Every morning I wake up somewhere new and I wonder how I will do this. This life, without my comfortable bed always waiting there for me, without my familiar environment always there holding me. And I find I must hold myself like my bed used to, that warm, soft, feathery womb. That I am the environment—Only I am in charge of creating a safe, stable ground. And I breathe into this, knowing the freedom I will gain if I accept this responsibility. This mad task I put myself up to, no longer willing to stay sane because they said so. And I smile into this, knowing I will never stop because I would rather die than be bored shitless, half awake wondering why the wine doesn’t taste as good as it used to.