She wakes up too early again, but she went to sleep too early, so that is what she gets. She has a long day ahead.

She sits in the dark, with a strange sensation akin to butterflies in her stomach but with a woozy head and a slight aching sadness. She should probably turn off Radiohead's how to disappear completely if she doesn't want to turn into a puddle.

She has just deleted almost 2,000 photographs off her hard drive. This makes her feel a certain peace but a strangeness as well. There are thousands more photographs to delete later.

The song is allowed to play out, as she remembers painting countless works to this music and today she can barely stand it.

She saw a couple of flashes of herself painting over the weekend, happily immersed in a new project. Or was it is obsessed with a new project? Lots of pale painted papers and her characteristic handwriting. Working fevered and hard to get to the bottom of something. Something she can never reach the bottom of.

What is she even talking about now... She is lost in a story of her own design.
The wind is like an ocean outside her window.

x. (no, it's not radiohead)