once her senses acclimated, it became taxing to spend time with people who had not been infected yet: exhausting at best, intolerable at worst. her cornea had grown a new layer that filtered what she saw with an iridescent overlay, showing her what she knew was obviously possible in an otherwise spacetime: because it was, literally, in front of her eyes, occurring in the past and the future and the now but over there, not over here. she also became unable to drown out the incessant crackling and popping static of music from this otherwise. as a result, her peers found her to be frequently distracted, as if there were ghosts in the room (there were) that only she could sense. from their perspective, it was as if she was losing her sight and hearing. she couldn't decide if it was enabling or disabling, to have these evolved senses only to be effectively hindered from being bodymindspirit present in the world that had yet to catch up with her yet. it felt lonely to sense something nobody around her could sense. eventually she decided fuck it. despite feeling more artist than weaver, she must labor to weave the fabric between the here and there, if only to relieve the symptoms of her dis-ease.