This mess.

Residency drawings, my scary desk, nail paint.

Before

Look at the open desk space. It’s the size of a loaf of bread. Is there room to pack a shipment? I know there isn’t because I’m attempting to wrap something with tissue paper on my chair. Great for my lower back. Is there enough desk space to make a painting? Pish. Enough visual calm to support a regulated nervous system? Posh!

I’m starting this dispatch with a view from my desk from five months ago. Since then, I’ve marked the days with slow systemizations and clearing junk away, one ruthless gesture at a time.

Everything in its place.

If it isn’t serving me, it goes.