09/17/19: It’s late, and I’m in the studio alone. Sound moves differently when the building is vacant. Every dripping faucet, every distant siren, feels like a threat that didn’t exist during the day. Then again, I’ve been on edge lately. Scattered. There’s something about these harsh lights that makes even my own paint-stained hands look foreign to me as I work. Fingertips that aren’t mine, trembling like leaves.