I look out to my left and I look to my right

Small competencies welcome me back: ripping paper, inking a roller, slowing the press wheel with my hip. Muscle memories. The quality of work at this point is irrelevant; a state I hope I can maintain for a while at least. The light is lovely, the studio is airy (though heady with the scent of white spirit and meths) and the kettle boils quickly. There are of course no teaspoons.

I think it might be going to be OK.