my tub. we had a dreadful fight and i went to my forlorn studio. i needed to be in my own space as dreadful as it is. to see the neglect is a hard thing. i was leaving as soon as i got in each time. but it weighed on me. i would not have begun to face it had the cataclysm not occurred. that is not the right way, but how i happened to begin to clean my forlorn studio. 
i have to try again in talk therapy. something feels missing in me that was missing long ago, that produced such anxiety. plus the existential anxiety of living in a society in moral decay, a society resembling cancer more than cooperation or sustainability or love. i feel the vast indifference of society, the vast shallow weight of human existence on top of me. i feel the stifling patriarchy in every part and i feel my patriarch long dead still somehow ruling me and stifling me.