The past year.

Of late, I've been musing about how the shift in lifestyle's shifted me.

The loss of people and habits hasn't at all gone unnoticed. I've become more independent and free on paper but much less so in practice; in fact, I'm being more considerate and humble than I've ever been. I'm compromising, taking breaths, listening and taking into account criticism and different opinions. And it's killing me off.

Yes, I'm the sponge I always was, the open pages which people write on. But it's worse, much worse because I now live too comfortably to question or to challenge... I know what the terms here are and I stay well inside of them, moulding myself into this form.

There is no will to impress or shock or engage because I sit on dry ground and as long as I take this form, nothing will happen. I eat away at the bits that stick out and polish myself off with sandpaper so I can roll frictionless along this rut.

First time I noticed this I thought I was becoming an adult, but really, I'm well on my way to something far sadder - complete cowardice. Oy Martin, you're back in a week or so - I doubt you'll recognise this new, cautious, wary, me.

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