My body is for loving. For touching. For kissing. For tasting. For spoiling my tummy. For sneaking cookies. For pulling sulky faces. For taking clothes off. For putting them back on. For feeling smoke in my lungs. For fighting neurosis. For untangling my tongue. For swallowing longing, even when it catches in my throat like a lump. For being taken on little walks. For holding hands.

Since October, I’ve been so painfully overworked. It’s had a whole range of negative effects that have seriously lowered my quality of life, but lately I’ve been feeling more and more acutely the loss of my personal style and my ability to express myself freely. I don’t have the time to dress like myself anymore. I can’t afford to own more than one pair of shoes for everything. I don’t have the time to write anything just for myself, from myself. I don’t have the time to take my bike out. And everywhere I turn, all I encounter is insensitivity.