• It's the expression draining from my face. The groans escaping my lips. Retreating to my safe haven once more. This place is my santuary. I've grown weary. There are parasitic tendencies in this maternal treeline. It is destiny. My mother drains me, as her mother did, and as her mother did. Our mothers live very long yet dependent lives. Burdened with sickness at the third quarter point of life. I'm at the one third stage yet I feel as old as they do. Lacking funds and self sufficiency, I'm becoming one with the treeline. It's a curse in this family. What would you have me do to break free from this curse?

  Darling, life is not all bad. I suppose. How can one complain when one has access to internet, fresh water, and food. No life is not bad. My spirit is about as vibrant as pond scum. It is good. Be one with the filth, and nature. Eternally stagnant.

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