand me.
My time is not my own.
I can medicate with electronic opium (in other words, TV)and get a few minutes peace, but the TV is only two feet from my desk.
No lock on the bathroom, or the bedroom. There is no place that is mine. Even the inside of my head is hijacked by paperwork, real estate, and chaos.
How then can I be myself? How can I create worlds when I can’t even survive my own?
It is temporary, and I love the fun things we’re doing this summer. But a part of me can’t wait for our new house and a place to call my own.