(no subject)
Since the very arrival from Mangistau peninsula (report pending), I find myself in a very awkward state. Nights are long and sleepless. Apartment - once safe and cozy, - now feels eerie, lonely and deserted. Thoughts are total mingle-mangle. Perplexing, not to say the most. I can't finish this blasted trip report. Ubiquitous anguish only exacerbates. I'm reading Salinger dans l'original in our summerhouse because I'm afraid of staying inside at nights.
There's also sheen of happiness, though. Wish only i could turn it into a beam.