No One Home.

No One Home.

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This recording, starting around spring 2006 and ending somewhere a year later (spring 2007?) is pretty self-explanatory. I never listened to my answering machine. I watched the message count grow, guessed at who might be calling, and stubbornly avoided confronting whatever it was that was growing in the entryway. Not calling. Calling. Pleading. Guessing. Not giving up. Fucked-up and Making Up. I was an asshole.