Every week, I travel back in time.

When an artist decides to stop tells you something about them.

They say when you travel back in time, it’s harsher than traveling forwards. Ask me how I know; I’ve prepared my whole life for this shedding of a single day. I have bulging packets of ticket stubs, crossed-out dates, second chances.

Traveling into the past shakes the body, spills the mind. For days after travelling I sleep twelve-hour nights, nap throug…