0128

• Finished knitting another scarf! Knit it in broken rib stitch with the rest of the chunky dark blue yarn. The stiffness makes it useful for covering my face.
• Made a nice beef & bean stew; it covered 4-5 meals. Two of those were replacing a pasta dinner. I'm going to add in olives (this week) and hope that they complement the beef.
• My brother talked me into buying a Framework computer (my sister'll buy my mac off of me; all of this is a consequence of the current debacle). I'm excited! I like their emphasis on right to repair—sure, I'm no computer hardware nerd, but I like having that option. I'll also have more than two ports again; halle-fucking-lujah. Modular ports are also cool.
• Listening to: Open Book (Fred Hersch), The Call Within (Tigran Hamasyan), Stick Season (the album & the song; Noah Kahan)

0207

updated: 0131, 0202, 0203, 0207

0211

• The computer woes have sorted themself out.
  • I'm relatively certain the charging issues were due to using Apple anything; using a non-Apple USB-C cable has yet to drain the battery.
  • I switched from EndeavorOS to BunsenLabs and have not had any more issues with the display. I'd spent time going through some forums; the display issue seemed to be related to using an Arch-based distro. The solutions I found were confusing enough for me to realize I'd like something more stable & less hands-on. BunsenLabs is based on Debian, which internet forums claim is pretty stable . . ?
  • Using a windows manager (Openbox) is not as difficult as I worried it would be. (My dad seems to think windows managers are impossible to use...he has a computer using one of 'em (i3) and claims it took him months to figure out how to open/close/change/tile windows. His complaints instilled unnecessary fears. LOL). There's still a slight learning curve, but no worse than getting used to any other interface; if anything, I'd call it more intuitive than any GUI I've used recently. I'm just spending more time using a keyboard than clicking around some (clunky) GUI.
  • ...reading through the forums is also becoming a guilty pleasure. 'Useful' my ass, I just like browsing a forum. (The forums have been helpful. The 'must wait five minutes between searches' is annoying, but eh). I like reading distrohoppers anonymous.
  • Laptop-specific things: I HAVE A NORMAL KEYBOARD AGAIN. Or a keyboard that's more-normal than Apple's butterfly keyboards. I don't like the sound of keys clicking, but there being depth to what I'm pressing is very nice. Having a slightly larger screen is an adjustment; I don't need to hide things to save visual space the way I used to. My sidebar is visible! What is this nonsense.
• Website-things: I'm working away on a few more pages related to my math classes. Filling in some gaps in knowledge along the way, so yay. The site's beginning to feel a bit bloated, but I'm also pleased with the expansions. The math pages are great for getting some studying done; been a good way for me to get in the hours while also having fun with the website. Something about writing good ol' HTML (and making minor changes to CSS) is so comforting. I have two major math tests this week (in diffeq and discrete), so I'm trying to push myself to finish typing up all the things from those two classes.
  • ...I have an excess of links I need to add to the link directory. That page is due for a reorganization too.
• I correctly corrected a professor on an error in the homework :) anxiety-inducing but worth it.
• Spent more time practicing driving. I am not ready to leave the parking lots yet, but I am getting better at making turns. Kept braking way too hard today. Also: dumped some money into investments. +2 for adulting.
• Somewhat abandoned all of the books I was 'currently reading.' The list is now two books: Speaker for the Dead (Orson Scott Card) and Letters to a Young Mathematician (Ian Stewart). The first is a slow read---I've only gotten through the introduction, and have been too unfocused to give it the time it deserves. I've no doubt that it's going to be a good read (I mean, I'd rate it a 'v' on basis of the introduction. That's rare). The latter book is an easy read; it's given me a few books to read & people to look into. I'd like to spend more time reading about mathematicians and the philosophy of math.
  • I have two more in-progress books that I'm saving for spring break: The Man Who Laughs (Victor Hugo) and Naive Set Theory (Paul Halmos). I'd tried to restart the former last week, but it being a month since I'd picked it up left me a bit disoriented. Nice book, but very slow, and certainly not one for reading bits and pieces of between classes. The latter is one I'd started last year, set aside, and never picked up. I'd liked the set theory unit we did in Discrete Structures I and wanted to read more about it.
  • Speaking of books...does anyone have recommendations for graphic novels, or graphic novel memoirs? I tend to prefer slow, slice-of-life style works. I've read most of Julia Wertz' work and found her trashy, nihilistic sense of humor funny. Bonus points for characters who are lonely, depressed, self-aware, or depressing.
• Listening to:
  • Deleted Scenes From the Cutting Room Floor - Caro Emerald
  • The Shocking Miss Emerald - Caro Emerald - I'd not heard the live (in Glasgow) performance before. It's fun.
  • Dancing With a Ghost - Valencia - somehow turned into good music to study to. I know the lyrics, but none of it's memorable, so it makes for comforting background noise.
  • Things Are Swingin' - Peggy Lee - I'd been craving the soundtrack from Queen's Gambit. 'Fever' appeared in one episode. The rest of the album is nice. There's a bit of call-and-response style parts between the vocalist and the instrumentalists.
  • Bathtub Gin - The Speakeasies' Swing Band! - clarinet my beloved <3
  • (Discography) - KIRA - guilty pleasure music.

Links

• The System's Neatest Trick made a handful of interesting points. Notably: activism (for various causes) shifts from rebellion to default/expected behavior, and forms of rebellion are normalized. I'd disagree with his footnote and say that a definition of "The System" would improve understanding of his arguments. On the other hand, his larger body of work may provide better context for the arguments he's trying to make.
• Onliners and Mental Illness had a nice quote:

  This conglomerate of fakely self-diagnosed people, will never realize that in fact, those mental issues are just sprouts of an utterly rotten tree, which is modern society. Men are animals believing they are Men, and animals are not supposed to stare at a monitor screen 12 hours a day inside a blacked out room eating ultra processed food and drinking fluoride concoctions, and without any real human interaction.

Two pieces of media to note. I've been listening to the 2009 musical adaptation of The Count of Monte Cristo. Three songs I like:

• A Story Told - so sinister. The percussive parts are nice. The brass on the offbeats emphasizes the lyrics quite well. Love the brief harmony near the end; very minor-keyed. I'm always fond of the sort of fast-paced back-and-forth; ex "you imply a little / lie a little / testify and try a little sailor."
• Every Day a Little Death - 3/4 is still one of my favorite key signatures (6/8 is the other). I like how the clarinet(? and oboe, maybe some strings) parts build on each; one on the and of one, another on the two, another on the and, etc. Also: the lead lady has a full voice! Whenever I'm clicking through albums, I hear so many bad women's voices; too many sound weak, unpolished, untrained. This one's good.
• Hell to Your Doorstep - <3. The sudden electric guitar (everything before this was a normal full orchestra) is a lovely addition; helps give this song the necessary harshness. The harsh brass, the timpani, the whirling strings, racing tempo...perfect. Revenge in a nutshell. Has some nice lyrics:

  The world is a place
  where the villains wear a smile on their face
  While they take what you can never replace
  Stolen moments gone forever
  
  But tables can turn
  As my enemies will soon enough learn
  I will strike a match and then watch them burn
  On the pyre of obsession

  You'll pay any price
  If you think it's free

  I'll deliver hell to your doorstep dressed in rich facade
  Then, I'll burn you to the ground like an angry god
  Once you're in my shining cathedral heed the tolling bell
  It's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell

Sold a Story - podcast - nonfiction - what the fuck? Talk about the death of reading. No wonder illiteracy, not being able to spell words, and people hating reading are widespread issues. "Sold a Story" goes over how the influence Marie Clay's theory of how people read. She thought that people learned to read in the same way they learn to talk; if you're exposed to words, you'll figure out how to read. Per her theory, if you find a word you don't understand, you try to guess what it could be based on the context, first letter, and pictures. (Notice how "sound out a word" or "look it up in the dictionary" aren't part of the process). Her theory wasn't based on science, but her "Reading Recovery" program was a widespread 'solution' to illiteracy. The relationship between written and verbal language is important for learning to read. (This is a simplification. There's neuroscience explaining it). Taking phonetics out of it—which is what Marie Clay did—is damaging. Being able to read (sound out) the words is integral for being able to understand what one is reading. Guessing at what words appear in the text will not help someone learn to read. As the podcaster says, guessing turns reading into a painful detective game which will turn people off of reading.

Another tidbit of the week: Went out to dinner at a nice local place. The fried pickles w/ some spicy sauce were <3. The short rib poutine was okay. I don't really like fries, and soggy fries (with too much bbq sauce? I don't like bbq sauce, it's too sweet) are even worse. The meat and cheese curds were good, though. The restaurant had live music; some meh no-name guitarist. He played a cover of Stick Season, which was fun to hear.

No, I'm not fine. What gave that away? I hate falling into random crying spells; there's never an exact reason why. One minute I'm fine and then I'm crying for no discernable reason. I'm so very tired. The mental fatigue far outweighs any physical fatigue. Both have roots in reality—exercise contributes to physical fatigue, the sheer amount of time spent studying contributes to the mental fatigue. Alas. To exist is to be in a permanent state of exhaustion. Coffee can mask it, if I'm lucky; this is infrequent. Exhausted and fatigued may not be the right words to describe what I'm feeling. Whatever I'm trying to describe ain't positive, or even neutral. Languorous? Malaise? Drained? Glum? Melancholy? Weary? Lugubrious? Down . . ?

I'd been going somewhere with this. Something about loneliness? My classmates are husks of people. I'm not certain they're human. And before you say "you're not much of a human yourself, missy," I'll have you know that I'm in the habit of participating in class. In a room of 40-50 people, I am the sole hand-raiser. On online discussion boards, I am the one asking and answering questions and engaging with the text. (My linear algebra class is discussion-based—ex. talking about the proofs. There's more to life than manipulating numbers/data points). The bar is low, but—unlike many of my many classmates—I comfortably clear it. I'm boasting. I wouldn't call myself a good student (certainly not by my standards); I just do the work. These classes are sad. My peers don't appear to care about their education. They sure seem to crave good grades, and are capable of whining about tuition, and then whine about doing classwork. What's that? The textbook and homework have a purpose? You need to study? The shock! The horror! How dare the professor not spoon feed you knowledge and hand you an A on a silver platter.

The second sentence of that paragraph is sort of innacurate. Many of my classmates are busy texting people during class; or they're talking to other people (friends?) who are in the class; evidently they do talk to people. They meet up with people and do things with people. They aren't interested in the material covered in their classes, though.

Who's there to talk to? Real life people are boring and always have better people to talk to. Internet people say "email me," but they don't respond to emails. Maybe they'll respond to one email. Then they ghost you. Not that any-fucking-person is interesting. Oh, right. I'd been contemplating being resigned to being alone. Talking to others consistently has the same result. The plotlines vary—albeit rarely, most being a minute variation of the same handful of themes (a change in tempo, a sharp here, a seventh there, a change in key if adventurous), only with one person can I say that the set of possible plotlines/themes/etc. significantly deviated from anything prior—but the end is the same. Is there another option?

The list of people I've known—most, if not all?, being acquaintances, bullies, or family—is longer than an avid reader of my site would be aware of. Yet the endings are the same. The how of ending has minute variations—either someone wasn't around anymore, I started deliberately ignoring someone, aaaand I can only think of one exception to this. Hey, I can find one rule that's yet to have an exception: nobody listens to me. Why should they? They talk to me because they want to talk at someone and I'm a willing party. They aren't interested in me. Oh, maybe they'll say the right words and convince both of us that they're interested—yet opening my mouth is a surefire way to kill the conversations people have with me. "You're a shit conversationalist" because nobody wants to hear what I have to say. Doesn't matter. An ending is an ending is an ending. Nothing lasts; woe is me.

I found myself rereading part of chapter 5 of this fic. Dante & Vergilius waking up beside one another is so sweet. Tooth-rotting fluff. The scene itself is less memorable over time; yet there's still something about it. The sort of...implicit trust in sleeping next to someone? For the two of them, I mean. Dante describing how they disentangle is, again, sweet. They're savoring every detail. Just sounds nice is all.

I think I've lost interest in knitting. A week or two ago, I decided to make a pile of granny squares. I was going to try a wide variety of stitches, use up the rest of my mom's old yarn stash, and stitch the squares together to make a blanket. Instead, I took 1-2weeks to knit a handful of rows of one square. I tried starting a new square today, and unwound it before I finished casting on. Getting myself to work on knitting anything has been like pulling teeth. Since finishing that last scarf, I'd started—and unwound—a hat, fingerless gloves, a crop top, another scarf? all of these abandoned projects blend together. I don't want to knit anything. The blanket was the kind of thing I wish I wanted to knit—it'd be practical (for learning and for fulfilling my need for one more blanket). Why do I keep wishing I wanted to knit? Knitting would mean working towards a tangible goal. I could use up my mom's old yarn (visually: can see the yarn bin grow empty), and I could make something that fulfills a purpose.

I'm already tired of Animal Crossing. Redesigning two of the rooms in my house was enough for me. I started cleaning up the island, but I don't care to continue. I'll probably forget about the game for a few months, play for a weekend, rinse and repeat. Still: I want to want to play. Such an odd distinction---wanting something vs. wanting to want something. I think Animal Crossing could represent another set of goals to work towards; albiet goals which serve no purpose in the real world. Redesigning my house, redesigning the island, and filling up the museum are clear things to work towards. They have end points and, with enough dedication, they have timely endpoints. I could dedicate an entire weekend to getting those last few sea creatures, fish, insects, and paintings for the museum. And then what? Maybe I get a brief moment of satisfaction. Pseudo-satisfaction. One massive time-sink with no real-world purpose. Nothing is gained; time is lost. Sure, if I did this, I would never think about spending / wasting time on those pseudo-goals. Yet more pseudo-goals would take their place.

I have no short-term goals. All I can do is keep hoping something will work out in the long term---my studying will pay off, I'll learn to drive, I'll (have the money to) move out, I'll be good enough for grad school, I'll have a job I don't hate, I'll be able to homestead. Then I'll spend the rest of my life dealing with livestock 'n food 'n self-sufficient shit and reading and writing and rotting. If I don't rot to death before then. That's the closest to a better life I can imagine. I won't be happy, but I'll be free of society---or closer to free---so there's one problem taken care of. Then I can be the only human causing myself problems :D. Dealing with livestock will be a problem (and being more subject to the weather? Part of me wants to go the whole extra mile: build my own home, not rely on electricity, genuinely do everything myself. The whole shebang. In reality, refrigeration is useful, heating is nice, and running water is also pretty great. Aaaaand I don't read enough about homesteading to know what to expect. On the other hand, I don't expect a decade-plus long desire to disappear over night).

Reaching these long term goals won't make me feel content. I'll feel like I've checked another item off the todo list. It won't be enough. Nothing will ever be enough. My life could be perfect and I'd still be a list of negative emotions; certainly I wouldn't (can't?) experience positive ones. I can't imagine a genuinely better life for myself. I'll just isolate myself further and further, and then I'll be able to spend months without seeing another human. And then what? Ten bucks says I'd kill myself. If I didn't manage to do so before then. Still slipping into old bad habits, so who knows.

Checking books off my to-read list is a way to pass the time. Reading is useful. Reading is comforting. Reading serves a purpose. I can take a break from reading and know I'll come back to it. It's not my favorite thing to do right now, but if I give in and take a break, I'll either end up rotting on the floor and/or wasting time on worse things. I've just hit a slump is all. My "i don't want to do anything, please let me not exist for a while" has reached a familiar height. This too shall pass. I have classes two days a week; one of those days was cancelled, so I've not gone to class for six days. Maybe the brief lack of structure made it easier to sink, or contributed to a sudden decline in mood. So...I don't want to read. I don't want to do anything. What a sad hack of me.

Playing Animal Crossing uncovered another itch I'm resisting the urge to scratch: Age of Empires II. (Or Civilization V. But AoE outranks it every day of the week). I only ever played it on an iMac that was older than I am; my dad might have the game's disk somewhere. I remember there being one part of a campaign I kept getting stuck on. I needed to defend a village for 15min, or was it .5hr? That'd've been when I only got .5hr of computer time a day. And you can bet your ass I saved my computer time for playing that game. Who needed Movie Star Planet, abcya, or Khan Academy when you could be strategizing warfare and protecting villages? (...actually, Khan Academy, Codeacademy, FreeCodeCamp, and AoE would compete with one another. I had a whole hour of screen time on non-school-days, though, so I could split my time between both on those days. Yes, I was a nerd. Leemee alone).

More game nostalgia comes to mind. Super Paper Mario and Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door still hold a special place in my heart. I beat Super Paper Mario a few times (except for the pit of a hundred trials); never completed Thousand Year Door. I remember getting stuck in the fight against the Shadow Queen and deciding it wasn't worth it. Admiral Bobbery was my favorite party member. I didn't have a favorite Pixl, but I was fond of Dimentio. He was a jester-like character who was actually the villain all along. The opening of the song that plays during his final battle was nice. Merlee's Mansion is another memorable excerpt of the OST; it's in 6/4. I like the version of it that plays outside of her mansion more (than the inside version); celesta(? or a sound-a-like) is pleasing and haunting.

Why post this online? I don't expect that anyone reads these. I can see how many views pages get; it's foolish to think that—of the single digit number of visitors—there's someone who pays attention to this. Skims, sure. But reads? Nah. This makes sense—the games I was talking about are nostalgic and memorable to me. Memories I revisit are mine; the reader—my audience—gets a glimpse of them, but these memories are meaningless to the reader. I can include memories as context, or a nice tangent—some detail that manages to differentiate me from other internet strangers, or says something about me. Fleshes out a stranger's knowledge of me . . ? Personifies me . . ? (If only). Maybe you're reading this and are reminded of something you didn't expect to be reminded of. Maybe something I'm writing about mirrors your own experiences. Or skimming this is how you want to spend three minutes of your day. There are countless reasons why someone might be looking at this.

I'll admit: that sentence is a cop out that doesn't answer the question. Posting things online leaves a door open; there's potential to talk to someone(s), potential to be less alone . . ? I'm recalling a quote from Julia Wertz' Impossible People: "I have no one to share my life with, so I share it with the internet." I think I'm contradicting myself. These journal entries don't give people something to respond to; other pages may give people something to react to (reading, watching, thoughts, linear algebra (I know the proofs need work, and any of my explanations could be better)), but there's nothing here that people want to interact with.

My life is the best it's ever been. Panic attacks used to be a weekly thing; I've not had one in the past year. No person in my life is actively hurting me. I don't feel safe, but I don't feel unsafe. A slew of 'weird mental issues' have disappeared. A significant number of lifelong problems aren't part of my life anymore; I've good reason to suspect most of them were a result of my environment, and one or two other issues may have been diet-related. Life is genuinely better than it used to be. Of course, this isn't enough for me. I'm not happy. I'm not content. I'm not insert-other-neutral-or-positive-emotion-here. I'm still some sad sack of shit who can't be enough for myself or others. Maybe I'm a better piece of shit than I used to be, but I'm still a piece of shit.

Why the discontent? The constant sensation of physical pain weighs me down. There's no point contemplating that problem. All the doctors can do is offer me pills that don't work. I've good reason to think that a significant portion of my pain is 'in my head'; how do you treat a physical pain whose causes are mental?—with antidepressants, of course! (This is sarcastic; while I've only tried three, I can be certain that the rest of 'em won't help me). I keep skimming book descriptions and reviews; none of them seem to offer answers to my plight. Most of them think eating more veggies & doing more yoga will solve my problems. Hmm, maybe ignoring science and becoming a raw vegan who does yoga for 28hr a day / 9 days a week *is* the answer. (...well, being dead would solve a few problems. But there are quicker ways to do that).

Some people think fibromyalgia is somatization of depression. On the other hand—I know, I know, we've done this dance before—I've fit the criteria for depression for the vast majority of my life. This implies I'm not depressed. "Me" is merely a shitty thing to be. What was it that someone said—that I can't change and aren't interested in changing. So it goes.

I'd contemplated somatic (somaticized? Someone correct me; this word is tripping me up) loneliness. The cure for loneliness is to not be lonely. One can be alone without being lonely. Being content in my alone-ness has never solved my problems. Yet I know no person could solve this problem. One quote—from The Fall of Hyperion, by Dan Simmons—comes to mind: "I was no Dante. I sought no Beatrice." There is no Vergil, nor Beatrice, who could guide me through my predicament. Not that I am 'beyond the point of help;' rather, my problems are my own, and it is me—not someone else—who must convince myself to do the work, and only I can do the work. No person could give me answers or cajole me into it.

I don't miss life being worse, but I do miss the creativity that came with it. I needed an escape, so I wrote an excess of fiction—I know I'd surpassed 600k words (between various drafts and revisions) in high school. Hundreds of short stories, and maybe half a dozen novel-length works. I told stories to deal with my problems. I could give pass off my problems to fictional characters, and then they'd have the solutions I didn't: friends, purpose, leaving bad environments, or just plain ol' suicide. My thoughts would wander back to working on stories; I'd had notebooks full of plots, and spent time between classes working on outlines, thinking about my characters, fleshing 'em out and contemplating what they might do next. I had so many things to say.

I miss music, too. I used to spend so much time practicing—I'd do an hour or two a day, most days, because I had that much music to practice. And I'd arrange and compose; I wrote for large ensembles, mostly concert band, so it was a pretty time consuming process. I had so many ideas. Some idea of a song would get stuck in my head, or I'd hear a song and be struck with an idea for an arrangement. Arranging all of Tchaikovsky's works had been a goal of mine; I made okay progress. (Mmk, I'd done March Slav, Nutcracker, Swan Lake, and a few of his smaller works. Not much, but not nothing). Arranging for concert band was time consuming (especially when I did shit by ear), and finishing a piece typically felt like an accomplishment. Until, come to think of it, finishing pieces was so normal and regular that it didn't feel like an accomplishment. Just another item checked off the todo list. Yet another time consuming creation that'll rot in the depths of my computer. My school's concert band did sight-read a few pieces, and perform one, so that wasn't nothing either. I guess working on music did stop feeling meaningful. What a surprise.

Where did all of my ideas go? I keep trying to figure out what changed. What do I need to do to regain my creativity?—be regularly subject to undeserved hurt. Apparently. I have more to say when some rando keeps shoving me down the stairs and I don't feel safe anywhere. (He knew where I lived; it's not paranoia if they really are out to get you). I have more to say when...well, there's a decade of similar instances, I'm sure you can get the idea. I'd started writing two stories in the past ~6months; both of them were written when I felt unjustly hurt, both dropped when the feeling vanished. That ain't a healthy way to generate ideas. Nor something that I can seek out. Even if I could, it wouldn't work right now. Every negative thing feels deserved. I haven't earned the right to have nice things. I haven't earned the right to enjoy things. I don't deserve fun. I haven't earned good grades. I haven't earned friends. I'm not the person I want to be; why should my life be better?

Everybody else, mind you, deserves a better life because they exist. Not me. (Until someone starts to reveal that they're a bit of a whiny lazy arse, in which case maybe not. The less of a stranger someone is, the more judgemental I am of them..? The more willing I am to inflict my views on them..? Unsure. Food for thought). All hail the hypocrite...and what a hypocrite I am. I am the best and worst person; I'll mythologise myself as being better than others---and believe it, fuck knows I'm in need of some good ol' fashioned ego death---while deciding I'm a piece of shit whom society is better off without. Everybody deserves a better life; how I wish to watch the world burn. Nobody is capable of deciding what's best for others; I know what's best for others. Instead of making up my mind, I've made up two minds; a hellhole of a dichotomy. Aha. Ahahahahahaha.

I feel like I've accomplished nothing since finishing high school. I've made a few music videos, and a few visual novels, a handful of fanfics, done some knitting, and . . . ? I guess there's this website. The (deleted) HoL analysis, the Marianas Trench stuff. I earned a decent sum of money, though it was all from surveys & the like, and I spent a third of it on gacha. There's my classwork, some of which I'm pleased with—the Euclid class had me work through books 1-3, all of the Donnie Darko analysis, the final papers on bebop and eyeglass lens (these were separate papers), the Walden paper I'd started to write, the brand guide (a graphic design final), the computing projects (which were a pain in the arse). I guess I have my grades going for me. But those don't mean anything.

I'm wasting away. I keep calculating: I spend 45-50hr a week on school, and then where does the rest of the time go? About 7-10hr of cleaning, mostly doing the dishes. Another 10-12hr on meals, sometimes more when I keep hanging out with family. 3-4hr of other family obligations. 6-7hr of exercise. I go to bed around 10pm, get up around 6. Taking the low numbers from each range leaves me with 41 free hours; 29 with the high range. Dunno how much time hygiene takes up. Or transition times; the to-and-from the library is 20min, doing that 4-5x a week adds up; transport to and from school takes up 3-3.5hr a week, but I spend half of that time doing work (...and the rest listening to my dad's phone calls). I don't read much, but the books I've been picking up have been more time consuming. Speaker for the Dead cost 12-14hr, I think? In a Silent Land was 6-8hr. Snuff was about 2hr.

Funny how once can do so much and still feel like they've done nothing at all. At the time of writing this paragraph, I've been up for four hours. I exercised for .5hr, spend a little over an hour studying diffeq, went to church, read some, wrote a bit. All of this time feels wasted. So very wasted. I don't understand why---I've not spent time engaging in time-wasters. Everything I did was something I meant to do. I wasn't distracted. I got work done, and made progress on things, and crossed things off of my todo list. Got the thoughts out of my head. I don't understand why this time feels wasted; inconsequential; none of what I've done, or am doing, matters. Woe is me. So it goes. Hi-ho.

I do things differently, but the outcomes remain the same. Nothing pans out. Why should doing things differently result in different outcomes, or mean that something pans out, or that something changes? Doing the same ol' thing over and over again doesn't lead to different outcomes; doing things differently doesn't lead to different outcomes. Is there a third option? No. Same and different are opposites. The only common denominator is me. "If there's shit everywhere you go, maybe it's time to check your shoes." Yet slapping on a different personality and trying to be someone I'm not doesn't work. Being myself also doesn't work. Why try different things when I know the outcome? To confirm whether or not I'm right or wrong? I'm always right, though, on predicting how things will go. People are shit at proving me wrong. Not that they know they're proving me right.

This body isn't mine; this face isn't mine; these thoughts aren't mine; this life isn't mine. I am not me. Why?—'me' died four years ago. This shell keeps mimicking life. Sooner or later, the shell will catch up with reality, and everything that remained will die too. I don't believe every sentence in this paragraph; I don't disbelieve them either. So very dead. Resurrection, hah, pls. I wish I knew what to do, but I'm too stupid (to figure it out, or anything else for that matter).

0223

Habitica, for those unaware, is a gamified todo list. It's an RPG where you can only make progress by making progress in real life. Your character levels up, you can get clothing to dress 'em up, and you could go on quests and get cool shit like pets. There were guilds, too, which had a chat, and guild-specific tasks you could opt-in-to.

From 2017-2021, Habitica was my source of motivation. I loved it. I even contributed to it. I popped in and out of guilds. Those were the first times I really got to talk to people about reading—notably, Hiroshima (by John Hersey), Deschooling Society (by Ivan Illich), and a few others which I've forgotten. I was introduced to Darebee and pomodoros. I'd join challenges and spend a month developing one habit, only to drop it the next. Habitica was a way for me to force myself to get things done. I had to complete my dailies, wanted to do my habits on a regular basis, and tried to avoid having overdue todos. Everything was color coded; I didn't want to see tasks turn red; all habits must stay green. I also got to talk to people who shared my interests and goals. How nice was that?

In 2022, someone found an exploit in regards to paid subscriptions. The volunteer moderators—whom were held in high-esteem—did their best to prevent others from taking advantage of this. Staff didn't acknowledge the volunteers' work; consequently, issues regarding how staff treated the moderators became clear. (my summary is poor; here's a better one). After finding out about this, I deleted my account. I had been considering deleting my account for other reasons—I was great at finding ways to waste time on Habitica—but hearing about how staff treated these volunteers was what pushed me to abandon ship.

I've been thinking about Habitica because I miss how much it motivated me. Can I do fine without it?—yeah, I do. But Habitica made my life easier. I wish there were a viable alternative. Am I so pathetic as to rely on imaginary rewards to convince myself to do things? No, that's not it. Imaginary rewards were still rewards. Haven't I moved past that? Isn't getting the work done a reward in itself? I thought so. Then again, most of my work leads to a tangible result (good grades). But I want to push myself to do better than get good grades. My goals are becoming increasingly intangible; instead of items I can work towards checking off, they're habits to build---not even habits. Lifestyle changes . . . ? The sort of thing that should pay off in time, even if I don't know what the payoff looks like. The payoff is merely being a better person, and getting better at what I do. This is a reward in itself; hell, doing so could address my discontent.

idk where I'm going with this. Progress is hard, man. Ciao for now,

Nobody

0224

From The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary (1983):

indulge. allow space or time for, (hence) give rein to. (...) To give free course to one's inclination; to take one's pleasure. (...) 3. To gratify (a desire or inclination); to give oneself up to, yield to.

indulgent. That indulges or tends to indulge; disposed to comply with desire or humour or to overlook faults or failings; not strict or severe; not exercising restraint.

Indulging in one's flaws is a simple task. One may be aware of their flaws, and manage to find comfort in their indulgence. What's the point of doing better? What's the point of doing something different? What's the point in trying? they may ask. Mayhaps our hypothetical person indulges in self-hate. You pathetic imbecile. You don't care. You aren't trying. You don't deserve better. You've earned nothing. Our hypothetical person—this is a headache, let's call him Caecilius—frames these statements as fact. He engorges himself with evidence which justifies his conclusions. To find this evidence, Caecilius must also indulge in reminiscence; he wanders through his memories, and manipulates them to suit his conclusions. Indulging in one's desires over and over and over—to what end? Caecilius has determined that all he is, and all he ever will be, is a steaming pile of shit. He's gotten into the habit of being so self-indulgent that he doesn't see reason to break this habit. Perhaps we'll grant him some grace and say that he's forgotten that he can break his habit. Caecilius can and should do better. But. Caecilius won't. Instead, he decides to indulge in some good ol' fashioned ego-stroking. He knows he's a steaming pile of shit, so he's better than all the piles of shit who don't know they're piles of shit.

Oh, Caecilius. We think—yes, reader, I'm telepathic—he's gone too far. He could've merely acknowledged his flaws. Maybe he didn't need to figure out the origins of his flaws; maybe he did need to, and he can use that knowledge to better move past them. Except Caecilius didn't figure out why he's flawed, did he? All he did was sort through memories to decide why he hates himself. Instead of addressing his flaws, he has created a new one. He could've stopped at any time. He could've decided to work past his flaws. He could've said, "so what if I'm shit? How about I figure out how to stop being shit?" How about, indeed.

Maybe, though, our Caecilius has decided to stop being shit. We can't say "good job" just yet. Caecilius is self-indulgent—that's how he got to this point—so there's a good chance he'll find a way to fuck up trying to do better. Figuring out how to do better is hard. He could indulge in indecision—he's not sure what to do, he has eight different ideas and refuses to make a plan and stick to it. He could indulge in not-knowing. How is he supposed to know what he should do? He—he's in Ancient Rome, by the way—can't ask others what to do, and the books don't offer him any answers, and his head is too stupid to figure it out. Caecilius goes back to rotting in a hell of his own making. He refuses to abstain from his self-perpetuating cycle of self-indulgence. He could exit it, sure, but that would mean exposing himself to discomfort. He may need to become self-aware and genuinely acknowledge his problems. He'd need to work past the pointlessness of doing better without a clear reward.

I think Caecilius needs a counterpart. After all, Caecilius blamed himself for his problems. How about you go find someone who blames others for her problems? Or his; we aren't looking for a diversity hire. What's that? I'm not asking you to kidnap someone! For fuck's sake. You lot can't even follow simple instructions. At least the escort service responds promptly. Class, say hello to Grumio.

The world is shit. People do shitty things and live shitty lives. The people in power can't be trusted. Ideologies prey on people for the sake of spreading ideology. One can't trust people to think rationally, or make good choices, or try to lead decent lives. As quality of life improves, the evils of the world run rampant. Civilization will be its downfall. What's all this got to do with Grumio? Well. Grumio isn't satisfied with the world. He believes that the world can and should be doing better for itself. The world isn't, though. Grumio, like Caecilius, is a bit self-indulgent. He's too aware of the world's problems, and too aware of the solutions. Everything is so fucking obvious to him; why isn't it obvious to everybody else? Grumio understands things that other people—normal people—don't. He's better than other people. Time for him to start stroking his ego. Yesss, he's so much better than other people. He can keep finding evidence for this; maybe he's well read, maybe he keeps talking to people who aren't as good as he thinks he is, maybe he keeps engaging with idiot media. He's better than others, yes he is. The bar is pretty low, since so many people are shit. Hmm. Why can't everybody see what he sees? Why doesn't everybody listen to what he says? Grumio decides to keep indulging in his hatred and self-righteousness.

...class. I'm going to let you in on a secret. (And Grumio, here's your pay. You're dismissed). I can't say much about Grumio. Quite frankly, I don't get his perspective. I'm more of a Caecilius kinda gal, which was probably evident from my previous entries lectures.

Actually, class dismissed. I'm writing this while lying in bed. It's almost 0900; I woke up at 0700. The blankets are warm and cozy, and I'm not in the mood to deal with reality today. Am I being self-indulgent? I've been writing this whole time, instead of idly thinking. I'm in bed, sure, but deciding whether or not my current behavior is self-indulgent means missing my own point. The original draft of this post was self-indulgent. I was ruminating over my flaws for the n-th time. The same ol' post, really, except I'd started looking through the lens of indulgence. Indulging in flaws. Indulging in bad habits. Indulging in ego stroking. I'm making the same errors right now—look at how good I am for recognizing my errors! look at how good I am for doing something different! look at... just tell me I'm good enough—and I'm not sure how to stop.

My instinct was to show off examples of my self-indulgence. The anecdotes are a bit self-indulgent in themselves; I have one about food that sounds more like "look at how good I am for trying to eat better" than "I'm inconsistent and keep mitigating discomfort because lazy." Look at how good I am for reading, for doing what I said I'd do, for making better choices, for being a better student, for . . . (you) get the idea. Alternatively, look at how shit I am for not having friends, for lacking awareness, for being an ignorant prick, for . . . (I don't actually have telepathy, but I know you get the idea). Am I attention-seeking? A litany of "look at me"s sounds attention-seeking. Loneliness rears its ugly head. Food for thought.

My daydreams are a clear sign of how lonely I am. They return to a few themes which are an excellent guide to what I crave. Per my daydreams: I want to have relationships with people in the offline world. I want to be around physical bodies, not just disembodied voices. My brain wanders to social situations which I navigate with ease; I'd rarely err, and I'd easily remedy my mis-steps. I'd make jokes, and references, and people get them. I'd be someone people could depend on. I'd go out of my way to be there for someone. I'd make people smile, make 'em laugh, make 'em feel good, and---yeah, I'd fuck someone too. All of this is self-indulgent. My mind wanders, and I enter an imaginary world that feels good. It's a lie, yet it feels good in the moment, but it's an utter fucking lie.

Where am I going with this? Where can I go? I can tell (you) that I'm trying to be less self-indulgent. I can say that framing daydreaming as self-indulgent has (temporarily) made it easier for me to snap out of daydreaming. I can tell you this, or I could tell you that. I'm not a self-help blogger, thank Merlin. Really, if I turn into an advice-dispenser, you have my permission to hang me from the stanchions and eradicate every trace of my existence. Also: take my word as an example of what not to do. If I say 'be kind to your neighbor,' you should expropriate their property for an illegal dumpster. That sortta thing.

I've lost the plot. Best wishes,

Nobody

0225

Listening to: jazz! I've spent years telling myself I should listen to more jazz. Aaand I was right :D I like the swung rhythms, and can find upbeat music that I actually enjoy listening to. I love hearing proper instrumentation; gimmee those big bands. The sound is full. There are clarinets. It's also fun to hear how some singers / instrumentalists will riff off of each other. Recurring names:

• Keely Smith; particularly her duets with Louis Prima or Frank Sinatra. Highlights: The Lip, How Are Ya' Fixed for Love, Nothing In Common, That Old Black Magic.
• Glenn Miller. Highlights: Pennsylvania 6500, Yes My Darling Daughter, Isn't That Just Like Love, A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square, Make Believe Ballroom Time, Beat Me Daddy Eight to the Bar, In the Mood.
• Benny Goodman. Highlights: Let's Dance, Sing Sing Sing, Get Happy, After You've Gone
• Ray Brown. Highlights: Cool Walk, Lined with a Groove, After You've Gone

Most of the jazz I listened to when I was younger was by Count Basie or Duke Ellington. I'd go between them and Dave Matthews (stop judging me, these were the only CDs my parents let me use!), which gave my mom whiplash.

Other media of the week: I watched a slime tutorial for The Count of Monte Cristo. Well, it was actually a pro-shot of *clears throat* Der Graf von Monte Cristo. (part one, part two, part three, part four). Turns out the musical was in German. Some kind soul uploaded it with English subtitles, so I got to spend two hours watching an okay musical. Thomas Bochert plays Edmond in both the original German and in the English translation (the latter is what I've been listening to for the past few weeks); he has a great voice. Deep, rich, full . . . seriously, very nice vocals. He's what makes the musical worth watching. German Mercedes—the stressed syllables in her name are different in German—was also pretty good. The singer's voice was slightly different when she plays the younger and older Mercedes; you can hear the difference between her idealistic, naive self and her disillusioned, weary self.

"Every day a little death" hurt to see. Edmond is being beat, while him and Mercedes are still singing about their love. Then fucking Mondego lies to her. "I know those eyes / That man is dead" brought tears to my eyes. Our two lovers reunite after all these years, and it's complicated. Mercedes did betray Edmond, in some sense. She was told he died, though, and she didn't exactly move on from him in thought. Just in action. I can't exactly blame her for finding solace in the one man who stood by her side and comforted her. Also, fuck you, Mondego. Ruining a relationship because you think you should be the one to 'get the girl' is such a shitty thing to do. Telling her that her husband died so that you can swoop in and work towards being the object of her affections? In all that time it took to win her trust, it never once occured to you that you're being a bad person? And then spending / wasting your years with her as a drunk, ignorant, cheating husband and father. He can't even be grateful for what he has. Greed was his downfall.

On a happier note: Abbe Faria was a lovely character to meet. He was a kind old man who gave Edmond an education while they worked together to escape the Château d'If. He should've lived longer. The pirate lady was fun. She pits Edmond against another sailor in a battle to death; however, Edmond stayed true to his values and merely disarmed the lad. This made the scene where he does kill someone much more impactful. Anywho. Edmond gains a loyal friend who stays by his side through his revenge schemes.

Another piece of media (and a long tangent):

I rewatched part of Blue Period. It's an anime where a high school student, Yaguchi, discovers his love for art. The show is mediocre—I wouldn't recommend it, but I wouldn't dissuade someone from it—and cliche. Yaguchi's passion for art is what made the show rewatachable. He sets out to become the best he can be. What he lacks in skill, he makes up for with his drive to do better. He studies and practices like there's no tomorrow. He makes mistakes and learns to do better. I—fine, I just might go as far as calling it inspiring. Might. Okay, 'inspiring' is too strong a word. Still, I liked it. Maybe I should get around to reading the manga? The anime stops after Yaguchi is accepted to art school. In high school, I liked reading Genkaku Picasso and Bakuman, which were both about art. (Bakuman was by the same people who did Death Note). Could be a good way to waste time.

Are there other manga which I will one day request from the library? I've thought about reading Kakegurui. The anime was fun—a constant stream of gambling done in a very sexual manner. The extremes to which the characters were willing to go were delicious. Yumeko practically spent the series getting off to the sheer thrill of the risks she'd take. Kirari had this magnetic presence to her; her hair and blue lipstick contributed to this. The opening—watch it, it's good—is a gluttonous feast. I know I shouldn't read the manga.

I think I'm just in a mood for some manga or anime. Maybe I'll rewatch Tatami Galaxy. Was the only new-to-me anime I've seen in the past year, and it was nice. Or finish Komi Can't Communicate. Her and I, we're one and the same. Could watch Cardcaptor Sakura—that was the first manga I read, way back in elementary school. Memories of it go hand-in-hand with Hikaru No Go. They were the only manga in the kids section which I liked enough to read (and reread).

Hmm. My mind wanders back to reminiscing over other media I've consumed and re-consumed. My most reread books would be House of Leaves, Slaughterhouse 5, Fight Club, The Nocturnal Academy (series; Ethan Somerville), All the Wrong Questions (series), and Darth Bane: Path of Destruction. My most reread manga is Assassination Classroom (this scene from the anime lives in my head. Sometimes, Koro Sensei's speech is the kick in the ass I need). My most reread graphic novel is V for Vendetta. My most reread fanfic is The Arithmancer—and if you can read that and decry all fanfiction as teenaged trash, there's something wrong with you.

These media all say something about me, more or less. The Arithmancer follows the trials and triumphs of an ambitious girl. It's about ambition, power, and standing up for what you believe in. It's also the reason why high-school-me tried her hand at a few linear algebra textbooks. V for Vendetta follows a man who recruits a woman into resisting an overpowered government. I've no doubt that its anarchist tendencies influenced my own beliefs. It's also why I know that anarchy != chaos. Assassination Classroom is about ambition, hard work, and overcoming flaws. Sure, it's set in a classroom where the students are supposed to kill their teacher, but damnit! Koro Sensei is a good teacher. He stands next to Professor Icarus Abbacus—from the Nocturnal Academy—as one of my favorite fictional teachers. He pushes his students to do better and won't let them get away with slacking off.

Darth Bane is another round of hard work and ambition, albeit for a less-noble cause. The Nocturnal Academy features a bit of the same, but maintaining good relationships is another key part of the story. The main character, Alice Dibble, is a bog-standard smart student with a subpar social life. Her struggles mirrored mine; I often found solace in her. Her relationship with Professor Abbacus is what makes this series stand out. The two of them go from being enemies, to being on speaking terms, to him being a mentor, to considering each other friends. They have their ups and downs. Watching the two of them, and their relationship, evolve is heartwarming. There's one book where she slaps him and calls him out on his bullshit (in front of some other teachers!); love it.

Might as well end my litany of "things I learned from reading" by talking about All the Wrong Questions. Lemony Snicket's quartet focuses on loyalty, being well-read, and doing the right thing (even when this means disobeying adults). I often wished that I, too, would be kidnapped and recruited for the VFD.

I'm not certain I learned anything from House of Leaves, Slaughterhouse 5, or Fight Club. Did these books have things to teach? I'm not certain. House of Leaves focused on obsession—but not ambition—, love, and loss. It gave me a taste of classic literature, a hint of film history, and an introduction to what else one could do with a book. One of my novellas would not have existed without it. Without Fight Club, my short audio dramas would not have existed. Without Slaughterhouse 5? ...I don't know. I'd file it next to Nausea, with both of them under "books I frequently reread (past tense) for reasons no longer discernable to me."

I could go on. I've read, and reread, many, many things. Maybe I'll expand on this later.

Until writing this entry, I hadn't realized how much I was drawn to tales of ambition. Scratch that: I didn't realize I was drawn to ambitious characters. I could name a few more which come to mind. I won't. Am I drawn to their ambition, or am I drawn to their obsession? I do know I have a soft spot for obsession. Maybe I like both. No, I think I do like both.

Ambition is an admirable trait. I used to be ambitious, believe it or not; back in the day, my goal was to be able to become a professional musician. I practiced my instruments in excess, I took private lessons, I constantly asked teachers questions (and asked for feedback), I studied composers, I studied theory, and I wrote and arranged in excess. I'd say this interest died. If I became involved in some music group, though, I wouldn't be surprised if my interests came back in full force. If I've lost my interest in music, though, my ambition could return elsewhere.

In The Mathematician's Apology, Hardy—the author—writes about ambition. He writes about mathematicians being good at what they do, and about good mathematicians being better at math than any other field. He turns math into a calling that few are suited to doing. I read his work and found myself wondering if I could do math. Sure, I'm studying math, but most of what I've learned is calculations almost anybody could learn to do. I haven't done 'real' math. Yet. Can I do math? Could I be someone who does math? Could I continue to stroke my ego and become someone who (worked with others and) made a contribution to the field? I wonder. Hmm, indeed.

Time to shelve my delusions of grandeur and do homework. Until next time,

Nobody

P. S.: I started reading a webcomic called Subnormality. Here's a few strips which made me laugh:

• 57: Down at the restaurant
• 61: Now available in cans
• 63: Mrs. Smith is a nasty piece of work
• 83: Henrietta Schulz: Modern Architect
• 97: The further adventures of the sphynx
• 98: Seven dichotomies in a bar

P. P. S.: I tried this meatball recipe this week. The meatballs tasted fine, but they weren't worth the effort. It was only enough food for two meals. I guess a pound of turkey doesn't go as far (satiety wise) as a pound of beef.

0226

For those who don't remember, I recently switched to a new computer. This meant re-installing software that I use on a regular basis. I am lazy. And because I'm lazy, I have yet to download good ol' Sublime Text Editor and its constant reminders to update and buy a license. I've been dealing with its reminders since elementary school; can't I get a break!? BunsenLabs default editor is Geany. I cannot recommend it. Most of the 'code' I write is in HTML. Now, Sublime is nice for auto closing tags. I type a <p>, I spew my guts, I type </ and it autocompletes to </p>. Geany has some autocompletion. The major difference is in how it autocompletes: if I type <p>, the editor automatically adds a </p>. This is incredibly inconvenient. If I'm pasting a swathe of text in and start adding the appropriate tags, I end up copy-pasting the closing tags to where it's supoosed to be. I could disable autocomplete; that'd waste even more time. Manually typing out every tag is fucking annoying.

I keep poking through Geany's preferences and keybindings to figure out if it has functionalities which it seems to lack. Other issues: I can't put my cursor in multiple places simultaneously. I navigate open files by tabbing through them. (Sublime had a drop-down which would show the titles of files which are open). What else...shortcuts / keybindings are unintuitive. I have to manually enable line-wrapping for each document. "Find" doesn't let me quickly tab through what I'm looking for. Well, Geany, I gave you an honest shot. I think it's time to return to Sublime.

I might as well add a few more footnotes about my new setup. Framework-specific issue: screen resolution is 2256x1504. This has left me readjusting zoom and font-size on everything. I open up a browser, or a text editor, and I have to zoom in to 150% - 175% before anything is at a reasonable size. (Those 88x31 buttons are fucking ugly at my default zoom!). Sure, zooming in on everything is easy . . . but it's annoying. I've played around with display options. I could simply use a smaller display and live with some ugly black bars on the side of the screen. On the other hand, I like my screen real estate! I'm whining about nothing. Too lazy to find better answers.

I was about to whine about display brightness. Then I spent 2 (two) seconds searching and managed to figure out how to turn the brightness even lower. For le future reference: xrandr --output eDP --brightness 0.45. Now to figure out how to mess with color values and wrangle my display into grayscale.

Signing off,

Nobody.

0227

When I first saw the httpoetics syllabus, I dismissed most of it as useless bullshit. It might as well be a long list of prompts for creating meaningless webpages. These prompts are not designed to create websites which will be cared for over time; they're week-long projects which will---more likely than not---be left to rot. "Make a multi-page website with non-traditional navigation" this, "Make a website that changes as you move the mouse" that. These prompts turn websites into art projects which experiment with non-traditional ideas. One can use these prompts to explore what a website can be.

To me, a website is a way to communicate with other people. This is like a book: sure, I can appreciate the typography and typesetting (and any other formatting choices), but the contents of the book—the words, and what they're saying—are what matters to me. Formatting merely impacts the reading experience. How does this extend to websites? I prefer substance over style. A long-running website with tens of thousands of words on it is infinitely more valuable to me than one which is not. Something that I can glance at for a moment---something which evokes little more than a 'huh'---is worthless (in my eyes). Now, if the website evokes genuine thoughts, we have a different story, but a website which merely questions what a website is is not designed to evoke genuine thoughts. Any thoughts that website evokes are incidental. That is not a website which has something to say. The httpoetics syllabus asks participants to create websites which are not vehicles for ideas; rather, it asks for minor pieces of web art which will (almost certainly) amount to nothing much.

From my understanding, postmodernism keeps asking, "what is [THING] really?" Ex: what is art? What is a book? What is music? Or, what can these things be? Where are their limits? What is their point? Postmodernism, in a bad-faith sense, can call for ceaseless expansion; it asks us to question definitions until these definitions are no more. These questions can help one understand a medium. Playing with, and pushing, limits is valuable. But it's all too easy to start crossing lines until you've redefined the world. Everything can be anything, one starts to argue; definitions become abitrary. Pushing boundaries turns into naively destroying borders, and for what end? Definitions give people a way to understand what one another is saying. Sitting around and turning every word into a constant state of flux hampers communication and destroys language.

The httpoetics prompts remind me of postmodernism. To me, these prompts ask people to reconsider what one can do with a website. Many of these reconsiderations involve gimmicks or format. Ex:

• Make a bad website. Make a website that is ugly. Do it on purpose. Break an unwritten rule. Set yourself free.
• Make a website that is way too big (6000px x 4000px at least).
• Make a multi-page website with non-traditional navigation.

Curiously enough, the prompts for weeks six and seven do have a purpose:

• Create a website for listening to a song
• Website for being together with someone else

Why do strange formats matter? Why do gimmicks matter? Why should we question what a website can be? Per my opinion of websites, these prompts are a waste of time. These prompts ask people to rethink how they communicate without asking whether or not they have something to communicate. Someone who is communicating something should figure out the most suitable way to communicate their ideas. However, they---if they think well---will figure this out without working through an arbitrary list of prompts. People should be thinking about the point of what they're sharing online. And—above all—people should only be sharing things when they have something to share, or when they're trying to have something to share. There must be a point.

I'm falling dangerously close to claiming art is pointless. Art can have a point, and it can lack a point; I am not here to criticize all people who create for the fun of it. (Just some people). Continuously creating pointless works draws attention to pointless media; sharing these with others asks people turn their attention to work which is devoid of meaning. This can create a cycle of meaninglessness: make meaningless art, share meaningless art, consume meaningless art, fill oneself up with meaninglessness. To what end? To create a society devoid of meaning, maybe, and to remove value from all things. Force others to turn a blind eye to the real world.

But Nobody, you might say, life is inherently meaningless. Why shouldn't we make art which recognizes the truth? To which I say: one, we have both lost the plot. Two: once one has accepted the meaninglessness of life, it is one's job to find a way to move past this. One is still able to create and define value. (You, too, can play God). Simmering in the futility of existence is easy, and worthless. Creating meaningless art is easy, and worthless. Why not push oneself to create meaningful art?---yes, yes, I've lost the plot. The plot, mind you, was criticizing this random-ass syllabus. I had more to discuss, mayhaps, but I'll leave you with one final tidbit about shit which looks nice and is completely devoid of value:

Panem et circenses.

We'd do best to remember this, I think. 'Til next time,

Nobody

0228

I wanted to start writing about my old fanfics. I even spent an hour doing so; half-ripping into some of my old works and half-enjoying them. The vast majority of my work hasn't held up over time. I wrote to be understood, and I wrote to give back to the creators who meant so much to me. Posting fanfiction online is giving back to creators; you're spending time on something unprofitable; you're drawing attention to a piece of media. I do stand by why I wrote, even though I don't stand by what I wrote. Strange dichotomy? Eh.

I am glad that I have produced an excess of fanfic. The fact that I did shows that I have done something meaningful with my time. I know it's not meaningful to others, and I am continuously bothered by people who refuse to see things my way. I still would have rather created an excess of garbage than having created nothing at all. I still believe that doing something poorly is better than doing nothing. (One, such as myself, can do something poorly while still striving to do better). Furthermore, I think that sharing these works with others is why these works have meaning to me. I have plenty of original fiction which has never seen the light of day. While I'm still glad I wrote those works (because I was doing something), they didn't contribute to anything. They were for myself and only myself. The fics I posted online were written for myself and shared for others. That's all there is to it.

My instinct is to continue to defend fanfiction. My instinct is to point to specific works, by others, which still have merit. I genuinely believe that some of these works are better than the source material. Lily of the Valley provides a good look into Clarice, and her relationship with Hannibal, after Silence of the Lambs; I'd say it's comparable to—if not better than—Hannibal (the book). Into the Storm is a followup to The Empire Strikes Back; it focuses on politics and psychology; very much a character study on what would happen if Palpatine took Luke under his wing. The way Palpating breaks down and rebuilds Luke is delicious. This is the first part of a trilogy which is genuinely comparable to works by the writers of the Legends universe. I could take a complete turn and mention Madam Umbridge Home for Wayward Girls, which is a Victorian-era psychological thriller that I refuse to spoil. Seriously, the payoff is so fucking worth it. The author skillfully juggles a large cast of characters, an intricate plot, worldbuilding up the wazoo, and witty dialogue; it took the author a chapter or two to find their footing, but then you forget about the awkward start.

I hope you'll believe me when I say that I could sit here and discuss fanfiction of merit for a long time. But, sure, all fanfiction is akshually meaningless, meritless, trashy, self-indulgent, typo-ridden fics written by teenagers who couldn't string together two plot points if their life depended on it.

Ao3 is a fanfiction site which one user ran a census on in 2013. The mean age of respondents was 25.1 years old. Certainly not teenaged. About 80% of respondents were over eighteen. And in 2013, ao3 was still a relatively 'new' site when compared to the longer-standing fanfiction.net. Fandom has always been 'run' by adults. Their works just don't get as much attention as works by young teens because of the different quality of writing. When someone uses spellcheck, considers their plot, and has the life experience to do better writing, their work is a helluva lot more difficult to make fun of.

In a 2024 census, the mean age of respondents jumped up to 27.6 years old; about 84% of respondents were over 18. Admittedly, this is data of ao3 users, and not writers in particular. I would not be surprised if writers tended to skew older; many fanfiction writing groups I used to pop in and out of had strong adult populations. Them 30-somethings really do like writing 'em longfics. (Anecdotal data only).

That's all, folks,

Nobody

0229

Sarcasm ahead!

I am not a woman, because other people deny me that right. I wouldn't call myself a man, but strangers continue to dictate that I am one. In other words: I'm not feminine enough to be a woman; ergo, je suis un homme. Lovely. What my biology is isn't enough to be a woman. What I think don't seem to matter either. Yes, you heard it here: being an adult with two x chromosomes ain't enough to be a woman anymore.

I am so fucking tired of this. Snide comments—which never escalate, thank fuck—will not stop me from using the women's restroom. (I am *this* close to exposing myself to the next person who causes problems when I enter the bathroom. Look, ma, no dick). In a variety of contexts, I'll correct someone, and then I'm suddenly trans: either I'm a female with a feminine name who wants to pass as a male, or some male trying to pass as female, or I'm none of the above and/or an egg waiting to crack. No, no, aaaand no. For fuck's sake, why must people be so addicted to ideology that they can't take someone at her word?

Maybe part of the issue is my appearance. Most of my clothing is baggy—forgive middle-school-me / my parents for thinking I'd grow into wearing a size small—and the cleavage department closed before I started puberty. I wouldn't say I look masculine in the slightest. That being said, I can forgive the people who glance at me and make an erroneous assumption. No doubt that dressing like a slut and shaving everything would solve the appearance issue. On the other hand, people who are corrected—because conversing—and can't accept that I'm a bog-standard woman are beyond irritating. I've had people who continue to refer to me as "they" or "he" long after I correct them. (There was someone who only referred to me as "it," but he was a douchebag who is best forgotten. Fuck him for making my life a living hell). The little comments about how I'll be happier if I accept "who I am" are even worse. I am who I am; keep your ideology to yourself and stop making me out to be something I'm not.

I am reminded of a webpage where the writer begins to provide an explanation for the explosion of (trans?)gender ideology:

picture this: you and all your friends communicate via instant message. you think of each other in terms of screen names and avatars, none of which include your real names or photos (...) when you grow up in this kind of social environment, it creates a disconnect between "person" and "body," both in oneself and one's perception of others

I think the author has hit the nail on the head. Social media and digital technology do have an impact on our reality. Why wouldn't the use of internet identities---with their fake names and their profile pictures---impact how people view themselves? The way people interact with each other online is disconnected from reality. One can go online and live through a persona that is totally disconnected from her offline self; while one can do this IRL, the anonymity of the internet makes it simple to do so online.

Welp. I may have given the normies enough rope to hang me with (b/c terminally online), and the terminally online folk enough rope for the same purpose (b/c how dare I disagree, or say something, or (...)).

Buh-bye, folkamerinos,

Nobody

0301

Happy March, my dear readers. On today's list of "how the fuck did my classmates get into school": I am taking Linear Algebra II; while not quite an upper level math class, it does have a handful of prereqs (Linear Algebra I; Calc I), and is only required for math majors. One would think that these prereqs mean that students would have a grasp over high school algebra, right? RIGHT?

Ahahahaha. My professor had to spend a chunk of class going over polynomials. What's a polynomial with degree 3? Etcetera. Basic shit like that. We've been using P_n(R) as a vector space all semester. The fact that enough of my classmates still can't recall polynomial degrees is disturbing. Devil forbid they have to substitute a polynomial into an equation and factor it.

I am aware that there are people who struggle with math. That should not be applicable to this math class! People should be struggling with new material, and not rudimentary shit they have used in multiple other classes. Goddamnit. This class feels so fucking slow, yet my classmates can't even do basic material. How do they keep passing their classes? I have no idea.

Then again. Then again. I have another class made up of embarrassing folk who shouldn't be in college. In my teaching class, we regularly write on massive pieces of paper—probably 2.5x3ft, it ain't important—and present these papers to the class. All of the writing is done in groups. Consequently, I have a pretty good idea of how my classmates write. And they fucking can't. Their sentences are littered with spelling and grammatical errors. My group members write on the poster and then I cross out and correct half of their words. They don't care. They joke about not being able to write, and then say that it's fine because they're in college. What? Their inability to communicate in their native language is bizarre. The fact that they have existed for this long without being able to learn the difference between their / there / they're is embarrassing. How do these people live with themselves?

Another fun fact about this twenty-person class: three people have turned in an assignment which was due a month ago. Three. (I am one of them). I can count the total number of assignments for the semester on one hand. Again, I must wonder how these people live with themselves. The professor has sent out a handful of emails reminding people to turn it in. Oh, wait, most of these people don't seem to understand email; quite a few of them don't seem to check their school emails. The guy I'm working with lost access to his school email and waited a few weeks(!) before talking to tech support about it. These imbeciles literally need to be told to check their primary method of communication from the school (AKA email).

*clears throat* well. If you are reading this and have yet to go to college, here are some pro tips:

• Read the syllabus. It should tell you what textbooks you need, what assignments exist, how assignments are weighted (that is, info on grading), what material is being covered, exam dates, and—most importantly—when and where office hours are.
• Go to class.
• Pay attention to class.
• Take notes in class.
• Participate in class. (Trust me, your professors want you to. And giving a wrong answer is fine! You're there to learn).
• Do the assigned work. (Even if it ain't graded).
• Submit assignments. Pay attention to how they want you to submit your work—they may ask for you to email it to them, or turn it in on paper.
• Pay attention to deadlines.
• Study (particularly things you don't understand. Redoing problem sets is a-ok).
• If there are readings you can do before class, do them.
• Read the syllabus.
• Check your email. Also: learn email etiquette. Your professor is a professional; speak to them as such. Address them by Professor LastName (unless they have asked you to do otherwise). Capitalize words. Use proper punctuation and grammar.
• Professors have many students. If you are emailing a professor for the first time, you should note what class you're in. Example: Hello, Professor Owens. I'm in your GHOST2230 class. (Body of the email). Salutation of choice (ex. Thanks in advance; Have a good day; etc), ((your firstName lastName)).
• Office hours are for asking questions about course material which you don't understand. Come with a question; "I'm confused" does not help your professor understand what you need help with.
• If you miss a day of class, do not email your professor to ask if you missed anything important. You did. It is your responsibility to look over the syllabus, ask classmates for notes, and learn what content you missed. Do not show up to office hours expecting the professor to repeat the lecture you missed.
• In this age of technology, many professors upload recordings of class or post notes online. Use these.
• Know how to cite sources. Know how to format quotations. Know how to put together a works cited page. Know MLA, Chicago, and/or APA formatting. Which one you need depends on your discipline; in my experience, MLA is a safe choice. Style guides can be found online. Follow them.
• Your professor sets the expectations for the course and assesses whether or not you met those expectations. Your grades will represent how well you met expectations.
• Read the syllabus.
• Read the syllabus.
• Read the syllabus.

Basic tech skills:

• How to type.
• How to connect to wifi.
• How to open software.
• Basic keyboard shortcuts. Learn to copy (Ctrl+C), cut (Ctrl+X), and paste (Ctrl+V) text.
• How to navigate your computer's file manager. Know where files are saved (probably your downloads folder). Know how to compress files (into a .zip, as this is what professors tend to ask for) and how to extract files (also from a .zip). Know how to open files; ex. right-click to view what other applications can open the file.
• Know how to download and install software.
• Know how to use a search engine. These are a great way to find answers to questions. DuckDuckGo and Google are your most common search engines. (I would abstain from Google due to privacy reasons; however, I would also settle with my classmates knowing how to search fucking anything).
• Know how to bookmark a webpage. Know how to sort bookmarks into folders. (If you use multiple browsers, maintaining a .html file for your bookmarks is handy.)
• Spellcheck exists. Fucking use it.
• If your school uses Microsoft, you have access to Microsoft software. This means that you can use Word (a word processor; think of it like a fancy Notes app. I'd compare it to Google Docs, but I no longer trust people to know what that is) and Excel (for spreadsheets. A way to organize data). I prefer to use office365 in browser. Convenient, and doesn't require me to install anything.
• Word / Docs: how to format a file (change font, line spacing, indents). How to save a file as a PDF; how to download a file as a .docx.
  • If you are on macOS: DO NOT USE PAGES. Do not hand your professors a .pages file and expect them to open it.
  • Do not write an essay in Notes and submit screenshots of it.
  • If you have a habit of submitting .txt files, make sure to save the file with a .txt extension.
• Excel / Google sheets: inputting data, doing arithmetic with data, finding an average.
• Footnote on Blackboard: if you are simultaneously submitting multiple files, shove em into a folder and .zip it up.

Footnote on classroom etiquette:

• Unless instructed to do so, refrain from humming, whistling, or singing during class. If you are doing one of these, you are disrupting the people around you.
• Do not repeatedly tap or kick a chair which is occupied.
• If you must eat during class:
  • Refrain from eating something that is loud (ex. a bag of chips), messy, or pungent.
  • Eat something that is quick to eat. Do not eat an entire meal during class.
  • Eat with your mouth closed. Refrain from conversing while there is food in your mouth. Refrain from humming while there is food in your mouth.
• In general: be aware of how much noise you are making. Drumming a writing utensil against a desk is distracting. If you must answer a phone during the class, please leave the room.
• If you are going to ignore the professor and watch a video, play a game with audio, or listen to music during class, please wear earbuds or headphones. Your classmates are trying to listen to the lecture, and not a sportsball game.
• If you are going to watch porn during class, please sit in the back of the room. If you do not, there will be people behind you who can see what you're doing. It is both innapropriate (for a public setting) and distracting. (The same goes for many other on screen activities. Nobody wants to glimpse a violent movie while they're trying to take notes.)
• If a class does not require attendance, you can skip class. You should skip class if you would spend class time not paying attention.
• Please refrain from vaping in the classroom.
• Please do not show up to class smelling like weed.

If you're reading this, I hope that my 'advice' is shit you already know. The people I'm talking about would never find this information on their own. Most of this is too-fucking-obvious.

I'm surrounded by idiots. Don't be one of 'em. Sincerely,

Nobody

0302

Question of the day: is there a limit to human knowledge? Reader, I invite you to contemplate a response to this. You could send your gut-instinct response to this question to me over email; you'd be welcome to do this before reading what I have to say.

The following definitions were paraphrased from The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary (1973).

A fact is a true statement which arises from existence. If a fact can be disputed by another fact, at least one of these so-called facts is not a fact. To know some thing is to be acquainted with its fact. Human knowledge is the set of facts which humanity is acquainted with. I will consider a fact to have entered the corpus of human knowledge if at least one human has acquainted herself with it.

Assume there are a finite amount of facts. If facts are finite, the universe is finite. This is because facts correlate to the universe. If something exists, there is a fact which arises from its existence. So: is the universe finite? And what would it mean for the universe to be finite?

Unfortunately, the internet cannot offer me a definite answer to whether or not the universe is finite. This means there are two possible conclusions from what I've written thus far:

1. If the universe is finite, human knowledge is finite.
2. If the universe is infinite, human knowledge is not finite.

*cracks knuckles* time to make some statements which are probably false! (Seriously: please tell me if something here is false).

From my understanding: matter is not created or destroyed. This means that the amount of matter is finite. However, matter exists over time, and time does affect the behavior of matter. Is the time in which matter exists finite? Furthermore: assume time is the fourth dimension. In math, one can work with something with infinite dimensions (ex: an infinite matrix). Does this correlate to reality; that is, does the universe which exists have infinite dimensions?

Allow me to readjust my earlier conclusions:

1. If there are infinite dimensions, the universe is infinite. This means human knowledge is not finite.
2. If there are not infinite dimensions, the universe is finite. This means human knowledge is finite.

I'd rest easier knowing that there was a proof that the possible corpus of human knowledge is infinite. I think I've given myself some reason to believe that there will always be more for humanity to learn.

Tell me where I'm wrong. With love,

Nobody

0303

What happened this week? I drove on the roads a few times! Eeeeep. I have yet to go on busy roads, or be at an intersection. Just normal back road driving. I think I may be able to get my license by summer? Then freedom is mine! (On days that I have access to a car. So, at most, 2-3 days a week. That's better than zero.)

I did get around to finishing Komi Can't Communicate. This anime is about a high school girl with social anxiety. She primarily communicates through handwriting, but works to speak from time to time. It was funny; there was a bit of sexual humor that worked. Some line about a banana dipped in white chocolate got a good laugh out of me. The stalker's obsession with seeing Komi's underwear and touching her boobs was hilarious. I'd rate the show an okay way to spend a few hours, but not rewatchable, certainly not recommendable, probably not rememberable.

Not much happened this week. I'm listening to the same music as I was last week. I'm doing the same things, and meandering through the same routines. I've given up on trying to get out of bed the moment I wake up; when I stay in bed, I tend to read or write, and I don't see a difference between doing so in or out of bed. The doing the thing is still most important to me.

Being aware of indulgence doesn't stop me from indulging. I exist; shouldn't I partake in my existence? Shouldn't I refrain from indulging in daydreams, fictional narratives, or any kind of escapism? The real world exists. Wouldn't I learn more from real people? Fictional characters are ideals of people; with their perfect sum of traits, one can be influenced by them. The characters, even with a set of flaws and struggles, remain unsoiled by the constraints of reality. They are perfect. This is appropriate for undeveloped folk. Should we aspire to grow past this?

Why read?—I am looking for information. I want to understand how mathematicians have lived and how they have done math. I'd like to get a better understanding of what it means to do math. I want to be aware of what's out there. I want to ask questions which haven't been answered; I'd like to learn how to find these answers, and then I'd like to find the most elegant way of getting to the answer. Why are there non-math books on my shelf?—I liked the author's writing style (two cases), I like the themes and want to see them in context (one case), I hoped a book had useful information about a problem I experience (one case; it didn't), I enjoy reading about what real people have done (3 cases; 1 math, 1 science, 1 other).

I'm swinging too far to one side. Scifi is no more; the two fiction books on my shelf are dense 19th-century tomes. I look forward to reading them, I really do. My thoughts keep wandering to reasons why I should read classic fiction over ((contemporary?)) fiction. Does human experience change that much with time? I doubt new emotions, character traits, ideals, or ((etc. parts of human experience)) have emerged over time. Surely classic works have already explored these themes. And—bonus point—classic works have been analyzed often enough that one can be enticed by the themes of the book; that is, the themes are known beforehand. TL;DR: the classics have done it all before. Why not explore what's been done, and hasn't fallen victim to time, instead of sticking to 'recent' works?

I apologize if I've already written to you about themes in literature; I cannot recall where I did. I was thinking through many of the books I've enjoyed over time, and realized that genre genuinely doesn't matter to me. I've known this for a while, mind you, but I've finally managed to put it into words. I think, to me, what a book is about in an abstract sense is more important than its particulars. Sticking to a genre doesn't bode well because genre is based on particulars; a particular kind of setting, or a particular kind of plot. Neither of these focus on a characteristic which matters to me. For a simple example: "character study" is only a genre in fanfiction. I can filter through a fanfic website and find character studies; there is no section of the library for such works. They're spread across all other genres. Off the top of my head: Ender's Game (scifi), Darth Bane: Path of Destruction (fantasy), The Librarianist (realistic fiction), Tampa (horror?), Long Bright River (thriller). I like knowing my characters, damnit!

Hmm. I don't know why I can still hear someone claiming that I don't like knowing my characters & I don't care about themes. Either way, I've re-lost the plot. You don't need a repeat of last Sunday's entry.

Swinging back to indulgences: I keep thinking about gacha. I've not played it this year, yet I still find myself wanting to play. I know I can't revisit it without falling into bad habits. I don't actually want to spend my time on the gacha, or related bad habits either. The thought of redownloading it, signing in, and spending a few minutes on an innocuous, non-gacha aspect of the game fills me with dread. I don't want to do that again. I really, genuinely do not want to do that again. Yet refraining from gacha is actively draining my energy. Why is resisting something that I don't want to engage in so difficult? Why do I keep 'wanting' to do something that I don't want to do? These numbers (figurative) ain't adding up. What to do. What to do. What. to. do. I don't know! Not playing should be enough; why isn't that enough? What else is there to do? *screams*

Well. Back to schoolwork, back to reading, back to hoping these numbers will take the edge off.

Ciao for now,

Nobody

0304

I find myself wishing that somebody would notice. Hoping somebody might email; hoping some other person might have saved my address; hoping I might hear something from a person. Anything to acknowledge my existence in a way that mattered to me.

I've wasted so much time emailing people who never respond. I've send emails to dozens of people; a handful write back once; a smaller handful twice. Am I the problem? I ask questions, be sure to respond to everything they've said, try to find ways to further the conversation. I don't think people are interested in committing. I think they want a brief nod, or something, and then to return to their lives. Am I missing the luck to reach the right people? Am I searching in the wrong places?

I'm growing sour. I don't understand what I'm doing wrong. Why bother? I couldn't whine about being lonely without trying to do more to alleviate that loneliness. It'd be wrong to whine about how other people don't write to me if I weren't trying to write to others. Well, I've tried. I'm allowed to whine about loneliness. And now I'm so very lonely.

0305

Parasthesis strikes again; a four-day stint with no signs of stopping. I stop pushing through it and head for the internet. A few articles tell me this is a sign of vitamin B deficiency. A few articles tell me that eggs, meat, and dairy are high in vitamin B. One article tells me that pork is high in vitamin B. For the past week, my meals consisted mostly of eggs and pork. I think I had yogurt. I have also had salmon. I do not think that my issue is vitamin B deficiency.

One article tells me that my issue has another name: PERIPHERAL NEUROPATHY. Several articles tell me that this is a sign of diabetes. Several articles tell me that this is a sign of hyperglycemia. Several articles tell me that I need to eat less sugar. I had a handful of fruit today---bittersweet kumquats and bland blueberries---how much sugar was that? For the past few days, I have not eaten outside of dinnertime. I highly doubt that I have had too much sugar. I highly doubt that I have diabetes.

I keep searching. Iron deficiency was an issue when I ate little meat. I highly doubt it is still an issue. One article suggests salt may be the issue. I remember something someone else told me; I do not think I can convince myself to drink salt water, even if I add enough lemon to make my throat burn. I wonder if there are any foods high in salt. The internet provides me with a list of 35 high-salt foods to avoid. The internet tells me to avoid processed foods because they're high in salt. The internet tells me that pork rinds and cheese can be high in salt. My mom tells me that I can't eat the feta because she needs it for a meal. The internet tells me that the average American consumes too much salt. I am average. I do not think I consume much salt. One article says athletes need electrolytes. I am not an athlete. My sisters are. The pantry has packets of powdered electrolyte mixes. I look at the nutrition label. They have 10g of sugar. My sisters mix half of the packet in a bottle of water. The mix has 130% of the recommended daily value for sodium; 8% for potassium. I wonder if this will help me.

There is more powder than can be evenly distributed in an 8oz glass of water. It tastes like salt with a hint of sugar. The packet claims it is PINK LEMONADE flavour. I drink it all. There's powdered sludge left at the bottom of the glass. My hands and feet are still numb. My other limbs still tingle. My back hurts. I am still experiencing abdominal pain. I am still experiencing chest pain. The rest of my muscles still experience odd tinges of pain. I consider doing yoga. I should not do yoga. I consider doing yoga anyways.

I start to think about how I might narrate the rest of my evening. How might I describe any exercise I do? How might I describe my daydreams? These are maladaptive daydreams. I am trying to stop them. I describe my surroundings: a lumpy gray pillow, wrinkled grey sheets, a gray weighted blanket. The computer has a black bezel and a silver case. Is bezel the right word? The internet tells me that a bezel is a thicker part of the ring, the face of a cut gemstone, or a frame around a display device. My lower back cracks.

There is popcorn in the microwave. My email inboxes are empty. The yoga app generates a routine for back stretches. I plug in a lamp and turn off the ceiling light. As I prop my phone up against a chair, the yoga app instructs me to do a pose I cannot safely do. I am instructed to contort my body into poses I can do too easily; I ignore the routine in favor of the exercises I can safely do.

The routine is complete. I lie on the floor. I feel more alert than I was an hour ago. Is this a placebo? Yes. I am thankful for it anyways. I resolve to take more notes on graph theory, or to run through my flashcards. I picture a C₆ graph and start to disentangle it into two disjoint sets of vertices. Is that the right word? I will check later. I run through a few flashcards in my head: ∫tan(x)dx = ln|sec(x)| + C. ∫sec(x)dx = ln|sec(x) + tan(x)| + C. ∫sin(x)dx = -cos(x). If y'' = -k²y, y(x) = c₁cos(kx) + c₂sin(kx). One homework problem asked for this. All of the other homework problems took much longer to solve.

I decide to get up off the floor. My brother starts to cry. I decide to stay on the floor. I reach for my phone and thumb through the yoga routine, thumb-up and thumbs-down-ing various exercises. I should do something with this energy. My dad lumbers up the stairs. I sit up and keep typing this entry. My brother falls silent. I do run through my flashcards. I consider returning to an article I was reading earlier. I consider returning to some subreddits. I consider reading The Count of Monte Cristo. The chirps of a too-loud television disrupt my concentration. I write to say that I've slipped in ear plugs, then I do put my ear plugs in. I exit my room and am assaulted by the sweet, salty, buttery smell of popcorn. I brush my teeth. I contemplate bad habits. Engaging in these bad habits means failing myself. I contemplate them anyways.

After returning to my room, I thumb through a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. The introduction contains a dramatis personae. These characters are familiar to me. I resolve to start reading it tonight. Then I do.

0306

I start to read The Count of Monte Cristo. I learn new words: gendarme, carbine, under-gaoler. My brother jumps on the couch and talks to himself. A man is arrested unjustly; a monarchy is overthrown. I learn about Napoleon's return from Elba. The wall is light grey; the chair is green; I ignore the urge to daydream. I curse Fernand and Villefort; I sympathize with the pain of Dantès and Mercédès. A year passes in a page. Faria falls ill, and tells Edmond of the riches of Monte Cristo. Edmond considers vengeance as I, like Faria, wonder how much good could be done with that egregious sum. I wear three pairs of socks. My feet are cold. Would a fourth pair keep me warm? I doubt it. My jeans are blue, my outermost sweater is green; I still resist the urge to daydream. Dantès escapes from the sea. I took swimming lessons, once. Maybe I should find a place to swim again. Within a hundred pages, fourteen years have passed, and the ebullient nineteen year-old turns into a jaded thirty-three year-old. The book differs from the musical; no, it is the musical which differs from the book. There is no pirate lady, nor a smuggler-sworn-friend.

Caderousse relays a story to a priest—whom I suspect is Dantès in disguise—and go put away some laundry. I save the bedsheets for later. My stomach starts to bother me. Boredom, or hunger? The walls are grey, the banister is brown. Boredom. I pull myself out of my false realities. The bag of pepperoni proclaims that it contains OVER SEVENTY PIECES. I savor a handful of pepperoni and return to reading get my brother a snack before returning to reading. He smacks his lips as I play Mystic Messenger. I return to my bedroom and download Shining Nikki. Today has been a chill day. I only did school for an hour. I've daydreamed very little, and I've done difficult reading. I'm betraying myself. For the second time this year, I cancel the download and delete the game. I pick up a lighter piece of reading—Women Scientists, by Magdolna Hargittai—and discard it after the first page.

My other brother has come home; he eats chips so noisy that I can hear them from upstairs. My ears are too sore for earplugs. I crack open the windows. The sounds from the street may drown him out. They don't. A KEELY SMITH ESSENTIALS playlist plays from my phone's tinny speakers. I go back to reading someone's guide to overcoming maladaptive daydreaming. Tendrils of daydreams reach for me while I read; I give in for a moment before pushing past them. I reread a paragraph repeatedly. I realize: I feel emotions in my daydreams. I seem numb in real life. Am I an addict? I don't like the question. I want to close my eyes and daydream. I justify the urge: it'll be easier to think about it if I talk to a fictional version of a real person. I'm not an addict. I don't have a problem. I could stop whenever I wanted. A daydream slips by; he'll comfort me, he'll say something that'll make everything okay. I'm not going to daydream. The haze seeps in anyways. I want to close my eyes and relinquish myself to daydreams where everything is fine and I've gotten over daydreaming. Well, hon, you can't get over daydreaming by daydreaming. Thanks, Captain Obvious. I wish listening to you didn't hurt so much.

These love songs give my brain ideas; whispers of daydreams. I loop Blood in the Cut. The urge to daydream has lessened. I remember something someone told me—to be finalized—and resolve to not daydream. I should keep reading the article. Instead, I return to The Count of Monte Cristo. I glance at the cover. A bit of fine print declares that this is an ABRIDGED EDITION. I feel dirtied, as if I'm a corrupt reader enjoying a classic in an impure form. The library has an unabridged version; I shall grab it tomorrow. I keep reading. I'd like to know what was cut. The book grows dense. The rain deters my plans for an evening walk. I refill my water. Should I finish reading the article? Butcher a yoga routine? Put my sheets on my bed?

I exchange my multiple layers of socks for a pair of fuzzy socks. The cold and numbness does not improve. I make my bed, put away clay, chat with family, actually refill my water, and look over the books on my shelf. I don't have the energy to begin another bit of 19th-century lit. I thumb through The Faraway Nearby, by Rebecca Solnit, and decide to read a chapter.

0329

---and people aren't who you thought they were. Except it's your fault, really, for always thinking the best of others. I'm left to feel hurt and confused. Was everything a lie? Was I just being delusional, and I'm only hurt because of my own misperceptions? Because I'm so fucking lonely that I'll convince myself that someone wants me, up until they finally tell me that no, really, they'd rather be alone than be around me. And then I'm left to tell myself---cling to my delusions---that that can't possibly be true, right, because why would they have spent time on me anyways?

0407

Well hello there. It's been a while, hasn't it? Life keeps happening. Somehow. For some reason. Despite my attempts otherwise. I've moved out of my parents' house, and into an apartment which I found on Craigslist. There's a roommate, and we don't talk. Figuring out how to feed myself has been a learning curve. I've realized that I need some variety---eggs & ground beef aren't enough---and purchased some seafood. Hopefully, that'll cheer me up. I ordered dinner yesterday, which wasn't my best choice (there's food in the fridge, girl!), but it was a bad day and I couldn't drag myself to keep eating the same food. I'll learn. I'll add seasonings (other than salt and pepper, I mean), and figure out meal-planning.

I have been trying to brown butter. I keep getting worried about burning it, so I take it off the heat too soon. The bit which I did manage to brown was delicious; added some salt. I never knew butter could taste that good!

0414

Here, let's try one of those "week in review" thingamajigs:

• School: taught for the final time (for the teaching class). It was an interesting experience. I was co-teaching, and have a long list of grievances about my co-teacher. Got an 82 on the diffyq test. Continued to be the sole participant in the (depressing) linear algebra class.
• Job applications: I've applied to 44 different positions. I had two interviews last week; they both went well, and I've already heard a 'no' from one of them. There were also two requests for more information from two other positions. Here's hoping something pans out.
• Personal: swapped to NixOS! I'm still learning to use it. I need to figure out how to change the desktop environment; I want my windows manager (Openbox <3) back.
• Food: found a local donut place. They're slightly better than Dunkin, but they cost the same amount, and have better availability of donuts. I had a chocolate-cake coconut donut yesterday. I ain't making this a recurring thing, but it was nice to try something new. They have a nice seating area, and seem to have a regular clientele. They're a ~20min walk from me (depending on intersections). What else...I used sweet & spicy sauce to make the ground beef more palatable. My mom is going to give me some more seasonings & sauces; hooray for her surplus.
• This week's grocery shopping was rough. I went back-and-forth across the store several times. I don't have an oven-safe pot/pan, so my ability to cook meat is limited to the stovetop. They also didn't have any seafood, which meant I had to redo my meal plan while I was shopping. There's another grocery store from the same chain that's 2mi away (this one was 1mi); they do have seafood. Might go there next week. Might also go to a grocery store from a different chain---they're about the same distance, but they have a lower price-per-pound for ground beef. Who knew I'd spend so much time looking at grocery stores.
  • Meals for this week are: ground beef, ground pork, eggs, and cauliflower. How exciting. I also remembered to buy more butter.

---

I was going to vent. I wasted a bit of Saturday on feeling down. I managed to drag myself to study for two of my classes, start writing the essay for the teaching class, apply for more jobs, did a bit of reading, and installed NixOS. I also wasted a bit of today on feeling down. I made breakfast, cleaned my room, fixed up the Nix config file with my default applications, learned more about Nix, completed a well-paid survey, and did grocery shopping. I do not like this list. I'm going to get to work for the next hour. The hour is over. I outlined what I need to do for my senior seminar class. I did some rudimentary data analysis for the teaching class, and drafted two sections (coincidentally, two pages) of the essay. I'm going to go make dinner. Once that is done, I will try to do more work so that today has a better 'completed' list. Made dinner: ground chicken and cauliflower, seasoned with lemon, salt, and pepper.

0415

Jubyphonic released a cover of Daughter of Evil. I don't like her voice. In middle school, I was interested in the 'franchise' this is from. I wanted to gather all of the videos I could find, then put together a complete English musical. I was working on a script. That's about all I remember. Irrelevant. I wake up, and I'm down. I was slightly better yesterday afternoon---or did I only manage to drag myself to be better? I have a panel of Subnormality saved to my phone: a reminder about ignoring reality. I'm indecisive. I want a break. I want to kill myself. I'm exhausted. How much longer can I keep doing this? The entire train of thought is worthless. I thought that moving out wouldn't change anything. I was right. Some things are better, and some of them were things I thought needed to be better, yet none of it is enough to make a difference. I'm not hungry. I want a donut. I don't want a donut. I need to get past my cravings; I'll feel better, then. I'm considering fasting until tomorrow evening; maybe that will help me deal with my odd desires for food. I'm not hungry, so why do I still want to eat? I want comfort. I haven't earned comfort. Ffs, the entire weekend was spent in comfort. Lazing around. Gaming. Indulging in daydreams. Jerking off. Avoiding life. Eating bad food.

I wanted to turn it around and force myself to stick to a 'that girl' routine for the next four days. Just four days. Just long enough to drag myself in the opposite direction, make the slightest bit of a difference, I ate breakfast (chicken & cauliflower). I exercised while watching/listening to a few videos. I figured out what was wrong with my computer's audio (...it was muted). I washed my hair. I've been awake for four hours, and out of bed for 1.5hr. What comes next? I'll review for the linear algebra exam. I'll read another section of the jazz book. Then I'll do chores. Then make a plan for the rest of the day :D Maybe go to the library. Okay, self. Refill your water bottle and get to work.

0425

After arguing with a particular book, I have drawn new conclusions about existence. When someone exists, they do (things / actions). These actions have an impact on oneself and others; this impact exists regardless of how beneficial/harmful the impact is. Having an impact means that one 'matters' (or is of value, is of (some degree of) importance). How positive or negative the impact is impacts one's perception of how much one matters. Harming someone, including oneself, implies that one does not matter (rejects an inherent characteristic).

I know why I don't believe this. The 'why,' mind you, is hogwash that has to do with how too many other people have treated me. I can't move on from this overnight. I've realized that moving on will be demonstrated by my actions, how I exist, how I treat myself, how I treat others, etc. It has nothing to do with accepting that I cannot change what happened. It has nothing to do with contemplating what happened. It has nothing to do with wondering if I'm at fault---what good does that do, and, seriously, I did not deserve what happened. Nobody (lol) would. I'll benefit from thinking about how I interact with others and myself, recognizing patterns, and consciously changing these patterns.

People exist, so they matter. This is irrefutable. One day, I may stop seeing myself as the exception. One. day.

0426

"What is art?" is a question which offers nothing of value.

0427

It's Saturday morning. My roommate has been on an audio call (Discord?) all night; she's been playing a game, looking at bugs, and chatting it up with whomever she is talking to. My earplugs offer a semblance of quiet, until her laughter breeches this peace. At 7am, I showered, and hoped that she would be done talking by the time I was out. She was not. Her voice was hoarse---based on her cough, she's ill---and she was still talking at 8am. I ordered a coffee and set out for the nearest Dunkin. There has been a line of cars outside the house since 6am. I do not know what the cars are there for. This happens every Saturday morning. Occasionally, the people in the cars talk to each other, argue with each other, honk at one another, and threaten each other. Going to Dunkin is a strategic choice. Three dollars is a small price to pay for several hours of sanity.

I decided to try the Midnight brew. I presume it is a black coffee. I ordered it with caramel and vanilla. It tastes vaguely bitter, slightly sweet, with an aftertaste of dark chocolate. I drink it while attempting to read a book: On Wanting to Change, by Adam Phillips. I make a few notes, on my computer and in a notebook, and think about the book and someone else. The Dunkin Radio plays in the background; it alternates between pop music, and people talking. The radio reminds me to sign up for Dunkin Rewards and apply for a job at Dunkin. I have done both.

My legs jitter. I fidget as I type, fingers shaking ever so slightly. The caffeine has gotten to me. I have an interview in four hours. The caffeine may be exacerbating my anxiety. I need this job. I also need to use the bathroom. I hate using public bathrooms. I consider walking back home, or checking to see if the school buildings are open. This is embarassing. Yet another thing that other people do that I fail to do. The radio played Stick Season, by Noah Kahan, and I haphazardly whisper-sung along. There are two other people seated in the Dunkin. One woman is writing in a journal. The other is scrolling on her phone. I am sitting in the corner, typing, glancing at the people who walk by outside, and the cars that never stop coming. A man, who has gray facial hair, and is balding, jaywalks. A group of five girls, each decked out in blue tracksuits with the school logo on them, round the corner. They're holding drinks from Starbucks. A woman approaches the woman who was scrolling through her phone. This woman has papers, and a pen. Is she being interviewed? Neither of them are speaking English. The woman with papers calls out to the people behind the counter, asking for help. A man in a cap is quick to respond.

I read a few more pages of the book. I work through a few problems from an old linear algebra exam. A function is onto when the range is equal to the codomain. A function is one-to-one if the null space is equal to 0. I find the basis for several subspaces, and remember when I used to struggle with this. The pop music is grating. The library opens in half an hour. The weather is cold; still, it would be better than sitting inside this Dunkin.

0428

Week in review:

• As classes wrapped up, class attendance dropped to an all-time low. I was one of two people who attended a particular class.
• A department which shall not be named hosted a wonderful pizza party. There were deserts. I forwent my habitual avoidance of carbs. Can't say no to free food.
• Someone left some free glassware outside their house! I obtained a singular cup. It shall be well-used.
• I scrubbed the bathroom floors. I had to rinse off the sponge after every two or three tiles, and was peeling grime off the sponge. There was also some toilet paper that was stuck to the floor, and a small piece of literal shit. The bathroom now looks dirty, instead of grimy. I also spent a bit of time cleaning the kitchen. The stovetop burners are caked in who-knows-what. I soaked them in soap and water for an hour, then used a sponge and exacto knife to get some of the grime off. Conditions have improved. It will take more time for conditions to finish improving.

---

Listening to

• A Normal Life - Marianas Trench - NEW SONG!!! AHHHH! First off, I love the music video. This angular, construction-paper-like artwork is great. There's a good balance between animation and lyrics; the animation tells enough of a story, but it doesn't supercede the lyrics. The animation has characteristics of fairy tales: a forest, a lone traveller, woodland creatures. Tornado made me think of Wizard of Oz. I'd guess the album (if this is the intro) will deal with the themes of a "Hero's Journey." Now that that's out of the way...
  
  Open with strings. Orchestral sound transitions to something slightly more pop-y, instrumental-wise, then the vocals come in. I love the intensity of the instrumentals, at that point; the use of staccato; that piano note at "sleepless nights to kill." (The lead singer's vocal range is still impressive! Dude can do three octaves, I think?). The instruments swell, chill out, and then it's proper drums & guitar/bass time. I think I just heard a marimba. (? minutes later) I like the vocal harmonies---somtimes, there are clearly three different notes being sung (or more, picking out chords is not my forte).
  
  The end (specifically, starting at 6:14) reeks of "The Killing Kind." I haven't been listening to much Marianas Trench, as of late, so I can't pick out the other references to their previous songs. References, repetitions...whatever. I love it. Looking forward to the album.
• Emerge - Daniel Kelly - specifically Michelangelo's Uncarved Block, July 25th, and Song for Katherine.
• Black Codes - Wynton Marsalis
• Mr Jelly Lord - Wynton Marsalis
• My current loop-for-HW playlist: Dancing with a Ghost (particularly Dancing With A Ghost, Days Go By, Losing Sleep, and The Way), Der Graf Von Monte Christo (particularly Prolog, Niemals Allein, Holle Auf Erden), Fear of the Dawn (particularly Taking Me Back and What's The Trick), New Noise.

---

It is 0737. I am at the Dunkin, again, because my roommate is loud and I have things to do. Too-loud pop music, the chit-chat of employees, is less annoying than this single girl who laughs too loudly and talks all night. I am very tired of her. I want to sit and focus. Someone left the front door open for who-knows-how-long. I'd suppose the person who lives upstairs stopped by and left; his car is not here. The front door doesn't always stay closed when you pull it close from outside. You have to pull a little harder to make sure it pops into place. I understand it, but I'm annoyed all the less. I threw out some trash. There are clothes peeping out of one of the trash cans, and, on a set of steps that lead to the second floor from the outside of the house, a gray sweatshirt. The sidewalk is dark, and there's water on the cars that line the streets. The sky is cloudy, with a few gray clouds sprinkled throughout the white clouds. It must have rained last night.

When I wake up, I've been avoiding picking up my phone. Today, I did, and I found myself thinking about things that I've not been thinking about. I picked up my phone, started typing in a notes app, and thought about when this used to be my routine. I'd wake up, I'd grab my phone, and I'd start writing an email to someone. I don't do this anymore. We're not talking. I don't really want to talk to them anymore. That's a lie. I want to take the handful of good moments and set them on repeat; take our few shared interests, and devote conversations to those interests. Yet I can't imagine him wanting to do that. He wasn't interested in my opinions on what I read, nor did he want to read books together, and talking about a movie tended to result in him calling me a retard. We didn't read good books together, and we didn't watch good movies together. Wait, no, that's my fault, because I just didn't get them. Them meaning the movies, or the books, or anything. I was left to constantly feel like I did something wrong, and wonder what I was doing wrong, and never know what it was that I was doing wrong, certainly not how to do anything differently. Just that I am inconsistent, and retarded, and don't know what I want, don't know what I like, don't like anything, don't exeperience positive emotions, am annoying, am difficult, unreliable, slow, have poor taste, don't have any taste, don't get things (with that always-implied "and can't get things" because nobody is capable of telling me what it is that I'm not getting, certainly not how to start getting, or what I need to do differently; outside looking in, and floundering, because I don't know what in is) don't complete worthwhile things, only care about things that don't matter, and it seems like I'm listing out the bad bits and can't remember the good bits. I don't mean to misrepresent what happened. I'm sure I am. Faulty memory. Faulty person. Maybe I am retarded, and incapable of not being so . . ?

Part of the issue, I think, is that I wanted to talk to a person, yet the person I was talking to wanted to be more "source of information" than person. I was left to feel like he didn't want me to know him, and he didn't want to know me either (he used to complain about me not being open, and the attempts I made to change that clearly failed, yet, from the comments he made about whatever I said, I was left to feel like he'd rather not know what I'm thinking or feeling, and that whatever I said to him would not matter because he did not want what I said). I feel conflicted. I feel like I'm misrepresenting something. I don't have the corpus of our emails---I've deleted everything---so all I can draw on are my memories.

I think I played a contradictory role, to him, and that contributed to our problems, and his own problems. He wanted an equal, yet (he made me a student?) I was more of a student. He didn't want to play teacher, yet would---in one sense---claim that doing so was in line with his values, yet also wasn't what he wanted to do. A pseudo-masochistic thing, where whatever happens isn't good for him, and he can't see things between us getting better, yet everything continues because . . . ?

I try to make sense of things, and I'm confused. I want to understand. What am I supposed to do? I don't like him. It's wrong to say that I don't care about him, but I don't care about him the way I used to. I'm only left to feel hurt and confused, and wasted, and he doesn't even get anything out of it. What's the point? Because I, according to him, have still changed, and gotten better, and suddenly that makes it worth it? Relationships are a two-way street, and this ain't even a street. Was not. I don't know. I really don't know. (I suspect I'm the only one who does think about this, and he's going on his un-merry way, glad to have the peace of mind that comes from not having to deal with another person. Ffs).

Maybe I'm just sad and lonely. Maybe I want something that doesn't exist. Maybe every word is a lie and I am a narcissist who can't consider others. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. Would being a narcissist make this hurt less? I think I just want this to stop hurting. I know that part of this is just because of some long-held misperceptions that this could be something that it would never be, that is, we would never be friends, just acquaintances who know a bit about each other, one of whom only stays because of his circumstances. This is my fault. This is always my fault. This is why I should keep my distance from others.

There we go. I do matter, but not in a good way, nor in the way I want to. One step forward, one step back. Depressing Sunday to you, too.

le monday addendum - as I, once again, want to talk to him, because I want to know if that he's doing better. (I could write more, on that note, but it'd serve no good reason---not to my audience of me, and, fuck me, I'd rather be wrong, even if I've few reasons to think I'd be wrong). This worrying weighs me down. I can't do anything about it, either. I don't think he would be helped by a person; rather, he is---quite literally---the one person who can help himself, if he stops bashing his head against the wall and does what he needs to do. Instead of half-exporting responsibility onto others, that is, actually deal with the problem, or rework the problem into something that can be solved. He can, but whether or not he will is another matter. I hope he will. But hoping is worth nothing, and I should stop thinking about this, because le not useful to me (or him). Surpressing my thoughts on this 'problem' that isn't mine will do me no good, yet. What to do. I recall this quote:

“Once you use a story or novel to explore and exaggerate and exhaust a personal issue, the issue itself seems to vanish.” - Consider This - Chuck Palahniuk

I know this, from personal experience. It's been two years since I last wrote, revised, and edited a novel(la). That novel did solve a problem. Come to think of it, the only novels I saw to completion (that is, drafted it, revised, went through several iterations, reached a finished state) were novels that solved a problem. Another quote, which encapsulates the second reason for why I write:

"All too often, I write to find out what I think about a subject, not because I already know." - Neil Gaiman in "Reflections on Myth"

Yet what is there to write? I did start to draw something---the consequence of my enjoyment of graphic memoirs---but the approach was wrong. Recounting my memories of what has happened will not do me good. These memories are poor, anyways, and I'd rather not cement some mis-remembering, mis-interpreting, mis-etcetera-ting of the past. I'd undoubtedly begun to mischaracterize him, unintentionally, completely unknowingly.

Can I write about others? My life has always been fuel for writing, yet writing about others who have been in my life feels wrong. Especially when the writing is explicitly about them, instead of writing about a character who is inspired by a person I knew. Fiction feels like a lie. It's a facade of what has happened, where I can twist events, make sense of things, create something coherent. Wrap up the complexities of life in one tidy package. I write, and I seem to mischaracterize both of us: him as a villain, myself as an unwilling victim, neither of which are true, only so I can---what, excuse myself of responsibility? His tyranny/dictator-ness can not and does not excuse any of my actions, and is relatively unrelated to the things I've said and done. Unfortunately, I can only know what happened from my perspective; I know what he's done to me, but not what I've done to him, and my attempts to understand his perspective seem to end in more misinterpretations, more errors, more ...

two narrators, stream of consciousness, highlight the misunderstandings (to the reader, not to each other, like Bad Girl (1931) without the semi-comedic resolution), and be sure to frustrate any good reader into abandoning the novel. Should the characters be caricatures of people, a la St Sebastian's Abyss (Mark Haber)? Satire, mayhaps, on loneliness . . . ? I'm spitballing.

---

I hate how much I need this job. The work aligns with my values. The location is great (on-site, three minute walk from home). The pay is min-wage, but if I do good work, I'll earn a raise. Full-time min-wage for four months would cover ~6 months of living expenses, after tax, roughly. I would be able to stay on for two years. I'd learn a lot, and be pushed to do better; I know how well I can do in intense environments. I want to learn what I need to learn for the job---line cook, mind you, should've started with that. Argh. I'm so close. I know it's between me and another candidate, and what's left is a test shift. I'm so fucking close. This work would bring me so much closer to being content than any of the admin internships I've applied for, or customer service, or sales. God, self. Please.

0429

Learned sauces, portions, cook times, and marinate times before other candidate. Test shifts are Tuesday and Wednesday night. Holy shit.

0430 & summer goals

I'm done with exams! This semester is officially over.

later that night... I survived my first shift. Wow. Can I say that I'm surprised with myself? There was one moment where I was very overwhelmed. Okay okay. What happened. I clocked in, people started showing me how to do things, I was on expo for the next 4.5hr. This meant: grabbing the tickets, announcing the tickets, labelling boxes (if takeout), putting sauces in the appropriate container, bringing out food, packaging for takeout, and preparing platters. After that, I spent ~1hr on dishes, and then spent more time being told where things are and where things go and other procedures. It was a lot to handle. But: there is a process, things happen in order, and seeing a line of tickets isn't as bad as it seems is exactly as bad as it seems, but it can be handled. The work will be done. My legs feel sore, and I still need to go two miles for tomorrow's groceries, and work another shift...argh.

summer goals

• Personal - reading/learning
  1. Jazz history - finish current book. Know major developments and artists. Be able to identify which kinds of jazz I enjoy, and why. Be able to explain why I prefer a particular musician / band. Probably: focus on big band and bebop.
  2. Philosophy - use philosophy overview/history books to identify which philosophers I want to read more of. Then do so.
  3. NixOS - switch desktop environment to OpenBox. Configure Bluetooth. Figure out issue with volume buttons.
  4. Clarinet - practice 3-4x/week, min. 30min. Focus on jazz clarinet; identify + learn some solos. Spend 10min (of each practice session) on ear training / playing by ear. Busk once, for 25min (aim for August).
  5. Food - know the difference between the olives at the Greek place.
• Personal - life
  1. Develop a list of go-to breakfast/dinner/snacks (to streamline meal planning).
  2. Visit three new restaraunts/bakeries/food-places. One sit-down style (because that frightens me). One order-for-pickup. One coffee place. (These are the only exceptions to low carb).
  3. Earn driver's license, if parents are able to take me driving. If not (by August), research local driving schools. Find a class/instructor/??? for Winter break.
  4. Learn to shave.
  5. Other local shit to visit: chess club, farmer's market, river walk, music festival, library.
• School
  1. Watch, and understand, this set of lectures on spectral graph theory.
  2. Find an application of spectral graph theory that I want to learn more about.
  3. Learn about that application.
  4. Find advisor for thesis---aim to do this by the end of June.
  5. Submit proposal.
  6. Complete all summer classes. (Freebie goal, -ish. I do not want to drop a class, but I may be tempted to).
• Work
  1. Get the/a job.
  2. Stay employed all summer.

????

reasons to stop daydreaming - Be aware of reality - Can have actual thoughts - Stop being so indulgent! You don't care about hedonism - Stop lying to yourself. You are part of this world. - Stop ignoring the world around you - Focusing is easier - You may now experience boredom - Stop forming false memories and connections - Once you stop doing the thing, it becomes easier to keep not doing the thing - There are so many fulfilling things you can do with your time.

From my father, I have learned the consequences of putting work before all else. I have learned that putting work before family causes family members to be resentful, and creates a disconnect between the worker and his family. Being uninvolved with one's family distances oneself from his family. From him, I have also learned that suggesting new ideas after a consensus has been reached will make people unhappy. If one is engaged in fun and games, it is better to have fun than to arbitrarily impose one's will upon another; compromise is a good choice. Do not expect toddlers to comprehend or care about the rules of a game. Neglecting and harming one's children will cause them to resent you. Arbitrarily enforcing power confuses people. Asking people for their opinion when the asker has already made up his mind is an effective way to waste people's time. Never following through with your word causes people to lose trust in you. Do not make promises that you do not intend to keep. Being unreliable will cause people to resent you. From my mother, I have learned the importance of planning things in advance. When supervising a group of people, some amount of structure can make the day much smoother. People trust reliable people. Having a safe place for one to come home to is invaluable, and I thank her for being able to consistently provide her children with one. From Erica, I have learned that manipulating people is an ineffective way to form friendships. While doing so may force one to trust another in the short term, one will grow tired of being gaslit and will see through lies. From Dylan, I have learned that making fun of people can help one form friends quickly. However, friendships that are formed from making fun of the same person are not friendships which will last. Turning someone into a social outcast will cause them to resent you. Groping someone and joking about raping them will bring them distress. Rendering a public space unsafe will create unnecessary anxieties. Mocking people who are interested in learning may cause them to hide evidence of their learning, but it will not dissuade them from learning. Doing this also exposes one's unintelligence and immaturity. From Mrs. —, I have learned the value in following through a science experiment. I have also learned the importance of tracking data in an organized manner (albeit from my initial failure to do so). From Mr. —, I have learned the importance of internalizing the fundamentals of any field of study. Mastering basic material can help one build a strong foundation which will serve them well. I have also learned to play louder :D From Mr. —, I have learned that belittling people can cause them to not take others seriously. Furthermore, scolding people for not meeting unsaid, ever-shifting expectations without so much as telling them what they're failing to do will confuse them. People cannot learn from their errors if they do not know what their errors are. Inconsistency damages understanding. From —...I don't even know what to say. I've learned what it's like to have a good conversation. Ignoring what others say when they do not meet your standards causes them to resent you. Hating on vast swathes of people due to perceived inferiority exposes one's unintelligence. Being needy and unacknowledging divides people and is not a healthy way to form relationships. Simmering in disrespect and pretending it is justified exposes one's poor character. Asking people for something and scolding them for providing it will not convince them to do better; it will cause them to grow hateful. Providing people with useful resources, information, and data is an effective way to prove a point. Attributing the condition of the world to an ideology without being able to provide evidence is an effective way to sound like a conspiracy theorist. Implying people are stupid for not being able to see things your way is a shitty argument which will not convince them of your righteousness. From Shining Nikki, I have learned what it is like to gamble away excessive amounts of money. I have learned what it is like to feel enslaved by a game, what it is like to schedule one's life around playing a game, and what it is like to feel obligated to waste money on garbage one does not desire. Being tempted by something one does not want is a bizarre feeling. From students at (my first college), I have learned how terrible weed smells. One cannot expect others to respect them if one does not respect others. Being a public nuisance From many teachers, I have learned that one cannot expect adults to take children seriously. The rare adult who does is one of excellent character.

prime numbers - why did they keep being a sum of 2 or 3 prime numbers - if 2, 2 was a previous number - if 3, number is 1 and another number to test: - as a sum of real numbers in ascending order

m How do we defend private property? Does living one's life in black and white terms make life easier? Where's the appeal in it? Creating rules without any gray areas; there's no exceptions. Adhering to absolutes is difficult; treating other people in absolutes is easy. "Do as I say, not as I do"—which is shit, in my opinion, because saying that is hypocritical. Only the Sith deal in absolutes. Is encouraging expression of emotions healthy? What are therapists getting wrong? If everyone is mentally ill, then no one is. Using illness as an explanation for actions and then excusing actions. I don't need to change because this is the way I am. When will these people grow out of their cosplay? Teens being teens, until the problem leaks into adulthood. At some point, being mentally ill went mainstream on the internet, and that has leaked into real life. Accommodations offices. Every time I cross this bridge, I feel the urge to throw all of my belongings off of it. Abandon everything and walk away. To what? I don't know. There's a fence, but that doesn't mean I can't climb over the fence :) Is there genuine math research that can be done in undergrad? The lab sciences have it easy. Easier to think when outside? Research exists on this. Thought about travelling internationally. Specifically Denmark. Might happen if the internship search doesn't pan out, though I still haven't gotten around to applying for a passport. I wish I had someone to film. There's some appeal in documenting someone's life? Being that close to someone? IMO, camerawork done well can be intimate. Make the viewer feel like they're intruding on something. Talking down to disabled people. Writing faster responses makes me feel like I might be missing information. Not fully processing everything. === > Smiley-face (note the hyphen)? What got into your underwear? I was trying to say something nice. And you know full-well what gets into my underwear. Alas, I have not seen the bear since August. You know this. If I saw a bear, I'd photograph it and send it to you. I don't exactly benefit from deliberately holding out on you. That sounds patronizing. Not sure what to say to you. Not sure what you want to hear from me. You're saying you're busy tomorrow, so. Something. Hopefully, I'll have something better to say, soon. The movie I tried to watch didn't keep my interest. Titled Wish I knew how to fix that. I'll read about grammar when I wake up. > Comparing photos Talking to you about some of the === I guess I do care about you, to some extent? Because when I say that I worry about you, and that I want to see you do better, I do mean it, even if nothing comes across in away that's meaningful to you. https://franklinpapers.org/framedVolumes.jsp noddles unexpressed motherly instincts would be nice to care for someone tempo measure of time Breaking up your day by writing to me? You fluctuate more than I do Can't we find a way to balance what we want? Say "this is what I expect from you"? Must this either be off or on with no in-between? Authenticity of desires === Am I the one forcing this to be an either or? What are you working towards, that I can support you with? Really, how can I enhance your life? === re. -isms quote: that's too much, man! From the list of next books: "The Third Twin" sounds possibly up my alley, and "The Art of the Heist" is a solid "yeah I'd read that." Being occupied with school has led to a decline in how much time I spend reading. So the difference in reading-speeds may not be obvious. You forget that my pace varies depending on the book—ex. a recent 300pg book took ~10hr (because dense), while I've had other books of the same length take ~4hr (ex. some thriller). I only have an odd assortment of nonfiction on my next up (not that you're asking): The River of Consciousness (Oliver Sacks), How to Solve It (George Polya), aaand that current-events book whose name I've already forgotten. Defer to your to-read, not mine! > I'm protracting the time til suicide. Can the depression, hon. Cane it, too. Currently re-listening to the musical adaptation of The Count of Monte Cristo. I really like some of the lyrics from "Hell to Your Doorstep," notably: You'll pay any price / If you think it's free It's a nice story. I could only stand the first third of it, though. Once the revenge plot went into action, I'd had to try and keep up with ~20 different characters (I wish that were an exaggeration). Getting to see Edmund go from "exuberant 19 y/o, about to marry the love of his life, get a promotion, everything's coming up in spades" to "disillusioned 30 y/o seeking revenge on everybody" was interesting. I'm yammering. putative

Can we measure subjective v. objective time?—I'd love to know if that question has any substance (ex. how to maximize time slowing down, but better processing speed).

eviews https://archive.transformativeworks.org/works/5081287/chapters/11720477 The opening chapter has its flaws, and is less powerful upon rereads. Still: beginning in media res strengthened the narrative. Shows planning on the author's part. The best part of this fic—and, believe it or not, one of the best scenes I've ever read—is chapter XX. The exact contents of the scene are unremarkable. What the scene stands for is what matters. From the beginning of the fic, the reader knows that they're going to see Dipper's descent; most of the fic consists of watching him change. This scene marks the end of his transformation. He has betrayed his every value. In essence, he has killed himself. "Non sum qualis eram"—what a shame that books are categorized by genre; were they categorized by theme, I'd have a much easier time finding the books I want to read. The number of books, fics, stories I've read—media I've consumed—in search of stories with the same theme/plot is outrageous. Very few books contain what I'm looking for; descent to betrayal of oneself is a difficult story, more so in fiction than fanfiction, and it is so difficult to find lists of books which tackle this. Merlin knows I've spent—wasted?—an egregious amount of time trying to find these books. Unfortunately, I'm more likely to stumble on such a book than deliberately find it. This is part of why I've spent so much time rereading books and fanfics. No wonder taking a break from rereading leaves me so unsatisfied—I have itches which aren't being scratched. On that note: recs, anyone? Bildungsroman describes one theme-turned-genre; is there a term for what I'm looking for? Or am I stuck with the rare ill-fated internet search? My two-sentence summary of the fic: a depressed fourteen y/o finds meaning in life. (How...is an entirely different matter). Either way, it would have been a lie for him to say that he didn’t appreciate Bill in some way. Despite the awful nightmares, the depression, the flashbacks, it gave him some kind of interest to his existence. “Maybe you aren’t as awful as I initially believed. So you manipulate, blackmail, and violate the privacy of people. But you can be okay. I guess.”

thoughts notes NOT NOVEMBER Am I going to be better equipped to do it later? How do I want today to go? How did today go? What could I have done better? Why is searching for things organically ‘better’ than being told what you’re looking for by an algorithm? Training people out of being greedy; training people to not be greedy in the first place. How do prevailing norms influence thinking? What makes close relationships different? https://youtu.be/BG6EtT-mReM The Five Eyes === note Why are you studying math? short answer: the humanities are not suitable for aliens. [redacted] In my defense, he shot first. What the fuck is wrong with you? What are your long term plans? This year: learn to bike, earn my driver's permit, travel (internationally), === If one is trying to create a national culture in a short period of time according to one's ideals, one is forced to purge dissidents; there's no time to deal with disagreements, nor room to reconsider if one's ideals are appropriate for all. General statements (about a group of people) are rarely correct https://that-mom-friend.neocities.org/kitchen/pixel-potluck === https://dreamwiki.sixey.es/welcome.dream/

0503

I was rereading old entries. The changes that have happened don't correspond to the things I've been trying to change. I was trying to listen to more jazz, yet much of the jazz I listen to is the same ol' same ol'. I started reading a textbook, and I learned that I like big band jazz, and bebop, and dislike blues (and other forms of early jazz). My listening isn't as refined as I want it to be. "A Normal Life," by Marianas Trench, has distracted me. I found myself scrolling through early-2000s alt-rock albums, listening through their mediocrity.

I was also trying to ditch daydreaming. This is complicated. I have a series of unhealthy, self-indulgent daydreams. These damage my relationships, and infect me with thoughts of things that never were. I need to kill these thoughts. Other daydreaming may be fine. Other daydreaming may help me see the beauty in the world around me. Other daydreaming which does not infect me may benefit me. I may return to wonderful what-ifs; thoughts which I know are separate from reality. (Maybe they'd even turn into writing. Selfish, is it, my perpetual want to have something to write about?---irrelevant thoughts).

The brain, if I remember correctly, does not distinguish between my memories (of what happened) and my thoughts/daydreams (of what may have happened). This is why I call a certain strain of daydreams unhealthy---I have tarnished my reality, and deluded myself with my own misperceptions. I did not mean to. I didn't think it was a problem. Really, I'd say that I didn't think.

There are things that changed that I didn't mean to change. That is, moving out, and finding employment, were not things that I was actively working towards. They were things that future-me would do, by next year. This fall, at the absolute earliest. Yet I moved out in April, and was hired by May. I even like my job! (Girl, you've only worked two shifts. You could still hate it). I haven't dreaded finding out when my shifts are, or getting a phone call from my boss. I receive corrections. IDK, I'm really excited to learn (whatever I get to do next). I think I'll feel more fulfilled when I'm doing cooking, and not expo, but I like how important expo is. Well, everything is important...I get to keep receiving a todo list, continuously check off items, and then what I do does matter to people. Customers like getting their food. Kitchen likes being done with the ticket. It's exhausting and feels worthwhile.

week in review

• I have the job! Three shifts in :) Just need to get payroll sorted out, and then all will be fine, more or less.
• Practiced clarinet a few times. I'm working on learning the clarinet solo in Black Bottom Stomp.

Linkdump:

• Mark Bacon - youtuber. I liked his reading ramble. Seems to have a genuine focus on improving himself (not gimmick-y, makes progress on concrete goals, such as passing JLPT exams).

---

I do not think that metaphysics and phenomenology are relevant. Questions concerning the nature of reality aren't about to offer any good---so what if "cogito, ergo sum," and the world is only a series of perceptions that exist in my head, and I am truly alone, and these people are only artifacts of my perception? I still exist around them. I accept their existence. Rejecting their existence (as only being figments of my imagination) is a facile, purile, solipsistic way of looking at the world. Acting as if you are the only thing that is real takes no effort. One cannot reject this premise, as everything supports the premise. We have better things to do with our time. Why assume that I am the only real thing? Why not, instead, push myself to overcome the possible-imaginariness of others; interact with them regardless of their existence?

I'm left to realize that I prefer to think about how I can/should live my life. Values, and so on. I dislike the topic because of its seriousness. It's personal, and important, and hard. I am well-skilled at the art of avoiding hard things. Now, to find people/books who will force me to think ab what I want to be thinking about. Work towards a goaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllll. Goddamnit, I don't know what I want to do right now. I want to use the bathroom. I want to email someone. I feel so very alone. I've never been anything but alone---what is it that I want from others, that I cannot truly give to myself?

I was thinking about this issue of subnormality [LINKMEPLZ]. What alternate versions of myself would exist? What would they be like? One version I thought about amounted to 'what would have happened if I spoke to [G].' I saw myself getting to know his views through the class discussions, us starting to tag-team as the opposition, myself approaching him outside of class. Learning about politics and economics, and refining my views on these. Taking on journalism internships. Us running a campus newspaper, and working to spread our ideas (which opposed many of our classmates). This was the only 'alternate me' whom I saw growing as a person. My other me's were aimless, petty, disillusioned, cowardly people who had thrown in the towel and resented life. All of them were alone. Why did I only see myself growing around someone else? Why wouldn't I have done that on my own? Why, oh why...no, what does another person provide me?---new thoughts, perspectives, opinions, and things to think about. How can I take on these new angles for myself, in my own thoughts, without other people?

0506

My phone buzzes. I flinch. There's a sharp pain in my chest; it hurts to breath. Did he?---no, it's a notification from the calendar app. 'Shared event change.' Some kindergarten event for my brother. Whatever. I set my phone aside, but it buzzes again. I pause. It must be another calendar update. My chest still hurts. I can't think clearly. Another buzz. My mom must be updating the calendars. Another buzz. I so badly want---and don't want---the buzzes to be the result of something else.

This loneliness hurts.

I wish I had work today. I just want to forget about reality for a moment, is all.

??? later... please bring me something to break up the monotony. Alternatively, let me learn to thrive in the monotony.

"I found that there was so much time in a day if you gave it all to yourself. I didn't trust all the time I had. It seemed like a trick, that my days could be my own. Where was the catch?" - Alison - Lizzy Stewart

How shall I use my time? How do I learn to use my time? I'd like to go to the library, just to distract myself. They close at 5pm. What do I need to do before then? I'd like to bathe, get dressed---I'm still in my pajamas---take care of the grocery delivery. Can I set a pickup time? (unfinished, who cares, amiright? Made sense in the moment)

again, she returns...god, I want to just take out a thick stack of books. Don't think I can make it to the library before dusk, so I'll save that for Wednesday, too weak to manage the 3miles + 6hr shift. The question I'd wanted to start with was something about self-hate---I struggle to treat myself well, often going against myself---how do I stop doing so? Just don't, fucker. Yeah. Yeah. I want a donut because I want a distraction. I want the 'surprise' of a 'baker's choice.' I don't want the carbs, or the processed food---I could lowe myself to chewing & spitting, too close to rejoining mpa---god, i need out. What am I supposed to do. I think I hate myself. My budget doesn't go as far as I want it to go---not quite right, I have income, I have money through August, yet I feel insecure about money. I want more in savings. I just need to keep working, work up to full-time hours, and keep up full-time during the school year. I don't have a choice on that. Not the right question. What is it that you want? What the fuck is your problem? Why are you so--- yes, describe me disinterested, dissatisfied, sad, tired, moody heard it all before, what's the point in saying it? How can I be interested in life? I can be, for fleeting moments---do I need to extend those moments, is it only because of novelty, am I so worn down that I can only be interested in novel experiences, and even at that---? I thought, I dared to think, that I might be improving. That things might be looking up. I reframed an unsolvable problem into a solvable one, but even that ain't enough. I am as ever-wanting as my accused; there is not enough. What must I do? Have I used up my existence coupons?---useless train of thought, I'll talk myself into suicide again, except I can never finish following through. I'll start. I can't commit. I can't fucking commit. I'm not even interested in what I'm writing. I merely regurgitate my thoughts out of habit. What am I saying here?

The protagonist reiterates her lack of desire to live, and her lack of desire to kill herself. She meanders. She ruminates. She comes to no conclusions, and she fails to ask questions that can bring her to any conclusion. She is weak. Once again, suicide is her only answer. This is the only thing she can consistently convince herself of. Her reasons may change, but her conclusion remains the same. She is as resigned as her accused; too cowardly to live or die. She meanders onward, doing what she must to get by. She wears an illusion of progress; its garments are temporary. The outsider is easily fooled by her changes. She is still a dissatisfied wench.

She's lying to herself. She's woven a web of self-deceit and lies at the center of it. She doesn't recognize that she trapped herself. She is her executioner. She repeats the same ideas in vain, hoping that the idea will get through to her. She cannot see her web of lies. She is lost, trapped by her confusion, and yearns for a way out. She wants answers only she can provide, and doesn't recognize how she can do so. She is still disinterested in her own writing. She is not paying attention. Does she know that she isn't taking the right approach? Does she know she's wasting time? She wants to be overtaken by slumber; for the events of the day to be replaced by fantastical ones. She yearns for a fantastical dream, where she dreams of years of a life within fifteen minutes. She recalls an essay on our perception of time, and a man online who spoke about his dreams. Her mind wanders to sex. The thoughts come, and her body responds in her usual manner. She squirms, as she lies on her side. Slowly moving her hips, legs curling up, crotch warm. She will not waste time on jerking off.

0508

Clarinet reeds have gotten pricy. I swear I used to be able to get a box of Vandoren reeds for ~$20-27 (depending on kind: normal, v12, or v21). I used to love the v12s; they had a rich, dark sound. Unfortunately, they were so inconsistent. The bass clarinet v12 reeds were ~$30 per box of 5 reeds; on average, two of those reeds were playable out of box. When I was taking private lessons, my teacher might adjust (trim?) the unplayable reeds with her tools. I also remember these reeds warping easily. I'd stick them in a reed case after playing, and rotated between 3-4 reeds at a time. At that point in time, I was practicing for ~1-2hr a day. A reed might start warping---to the point of unplayability---two or three weeks after opening. I played v12s for ~4 years before switching to v21s, and the difference in consistency of reed playability was staggering. My v21s consistently last ~6 weeks; warping is not an issue. In a box of five bass clarinet reeds, 4-5 of them would be playable out-of-box. v21s have a brighter sound. v12 could have a full, rich sound, while v21 sounds more pointed. The difference between the two is like day and night. I want to go back to v12s, but for the price per box---last time I checked amazon, this was ~$37-40 for a box of ten clarinet reeds---I can't afford their inconsistency. And (starts to justify to self) I have been getting into playing jazz clarinet, upbeat fast-paced shit, so the sound of the v21s might be more fitting anyways. Yeah. That's what I'll tell myself. Did I mention that I'm learning the clarinet solo in Black Bottom Stomp? I've been practicing with a metronome; trying to get it up to tempo.

---

She thinks she acts like she hates herself; she thinks she does hate herself. The source of this hate does not matter, to her. She has spent too much time allowing this hatred to fester unnoticed. She hardly thinks this could be true. Does her acting like she hates herself mean that she does hate herself?---a potential contradiction which has infected her being. She avoids things that she thinks she should not be privy to, as she does not deserve to be privy to them. She separates herself from all others, believing that they have been given a set of rights and privileges which she cannot access. She does not allow herself to inconvenience others; she believes she, and she alone, is not allowed to risk inconveniencing others. She believes she has no right to interact with others. She has spent her years erecting a barrier between herself and the rest of the world. The barrier may have served her, at one point, but she has allowed it to go far---no, she has brought it too far. She has over-reacted, and is so lost in her false beliefs that she cannot recognize the over-reaction.

She instinctively defers to this barrier to shield herself from any criticism. There is a rare instance where she tries to modify the barrier. What would make a person genuinely worse than others, she wonders, when would a person not matter? What would make a person inherently unworthy of existence? She develops a sledgehammer: all people matter, she is not inherently worse than others, she is not inherently undeserving of good treatment. She strikes her barrier with a sledgehammer, only to discover that the sledgehammer is merely a mallet, and this mallet breaks against her barrier. She developed a singular tool against herself. She could not wield it. She shirks responsibility, and prays that the barrier will vanish on its own.

She hurts. She goes to dull the pain; engage in minor, picayune temptations. She tells herself---and she believes---these temptations are a good use of time. She thinks she is being productive. She justifies her avoidance, and intentionally misses the point. Her actions protect herself; she lies to herself to maintain her lies. Doing otherwise would be painful, and she is too weak to withstand any pain. She cannot allow herself to take herself seriously; she will avoid pain at all costs. She begs for something to please take the edge off, yet rejects any solution that requires work. She believes in her ignorance, which protects her from understanding the consequences of her own actions.

She engaged in tirades against an accused, railing against perceived flaws, attempting to explain her thoughts on him, frantically trying to make a point to the caricature of another. She criticizes his way of life, falling back on the same arguments, and giving in to solipsistic daydreams involving her accused. These familiar diatribes soothe her. She recasts these rants as concern for the accused, yet knows that these rants are a waste of her time. She has side-stepped her problems in favor of wasting time. Is this not, we ask, a symptom of self-hate? She instinctively engages in anything but herself; is this denial a display of self-hate? Have her tirades against the accused imply that others' problems are more important than her own? Is she merely finding other ways to put herself down?

Our [putrid wench? Need better noun] has already begun another tirade. She masks self-hatred as self-awareness. She has lived a poor life, she believes, and she thinks this is indicative of her future. She believes she has only wasted time, and she will only continue to waste time. She decides that she is only capable of doing harm to others; she decides that this means she must kill herself. Any observation of her—neutral or not—is molded into a reason for suicide. She is inherently broken, she determines, and incapable of being fixed. She rejects responsibility and attempts to talk herself into suicide, at all costs. She refuses to accept her role in her exile.

0509

Struck by hurt, which buries itself in my throat and stomach. I don't know where it came from. Thinking about work, needing to refill forks & spoons, not wanting to go to the basement because a) don't know when it's appropriate b) someone might ask me to grab something else, which I won't have arms for. Hoping somebody refilled forks yesterday. Need to get payroll taken care of. Is that all? I can't buy groceries until the 15th. The date is arbitrary; have a budget, already overspent, so $45 of groceries needed to last half of the month as 'punishment.' It's more fine than it seems. I won't buy groceries until I've used up the frozen meat, and the cauliflower, and only have two days left of eggs. Once I get the paycheck, I will feel better, even if most of it can only go towards rent. I want to get my grocery bill down to $25/wk, and find a way to shop every other week. Butter is expensive; would it cost less to make my own? I think I need to do more produce, then my budget will stretch farther and my meals will be more edible. Ground beef + beans + cheese. Or cauliflower? Beans are starch-y, I think. I'll get to buy olives next week. I spend too much time thinking about food. Haven't even thought about next week...think I'll cook the pork in butter, and alternate sauces. Dodging an issue.

I want to write until my 'demons' (how I hate the term) have left me. The first four hours of my day were well-spent. I read two more of Plato's dialogues (three down, twenty-three to go), and that William James essay. I thought about what I read, and wrote about it. Then I was cooking, doing dishes, and watching Youtube videos---realizing that was only the past 2hr. Huh. I still have two hours until my shift. I need to practice, and message my landlord. I don't know how to spend my time. I don't feel like I have enough to keep me busy. There's only so much time I can spend reading, in a day, before my concentration wanes and I can't process the new information. Four hours of reading is enough. I'm trying to get into the habit of leaving the house at 0830, going to the library, and staying there for the next four hours. My computer doesn't connect to the school wifi, so my ability to be distracted is limited (I dislike my phone). The library is quiet; I can count the number of people in the building, including staff and myself, on one hand. I like the peace. What else do I want myself to do? So restless. I'm going to go practice.

later... practicing took some edge off. I saved a clarinet method book to my computer; I need to review technique, spend time perfecting my ability to play basic exercises. Some of my old bad habits have worn off. I'm having an easier time, than I used to, dragging myself to use the metronome with everything. My tempo is shit. Straight-eighths, in a scale, a nearly swung. I'm working on it. I keep puffing my cheeks. My hands and mouth are sore, too easily. With time I will rebuild my stamina. FINALLY MESSAGED LANDLORD ABOUT MOLD!!!

0511

Saturday, 0810. I am sitting at a small black table at Dunkin. My $2.54 coffee---is this overpriced? I don't know---is steaming hot. I've taken the lid off to allow it to cool. It's a black coffee with hazelnut and donut flavors. I try to sip it; still too hot. There are three men in the corner, balding and with gray hair. They speak to another man who just entered the room. He sits down at a table near them, and joins in their conversation. They seem to be talking about sports and salaries. Normally, I hear people talking (gossiping, really) about other people, maybe classes. Hearing a conversation about a specific topic is a welcome change.

I am physically and mentally exhausted. I got off of work around 10pm, and start my next shift at 10am. How wonderful. My first eight hour shift. At least I get to avoid the nighttime rush---I won't be on dish duty! Well, there will be dishes during the day, but I won't be cleaning the containers that are used for heating up food. They're greasy, and take two or three minutes (each) to clean, properly. The guy who I was doing dishes with yesterday did not clean 'em properly. I had to redo four of the dishes he gave me. I tried to tell him that they were greasy, but he gave them a cursory scrub. That is not cleaning! You have to wash it, rinse it, test if it's greasy, and repeat until it is not greasy. When scrubbing with the smooth side of the sponge, and the sponge stops easily sliding against the dish (when it 'stutters' or 'lags'), the dish ain't greasy.

I wonder if there I feel like there is something weighing me down, which I cannot detect. I'd like to feel like screaming, but I am too tired to scream. I don't want to do much of anything. My appetite has gone down, again---two pounds of meat (chicken!) lasted me six days. The sauces weren't that filling, I think. The only other shit I've eaten is two sticks of butter, and...maybe 1/4c chocolate, and however many coconut flakes. However much it was that went in the pie. Oh, work left me with some leftover food. That was nice. Still. I don't know why I bother writing this. I'm not solving my problems. I don't know how I can. My reading for this weekend is a book on loneliness, and another book on stoicism. Light reading. I need to take a break from Plato. He's starting to get on my nerves. I like the format of his dialogues---philosophy is a conversation, and he presents it as one. Unfortunately, he has a conclusion that he wants the audience to accept. He isn't offering an investigation. This is what bothers me. Why bother presenting it as a conversation?---easy way to show the alternate points of view, and prove 'em wrong.

These conversations can easily turn into petty squabbling over words. I call it petty, because it starts to miss the point. Our language should be exact. Why do I say it misses the point?---squabbling over the wording of objections, and 'what do you really mean,' can be tiresome. What is the point. Reading a translation may obfuscate the importance of wording---not every word has a direct translation, some words may be used in a different sense. And so on. Plato's Socrates is precise, and he offers some idea of how one can argue. What is my problem. Why am I writing this.

I keep considering going back to Neocities. The idea plagues my mind. I am bothered by this. I think I miss the novelty of hosting a website. Of having something that people could look at, of having the opportunity to meet other people. Except that opportunity is why I deleted my website. I grew tired of reaching out to others, and of hoping that someone would reach out to me. My unmet expectations began to feel like a burden. There was one person who I emailed for an extended period of time. There was another person I talked to. Two people---technically there were two or three more, but the one-off emails are easily forgotten---and they were, at the end of the day, worth talking to. I just want more. I think I want people in real life, though, so why search for people online? I feel so awkward around my coworkers. The other new people have become part of the 'in' group, and I'm still on the outside looking in. I don't know how to connect to others. Someone did try to talk to me, but our tastes in music were too different to continue that conversation. I haven't seen him again.

What do other people have to offer me that I can't offer myself? They're a product of another context. They have themselves (learning about how another person lives their life, and what they're interested in, is interesting), and their knowledge. I make it sound like people are sources of information...thought I was railing against seeing people as sources of information. I'm not sure what I'm looking for, any more. I wish I had someone to talk about books with. Or movies. Or music. Or math, or an application of spectral graph theory. Trying to work on my senior project is rough; I don't know where to start, or how much I need to know to start, need to find an advisor, and so on. I don't know enough of probability/stats to look at spectral graph theory and random walks. I don't know enough math, period. Fucccccccccccck I hate this. This isntt'right . How do I get somewhere, anywhere? Work is in an hour. I need to leave this Dunkin, and take care of the last few things at home. Dishes. Packing my things; I'm visiting family tonight, and tomorrow. I'll keep thinking. I need to find a solution to that question.

later... idk mannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn. I am tired, overwhelmed, stressed a broken record. I want a hug. I'm not fine, why the fuck can I not be fine? I wish I could sleep through the night. I've been on my feet for 6-8hr a day, for the past three days!, and can't get more than 6hr of interrupted sleep. Waking up 2-3x a night; WHY. FUCKKKKKKK. ME. I'me reduced to incoherence, wrists hurt, everything...am I hungry? What do I _actually_ need? Why can't I just figure this out how do I figure this out?

0512 week in review

life

• Hired! Worked 26hr. Mostly expo and dishes, and some prep work. Got my first paycheck (for last week's work).
• Grades came out. Three As, an A-, and a B. The B was from the Professional Development class; didn't do the final, and knew that this was the grade I'd get. The A- was from Discrete Structures; not surprised, since the final was rough. I was not prepared for a combinatorics question. The As were in linear algebra II, diffy q, and the teaching class.
• The clarinet solo in Black Bottom Stomp is coming along. I can play it, but not at tempo (yet).
• Tried to start The World as Will & Representation, by Arthur Schopenhaur. His introduction asks the reader to be familiar with his previous essays, and Kant; better yet if the reader is familiar with Plato. Challenge accepted. I've made a dent in reading Plato's dialogues.
• I've

---

Problem: spend 3-4hr per day on good reading, and (on workdays) 6-8hr working. I grow tired, unable to process new information, and unable to put effort into activities. Then I spend the rest of my waking hours ineffectually. Possible solution: graphic novels are low effort. Go to the library (on Monday) and check out a few. Listening to new music can be a low effort activity. Attempt to engage in this. Spend this week attempting this solution. If it doesn't work, so be it---still better than haphazardly looking at cooking videos. (Also, you spend too much time watching cooking videos).

What I'd like to read, this week: 2hr/day of Plato's Dialogues. (Maybe use internet to better understand them?) Unworthy, by Anneli Rufus. Another Adam Phillips. Finish one of the labyrinth books (you started 'em in March, procrastinating fucker. Could even do both!). The Enchiridon. Loneliness, by Clark E. Moustakas. Really really really want to find the time for a consciousness book; give Antonio Damasio one last shot. Could work in one of the cook memoirs/biographies. Fiction: The Guest Lecture, by Martin Riker. Something by Kathe Koja. Maybe something by Laszlo Krasznahorkai? The other AM Homes book.

My media consumption may be too high. Balance it out---try to journal 1k/day. Writing will force me to think; actively deal with a problem. More useful than meandering through my thoughts. At a bare minimum, I'll produce a (broken) record (pun, ha ha) of my thoughts. This is something I can refer to.

0513

Spent the morning running errands. I went to the library, started the process of opening a library card, and grabbed a few books & graphic novels. The library has a separate section for graphic novel biographies & memoirs! I'm looking forward to reading 'em all. After that, I went to the grocery store. I grabbed some ground beef, bay leaves, salt, garlic, and cucumber. I've borrowed a mandolin from my parents so that I can work on using it efficiently; going to slice up the cucumber and make a cucumber salad. Since I visited my parents over the weekend, I was able to take some frozen meats that they had sat in the freezer for a few months. I think I have enough food to last the next two weeks! Maybe I can push myself to not visit the grocery store until June . . ? I like the endurance test. We shall see. I am going to buy olives on Wednesday; there's a local place that sells better olives for half the price per pound of olives at a chain grocery store. I had eggs with ricotta & oregano for breakfast; delicious.

A question for philosophy: how do we say what we mean? That is, how can we ensure that our words accurately reflect our thoughts? I read Plato's Laches, where he tangentially deals with this question. The method which his Socrates uses to argue with others focuses on this. One can't argue with another (well) if both parties cannot agree on what they're arguing about. Maybe this is why dictionary definitions of character traits are important? Wiktionary offers straightforward definitions of courage:

1. The quality of being confident, not afraid or easily intimidated, but without being incautious or inconsiderate.

2. The ability to overcome one's fear, do or live things which one finds frightening.

3. The ability to maintain one's will or intent despite either the experience of fear, frailty, or frustration; or the occurrence of adversity, difficulty, defeat or reversal. Moral fortitude.

So a word arises to describe a particular thing. Definitions reflect usage of a word. There are agreed upon meanings which we must stick to to be able to communicate with one another. Stretching meaning, and changing meaning---I think this is a result of over-generalization---create a breakdown in communication. Misuse of words obfuscates what we say. I am now repeating myself, and have come to a conclusion I obtained long ago.

How does the dictionary fall out of use?---assumptions about words, about what others are saying. Remembering the Sold a Story podcast, and Marie Clay's incorrect ideas about how people learn to read. See a word, guess at meaning, move on to the next word. Remain ignorant of language. Difficult to check that we're saying what we mean---don't want to admit that one might be wrong, don't think that one could be wrong, assume that one is right. Speaking a language, so why not assume that one is competent, even though having grown up with a particular language does not grant knowledge of the language. My classmates and I had classes on spelling, and grammar, and our reading/English classes had vocabulary tests. My classmates scorned vocabulary tests, thinking that the information we needed to learn for them was irrelevant. Where does that come from? Becoming willfully ignorant of one's own language, and deeming it irrelevant. Maybe the usefulness of an expanding vocabulary wasn't made clear enough. Maybe it became painful, because of frequent testing. I had weekly spelling tests for all of elementary school.

---

I have engaged in disordered eating habits, regularly, for the past 7-8 years. My behaviors focus on restricting the quantity of food I eat. I would not say that I have been anorexic. My lowest weight in middle/high school was ~112lb, and my lowest weight (since starting college) has been ~108lb. This is slightly underweight, but not dangerously so. My restriction has never been about weight. I've never counted calories. I wasn't avoiding fats, or carbs, nor was I a vegetarian. Back in middle school, I lived off of eggs and granola bars (and small portions of whatever my mom made for dinner). La de da, food is something that can be used as a punishment or reward.

0514

I envy people who are lucky enough to have had relationships that they can choose to throw away. People who have had something, and can use that something to inform what they want. Lucky fuckers. People who have been able to trust others and have close relationships. People who have had enough of something to know that, sometimes, nothing is better than that something. Because they have better times to compare to. Fuck all of you. You don't know what it's like to have always known that you can't trust others. You don't know what it's like to constantly feel unsafe. You don't know what it's like to come home bruised, and need to hide those bruises (or cuts, or whatever else was inflicted on a given day) because then people will be concerned but can't do anything. Nothing can be done. You don't know what it's like to have had classmates grant you a concussion. You do not know what it's like to constantly wonder if you are the piece of shit everybody says you are; after all, you're just too stubborn to accept the truth. No, I don't know what I want---I can only throw spaghetti at a wall and try to guesstimate what might be what I want, because all I do know is what I don't want. Fuck you for being lucky. Fuck you for needing to rub your past fortune in my face. For needing to keep pointing out how you are better than me because your life has been better than mine. Fuck you for having a life that you could throw away, and then for choosing to do so. Yes, I am tired. Yes, I am angry. I wish I could eradicate the constant reminders of you, if only to cease the festering of my pent-up rage. You think I'd forget about you, yet I feel guilty whenever I see something nice and don't take a picture of it. I still find myself walking around and wondering if I should be photographing things. Feeling guilty. You whine about not feeling appreciated---the most obvious thing you've left me with is this constant feeling of guilt, pointing out how I'm not doing enough for you, and then I'm left actively seeking out things that you might be interested in. Even in your absence, I'm still wasting my time on doing things for you. I almost wish that I hated you. I start to wish that I could forget you. No, I don't know what I want from you---that's a lie, I know in some vague sense that I wish we could have better times _together_. That maybe we could read a book together and have some good discussions. Or watch a good movie together and talk about it without you calling me a retard. That I could be lucky enough to see you improve. If I could stop thinking about you, my life would be better, but I can't. Where does that leave me? You better be improving. You better be doing better than when you last spoke to me. Doing all the things that you said you could do if you weren't talking to me. or just lie to me otherwise, fuck you. Loses its edge, idc.

---

I started playing gacha again, and already deleted it. I'm not interested in playing. While part of me recalls all the money I wasted on it, and claims I should continue because of this, I am aware that that's a sunk-cost fallacy. Continuing to play, even without making a purchase, has no appeal. I deleted it without hesitation. Go, me...?

At work, I got to jump into the line. This meant that I was preparing some of the meals & appetizers! Exciting, and difficult. I'm not ready to juggle multiple dishes at once, or to pay attention to all of the timers. THING needs to be prepared when there is TIME left on OTHER THING FROM SAME ORDER. Except there are four orders that you need to take care of, stat. And I need to get better at plating—pouring out meats w/ sauce without getting the sauce on the edges of the container is challenging.

0515

...sighs. I'm tired. Woke up to cars honking. I've been debating about where to go today—want to buy olives, visit the library, and maybe go to another shop along the way. I'll be out and about; why not try something new? I want ice cream, but my only option is too expensive. I'd take a pastry, or a soup. I've bookmarked a few places. I think I'm looking for variety; something to break up this monotony. I wish I could work full-time. Then I'd always be busy. I do need to take care of something for a class, and watch videos for another class. Yes, I should get out of bed and go (crosses out to Dunkin) to the library, write an email, do some reading. I'm also so fucking tired! My legs are sore. Restaurant work will be building up my muscles. I should get out of bed. Usually, I'm good at getting up when I wake up—what's made today different how OKAY I'M UP.

later... I've been up for an hour. I ate yogurt with shredded coconut & the remaining blueberries from one container of kompot. The kompot is delicious; it's juice, more or less, and lovely. I'll make more in the future. I also read looked at a graphic novel—I like Craig Thompson's art, his bold brush strokes & detail, plot was uninteresting, or do I just not feel like paying attention to anything?—and now I'm writing this. Everything changes and everything stays the same. I thought moving out, getting a job, and adjusting what I ate could be enough to make a difference. It isn't. Of course it isn't. I'm still down, forlorn, disconnected, alienated, moody, lugubrious, despondent...the list goes on. What else am I supposed to do to alleviate this? I don't even know what needs to change for me to achieve my desired goal—feel like not-crap, take the edge off...? Can't even clearly define it. I just want to stop feeling like this (down, forlorn, etc). Alleviate the emotional pain. What's there to do? Alleviate, mind you, not distract.

Why do I feel like this is irrelevant—I quite literally cannot remember a time when I didn't feel like this. In the past, I thought it was because of being bullied, ostracized by my classmates, not feeling safe at home (when my dad was home, vague memories of being spanked, humiliated in public, harsh words for no reason) or school. Those aren't problems, anymore. Nobody is harming me. Then I thought my problem might be family obligations, not having enough of a say in my life. Yet that's been solved. I'm the problem. What's the solution—hah, suicide, except I've consistently failed to follow through, started to only back out, minor consequences of my failures. I don't want to be dead, surprisingly, I want to be in less pain. I'm repeating myself.

still she returns...wow, it's only 12:30?! I spent the past two hours outside. I stopped by the library, grabbed a few more books, and finished opening my card. I also bought more olives. They're delicious. Then I went to a restaurant and had a corn, bacon, and cheddar soup. Very creamy. This is the second time I've gotten a soup of a day from them. Good meal; actually worth the $5. I also bought a croissant, which was overpriced (at $3.50). Not buttery enough! I dislike how sick I feel after eating bread. Unfortunately, the croissant was not worth it.

Spoke to too many people. The people at the Greek place are friendly; just normal small talk. Held a door open for some artist. Spoke to a blind guy who kept asking me for the time. I can't sit in that park without having a strange encounter. Then, some brief exchange with a guy commenting on this woman who he thought was on meth. She was wearing sunglasses, a neon pink tube top, and a camouflage miniskirt. She was blasting music from her phone, and was speedily sauntering down the street. I think she was also wearing a few necklaces and bracelets. Either way, very odd.

What else do I need to do today. I have a few things to cook. I want to do some reading. I noted a few of Plato's dialogues that I'm actually interested in reading. I should be able to finish them this week. Then—Kant.

Should one consider every possible outcome before making a choice?—humans are not omnipotent. One cannot consider every possible outcome.

Why do I keep choosing to spend time on things that I don't want to do?

I feel like I'm dispassionately waging a war against myself. Wrong approach. Ignoring how I feel is ineffective; sooner or later, the feelings become too strong to ignore.

Am I avoiding the things that make me feel good? I'm writing this, and reading some forgettable article, instead of working on dinner. Even the process of making dinner would be more enjoyable than this.

Contradictory desires.

0516

Managed to get twelve hours of interrupted sleep. Made possible by melatonin & benadryl. Of course, I don't feel well-rested. On the plus side, I am actually hungry, and too thirsty. I've had three water bottles (maybe each is 12-16oz?) in the past 2.5hr. What else did I do. I showered, took care of an email, and a family thing, cleaned my room, made some baked cheesy cauliflower, made/ate breakfast (shrimp, feta, oregano, lemon, pepper <3).

Sometimes, when I'm stressed, I have a rash on my hands. Today's ideas for dealing with this: defrost meat tomorrow; meal prep on Saturday. Spend tomorrow finishing calc work; if awake after work, finish 13.2hw & notes. Could also work on reading; hopefully have enough energy to make substantial progress.

Worrying about people—can't do anything about that. Can only hope.

When I'm lying on my back, face up, legs & arms not crossed, I feel exposed, vulnerable, and anxious. Turning my head to the side, crossing my legs, or crossing my arms, slightly alleviates this feeling.

Downstairs neighbor is being too noisy. I'm wearing earplugs & noise-cancelling headphones. I've seen too many insects, today. I'm tired of eating food with the same texture. Taste barely matters. Eggs are getting repetitive. I don't like the texture of omelets, so my options for 'mixing it up' are limited. Tomorrow, I'd like to try poaching some eggs and making hollandaise sauce. That's something to look forward to. I don't want to eat the cheesy cauliflower; it's so bland and moist and unappealing. I don't want to make the passionfruit curd, since it'll be one boring texture, even if it tastes nice. I don't want to make more brown butter bites, even if they have coconut in them. I'd like a biscuit. I want a potato soup. I have enough groceries to last until the end of month—well, I better, because I've used most of my food budget. Now canned tuna sounds appealing, since I haven't had it in weeks. My parents bought me more eggs, so I need to make sure to eat them in a timely manner. They also brought yogurt. Yogurt, blueberries, and coconut is going to get boring pretty quickly. I want the food from the restaurant I work at. I want to have not procrastinated on schoolwork. Why did I want to rewatch Whiplash? I sure ain't watching it again. I dread rewatching Mirrormask, since it probably won't seem as good anymore, and the enjoyability factor will be gone because I have a habit of ruining things. I don't really want pork, because it reminds me of the time I was gagging on pork fat. Shredded beef sounds delicious, but ground beef is the cheapest (outside of organs). I fear trying scrapple, since it might taste as musty as liver and I don't want that. My food feels like garbage. I already ate all of the feta. I want something that's crunchy, or fried. I had a croissant yesterday, shouldn't that have been enough? I do want to make holodets, except I probably won't like the taste so why bother. I want to clean out my room, except there's nothing to clean out. I use everything. I don't want to practice clarinet. I don't want to do anything except go to work. That'll be nice, I'll be able to do something for others. I need to clean a bowl. I wish I wanted to finish the jazz book, since that had been interesting. I want/need to learn to plate food well. No matter what I do, the things that need to change don't change, so what's left to do?

screams
screams
screams

i don't get it

writing myself into a pit—couldn't you just vent? Or have fun with what you're doing? My bad; you don't have fun. You can't. Discombobulated—what the fuck do you want yourself to do? You write so dispassionately. Alienated from yourself and others. A smarter person would have figured this out, by now. You can't even figure out how. Fucking retard—easy solution, name-calling, what. to. do.

later...okay, it's actually the 17th. Got home from work a little over an hour ago. Today was stressful. The shift started off pretty easy—I spent time restocking, then doing dishes. There was a dinner rush where I got to prepare some bento meals. This was stressful—I am not prepared!—but they went out okay. Things chilled out, so I spent more time doing dishes. The only line cooks scheduled to work the rest of the night are myself and the guy who's training me. Shit is quiet, so I work on dishes while he takes care of the handful of orders. Then, about forty minutes before closing, he calls out to say that he needs help. That ain't good. I run up to four tickets at the expo station, and a handful more coming out of the ticket machine. Very. not. good. Someone had the audacity to place a pretty large order, too. Six dishes, and a platter! Ffs. Customers: can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em. Thankfully, our boss stepped in to help on the line. By some miracle, we knock 'em out, but the kitchen was a mess for those minutes. I couldn't keep track of what was going on.

My boss repeatedly commented on how stressed/anxious/tense I look. Apparently, my face keeps getting very pale/white...? And my posture is tense...? What am I supposed to say—yes, I'm fine, I'm just drowning in work that I don't feel like I can handle.

0517

Work was busy. Made mistakes; at least all mistakes were caught. Came home to find a light on, new food in the fridge, and new things in the bathroom. Did someone move in? The previous roommate did not use the fridge. I think the old things in the bathroom weren't hers. So...yeah. Or my roommate turned over a new leaf, who knows?!

Since starting work, my caffeine intake has increased. I think this may have increased my symptoms of anxiety. So: back to no caffeine.

0518

Well, I certainly sleep better when I don't have caffeine. Coincidence, maybe, but I slept through the night. Woke up, tired. I'm going to rest for a little while longer.

Made the mistake of clicking around on Neocities. I'd not thought about mental illness trends for a long time; now I'm clicking through a page hosted by a self-proclaimed "system." Dissassociative identity disorder, aka DID, is a supposed disorder where someone has multiple personalities, any of which may "front" at a given time. This is akin to having multiple people in the same body. Typically, one experiences amnesia when one is not fronting—ex. take an imaginary person with multiple personalities, call their two identities "Noelle" and "Helen." When Helen is "fronting," Noelle is not aware of what is going on, and vice versa. This is not a good summary of the disorder. Links: wikipedia, DSM, youtube example 1, youtube example 2.

This disorder has long been associated with faking. Its rise on social media—which, anecdotally, began around 2020—is nothing new. r/fakedisordercringe compiled instances of supposed faking. Most potential fakers seem to collect mental disorders & mental illnesses, and have a large number of identities, including some which emerge from media (fictional and nonfictional). These "alters" tend to adopt queer identities (how have people invented so many words for sexual and romantic attraction, and 'gender'?). Alters with other racial 'identities' are not uncommon. Alters with other physical and mental disabilities are also not uncommon. I've seen people list things that 'trigger' each alter; this can either be something that disturbs/upsets the alter, or something that causes the alter to front. People tend to list alter roles—ex. traumaholder, caretaker, wow this person supplies a list https://mooface.neocities.org/cdd As this phenomenon appears to primarily occur on TikTok, people can provide visuals of their alters. Wearing wigs, or makeup, to distinguish between identities is not uncommon.

I do not know how to accurately describe this phenomenon. There have been a few scientific studies discussing this particular phenomenon—LINK. Terminally online—another way to describe this bizarre internet trend. I feel like I'm discussing another brand of nonsense.

What started me on this rant—this phenomena has infected the internet. I'd seen possible fakers on the Nanowrimo forums; all teenagers, of course. I've encountered a handful on Neocities.

later... I don't feel like finishing that ramble. I think I wrote about internet fakers in my remarks on Saving Normal. It's noon. I got out of bed at eight, and spent 3hr on meal prep. Recipes are listed on the cooking page. Also met the new roommate. He introduced himself---what a shock! Sincerely wish my landlord had bothered to tell me that somebody was moving in. I've started cleaning out the things that the previous previous roommate left. Yay, free vanilla extract <3. I want to take care of a bit more cooking today, but am worried about hogging the kitchen.

night... work was chill. I was worried for no reason. Spent some time talking to my 'older' coworkers (co-cookers?). One of them recently graduated college; the other one has been working here for more years than I can count. They're fine. It's the two high schoolers who annoy me. Their behaviors and egos reek of high school. They don't communicate, either. The guy spends too much time getting distracted by irrelevant bullshit. He's a stereotypical gym bro. The gal seems bossy; sometimes, I wonder if she's annoyed because she's not one of the guys. That is, the guys are a homogeneous blob, while us two ladies—who rarely work together—are on the outside looking in. She's shorter than I am, and the guys are at least a head taller than me, and I wonder if her height doesn't help? I dunno, I'm rambling. Today's shift made me feel like I might have a handle on some things. Worried that discussing particulars of the menu will risk dox—why does this come to mind.

notes from the next day:

• performing for an audience, by default?
• acknowledgement that I want to return to posting online--->why?
• mentally pre-planning for posting online?
• Is writing HTML vs. editing a .txt file contributing to this difference?
• Dishonesty?
• Holding back---reminded, 'not open (enough).'-->wanting a bottomless pit.

0519

> write about someone else for a change, retard

Okay. A short list of Neocities sites which I still look at:

Lotus's Cube

I've liked watching him redesign his website. He's taken a few components of standard Neocities pages and made them his own. He has a diary, and a few essays which are short and to the point. He doesn't seem to be trying to present himself as something he isn't. The kind of person who knows what he believes and how he wants to live is life. I wish that there was a conversation I wanted to have with him. I think he could make better arguments---that is, do more than state opinions/beliefs. Back 'em up.

Vashti's Room

I like reading diaries, and Vashti's may be the longest-lasting, most consistently updated diary which I've seen. She reflects on her life and recounts minutiae. Her highs and lows come across, but---from an outsider's perspective---she seems to have improved over time. She seems to keep fighting to do better.

Saddleblasters

Essays about life (in China), music, and making games. He seems like someone who was confused, but is starting to find his way through life. I appreciate the simplicity of his website.

Suboptimalism

A real-life eccentric who writes essays about the internet, learning Japanese, travel, life, and many other specific topics. His writing is odd, slightly surreal, a bit satirical, a bit humorous, a bit of a mish-mash of a fever dream. Like a slightly-more-normal normal-horoscopes.

Hat

The one true 'idk what this mishmash of shit is, but i enjoy it' website. I am not certain that the person who runs the website is real. This feels like a long-running fever dream.

all iframes are my own and do not reflect the opinion of my mother

maggotgirl2002

I am silently rating diaries. I do not get her writing. I hope she's able to do better, and despair less. At least she's been writing short stories.

Lost Letters

I'm not sure if the contents of her site have degraded, or if I've become disillusioned. When I first saw her website, I appreciated getting to read a variety of essays written by the same person. Substance! Now, though, she seems like a bog-standard social-justice type. A website which offers the illusion of substance.

bikobatanari

Honorable mention; his site disappeared in February. He wrote detailed essays on the internet, his art practice, and his other beliefs. He also posted his artwork---while I didn't spend much time looking at his art, I could see the effort that he had put into his work. His 'garden' inspired my 'thoughts' page.

[REDACTED]

You know who you are. I sincerely hope that I get to see your website update again, and that it will update because you have changed (for the better).

---

I'll offer up another topic:---no, thinking about miscommunication. If I'm late, because I think 4+3 is 7, not 5.5, we break up, yet if you're late I must wait, and if I'm annoyed we break up. Thinking about double standards, and, consequently, tuquoqueisms. In the past, I've avoided holding others to standards that I myself do not meet. I remember deciding to do so, in middle school, maybe seventh grade. "If I do X, but expect others to not to X, I am a hypocrite. I do not want to be a hypocrite." That is, "do as I say and as I do" (because these will be the same). In the past year, I began forcing myself to abandon this principle. I wanted someone to actively work to improve, while I was not doing the same. I felt obligated to cast judgements on matters I didn't give a crap about (while, consequently, keeping quiet on the things I did care about?).

---

To listen to music, I use Apple Music. I wasn't interested in hearing the music I've saved to my library, so I listened to 'my station.' The first song it played was Farewell to All We Know, by Matt Elliot. Talk about a song I haven't heard in a while! I like how simple his music is. The guitar tends to play a discernable melody, and not only be used for chords. It's rare for me to like an acoustic guitarist; he is an exception. This piece captures a bit of melancholy. As I write this, I'm listening to a live performance of the same song. There are some nice differences in the instrumentals and vocals. His performance is guitar and vocals; the vocals harmonize for the last few minutes, which recreates the haunting instrumentals of the recorded version. I'm also looking up the lyrics; excerpt:

Farewell to all that we know
As it slowly decays
Farewell folly of youth
Welcome end of days
We were never equipped
To survive anyway
Asking if it's too late
As we're washed away
Yes, my friends
It's too late, it's too late

I don't remember why (or when) I stopped listening to his music. I've saved his albums to my library. Will listen through his discography this week. That'll be enjoyable. I'm listening to a performance titled The Maid We Messed, now. Lovely. There's some percussive sounds, now---where are they going? This music sounds lonely. I enjoy it.

Another song I heard was I Will Never Die, by Delta Rae. Saving some of the group's albums to my library---oh, they also did Bottom of the River. That was a big hit, back then. I'm also remembering Take Me to War, by The Crane Wives. Now remembering Erased, by Vixy & Tony, since the sound is similar. I'm going to listen to these songs in a moment, and add links, but I'm currently appreciating The Maid We Messed. Damn, does it get interesting. He adds more sounds, which build on to each other. I'm picturing a haunting loneliness. Wandering through caves, where you're the only living creature to walk these hallowed halls. There's a mist that continues to become thicker, 'til you're walking through a thick fog and can't see a thing. You fall. The fog begins to clear. Your surroundings are shades of gray---indiscernable shapes, blurry to the eye of a fall-er. When you hit the ground, ?. Heh, thinking of A Short Stay in Hell, by Steven Peck, falling to get through the floors of the library, fighting in the air, 'steering' and 'aiming' midflight. What a world.

Listening to Bottom of the River. I love the mix of vocals and percussion. The historical context (Salem witch trials) is a nice touch. When this song was popular, there was a lot of good music playing on the radio. Music groups / musicians I remember hearing in the same time period:

• Kill of the Night - Gin Wigmore
• Hot Damn - Ivy Levan
• I Don't Wanna Wake Up - Ivy Levan - these two songs of hers are catchy. I like the slightly-jazzy sound.
• Blue Eyes Blind - ZZ Ward - not sure which one of her songs I'm actually thinking of. Something from this album. I ain't enjoying giving her music another listen :(
• Raise Hell - Dorothy
• Emergency - Icona Pop - watch for an odd, bad?, music video.
• Caro Emerald - all of her music. All of it.
• I Need a Dollar - Aloe Blacc

Some other songs that I swear are from the same time but are actually more recent:

• No Roots - Alice Merton
• River - Bishop Briggs
• Dark Side - Bishop Briggs
• Glitter & Gold - Barns Courtney - god, I love the footsteps(? chains?) at the beginning. Establishing that beat. This sounds nice at 1.25x
• Feel It Still - Portugal. The Man
• Anything by Jain.

Feels like I could keep listing songs all night. Could mention Cage the Elephant, Indila, Adele, Maroon 5, Imagine Dragons, whoever it was who did Sweater Weather, Usher, Coldplay, Lorde, Katy Perry, Mumford and Sons, Of Monsters and Men, Asteroids Galaxy Tour, Florence and The Machine, Lana Del Ray, P!NK, Twenty-One Pilots, The Weeknd, Melanie Martinez ...the groups I've mentally grouped together will just keep coming. I think I'd group Billie Eilish, Bea Miller, and ... Tessa Violet, Dua Lipa? in a later category. Okay, I'm stopping myself from continuing this. I'll keep listing songs, artists, trying to remember who (THAT) was. How is it easier to remember the album cover? My parents played music on Pandora. Fuck, there's another song that's on the tip of my tongue---this one. Or, since we're getting nostalgic, sorry not sorry :DDDD. I wonder if I could keep trolling you.

I had things I meant to say. Now I've spent 2hr going through music. Whatever music station is played at my workplace, and a few other local places, keeps playing Teenage Dream, by Katy Perry (and a few of her other songs). The other common songs, which I know, are Stick Season (Noah Kahan) and Too Sweet (Hozier). Stick Season is nice; the entire album is also nice. Not a song to skip.

Thinking about---complicated things. Where's the line between valuing (your relationship with) someone, and placing too high a value? Needing to write a mix of things. I want to write about my daily life, so that I remember what happened. I want to write about personal matters, because that helps me think through / deal with things. I want to write about topics that aren't about me, because then I think about something other than myself, and then I can distract myself from my misery. I want to do creative writing, again, because this frightens me. I used to be good at writing whenever; no worrying about whether or not it was good, just writing that first draft so that I had something to edit. Now, I think about writing, and I think about the last two times I showed my writing to someone. There are too many emotions wrapped up in it. You think my writing has no merit, and a bit of satire+horror was only published as Marxist propaganda? We talk, I go to bed, I wake up and take care of school + family shit, then send you a story---roughly five hours after waking up---and you scold me for being an unreliable teenager? I spent an hour digging up the old hard drive with my writing on it, and going through my stories to find something I would want to send you, and your gut reaction, which you said you wouldn't apologize for, was to ramble about how teenagers are unreliable and can't be trusted and you 'correctly' predicted that I wouldn't remember to send you something? Then left me worried that the email I sent didn't actually send, because I had sent you the piece ~.5hr before we chatted, and here you were rambling about me being inherently unreliable...? I don't think you understand how some creatives have piles of unfinished works. Not every piece is seen to completion---it took me time to find something to send you, because I had to dig through writing I hadn't looked at for ~6-7months, and so many files were incomplete stories. Maybe the problem was that I thought too much; should've picked a random file, then I would've been faster, even if the file would have only had a page of notes. You'd scold that, probably, because nothing would ever be enough for you. The second piece had my name attached to it. Sending that email was nerve-racking---you already had my first name, but my last name gives you an identifier. Aaaaand you looked at the title and decided it was only published because the magazine was pushing an agenda. Despite knowing nothing about the magazine, or the piece itself---certainly, spending/wasting time on porn is a better use of time than a bit of flash fiction. Seems like you see Marxism everywhere, and decide that any trace that could be related to Marxism is pushing an agenda; some massive political conspiracy. That, according to you, the people pushing don't even believe in. You can't point to evidence---just videos, and books, by people who believe what you believe---and can't make a coherent argument. Then whine about how I'm so tainted by Marxism that I can't listen to your weak non-arguments. It's like you want there to be some vague conspiracy explaining the world, yet can't accept that some people are idiots and do believe what they're saying. Also, implying that anything that could be related to Marxism is inherently meritless is a poor way of judging things. You aren't judging the work; you're taking an impression of a title and casting judgement on the work. Unbacked assumptions. Not unlike cancel culture, or similar social-justice/righteousness-esque people would; the same approach as someone who says, say, "that person was racist, so we can't listen to 'em."

If you're missing my point: I shared something with you that felt personal --> you immediately dismiss it. While, in the same time period, whine about me not being open enough. You cannot define what you mean by 'open.' 'Open' does not mean talking about my life, or my interests, my opinions, my (thoughts on what I'm) reading, or how I feel, or the things I'm struggling with, or things on my mind, or the things I've done, or what I care about, or anything about my thoughts/feelings/opinions regarding you. You dismiss my words as irrelevant---to what goal? You've repeatedly stated what you want in a person, and stated that I am not that person, then insist we keep talking because...? If I stopped talking, I'd be (implicitly) saying that I don't care about you, or us? You don't care---you've made that clear more times than I can count---why should I keep caring in your stead? It's been, what, two months since we last spoke, and I'm still thinking about you & the things that had happened. You don't understand why I cared. I can hear you blaming me---if I were a better, different, person, you'd be better. If I were enough, you wouldn't be set on suicide. And, of course I can hear you blaming---it's my fault that I'm upset by this, I should be more human and can all reactions to others. I don't understand how these aren't contradictory. I hate how I still hear you talking, blaming, refusing to consider your part in this. That is, you don't exist in a void---if you're talking to someone, they will react to what you say. If you're missing my point---I wish you understood why I felt mis-treated, and accepted some responsibility for your _bad_ influence. Instead, I already hear you blaming me, or saying that I'm missing a point that you don't want to explain, constructing strawmen where you can't even begin to explain how wrong I am, and I'm left with more guilt for having written this.

I don't want to misrepresent you. You aren't a villain. I wish I remembered some positive anecdote; I'd put it here. Then this would sound like I was fixating on some incidents, that I needed to write about these incidents to stop thinking about them. Were I to apologize for the unknowing misrepresentation, I'd need to keep justifying the apology to prove that I do mean it, that I'm not saying sorry to try to alleviate my guilt. Just---nonexistent reader, future me: know that, even though I do not know how I'm misrepresenting someone, I am. I'm drowning in a pool of tears and guilt. Yes, I dislike the influence you've had on me; I do wish that I understood what about your influence I should appreciate. If I understood how to appreciate guilt, I might be able to appreciate your influence. yet i'm still a retard who doesn't know how to get it, and can't get it---broken (record), aren't we all? Neither words, nor actions I'm capable of, could express how sorry I am.

---

I need to think about something else. I'm visiting my family for a few days; I'm not scheduled to work until Thursday. Boo :( My sister picked me up this morning. We grabbed donuts from a local place, and stopped by a coffee shop. We split a green matcha brownie. There were white chocolate chips in it, which balanced out the grassy flavor of the matcha. Brought donuts home for the family; they were well-received. The donuts are made in-house! Very nice. In the afternoon, my youngest brother and I played with legos for an hour. My dad made beef teriyaki for dinner; delicious. The beef had the same texture as corned beef.

Thinking about my relationship with food, what I want to be eating, and how much I eat. I want to stick to a low-carb diet; for me, this has meant I primarily eat animal products. Plants make up, not sure, maybe 10% of my diet? When I'm visiting family, this changes. They have so much food! So many different flavors and textures. I want to sample everything. I think I understand why I used to look at our full cupboards and feel like there was nothing to eat. I open the fridge—there's pizza, some quinoa-veggie soup, plenty of drinks, sauces, herbs, and none of this seems like real food. I open the cabinets; chips, crackers, dried fruit. Not food! So much of the so-called food is tasty but has no nutritional value.

0520

After writing that last sentence, I fell asleep. The point I was coming to was that I want/need to reframe my relationship with food. I tend to see eating as a reward or punishment—withhold food if do poorly, eat food if done well. Do I deserve to eat? This is a shit question. I'm recalling Ink and Water, by NAMES. I do need to look at eating as a way to fuel myself. The point of eating is to sustain life—framing it as a reward/punishment is debauchery. I will need to remind myself of this. It is easier to eat nutritious food if the food tastes good. It is easier to eat food if I want to eat the food. So: I will continue to expand my cooking repertoire. I want to go to the library and find cookbooks that note the nutritional value of their recipes; I'll modify recipes regardless, but it will be a starting point. I'd like to find a Greek cookbook, and a Russian cookbook. I like Greek food, and Life of Boris has piqued my interest in Russian cooking. His videos are why I've made kompot and chebureki; I'd like to try holodets. I'm also going to keep doing meal prep. Prepping meals gives me flexibility in my day to day—I get to decide which pre-made thing I want to eat that day. I'm less stressed.

I enjoy visiting family for a moment. I get to have food, and briefly see these people who annoy me. Then they annoy me too much. The obligations to do bullshit I don't want to do, the guilt-tripping, the noise, the mess. These people cannot clean up after themselves. I'm whining. I wanted to sit on the couch, except my youngest brother is playing and making too much noise. He got on my nerves, so I left the room. Now all I hear is the highway, my sister humming & packing bags, and forks clicking as people eat dinner. I could put on headphones. However, my mom said she'd take me to a store when she's done eating—I want new curtains, since my curtains are mismatched, and two of the rods are missing—so I need to keep an ear out. People. So much noise. Home is noisy, too, with wearing ear plugs with noise cancelling headphones to cover up the sounds, but at least I'm not missing anything I need to know. Here, I do, and then there's more guilt-tripping. They're taking a cheese grater to my nerves. I will not see them until June. We're arguing about my sister's graduation—the ceremony is on Sunday, but the only time they can get me is Saturday morning or Friday night. I will, more likely than not, be working on Friday and Saturday nights, and I can't really afford to take a day off. They can't get me Saturday night, because they have dinner reservations at 17 and don't want to be driving at 22. I don't care about going to my sister's high school graduation ceremony. Listening to people ramble about bullshit I don't care about, just to support my sister? She doesn't need my support; she's even said that she doesn't want to go to graduation. Going to graduation benefits my mother above all else. I don't think it's selfish of me, in a bad way, to want enough money for rent and groceries? I get that not going to graduation says that I think I am more important than my family. I don't know what to do. Spending two days on graduation celebrations is ridiculous. My mom will resent me for not doing so. These arguments feel like bullshit. I feel stifled by my family, so I resent them. I feel no qualms taking food from them—in a week, they waste more food than I eat. I will happily take fruit and make more kompot. I know kompot is just fruit and water and a tad bit of sugar; don't care. Having something flavorful is enjoyable. Now, my brother is squealing. Can this house have no moment of peace? Note to self: avoid coming home unless genuinely necessary. There are other ways to get food without sacrificing your sanity. (There are several nearby food pantries, and a soup kitchen. I'm fine for now, but I suspect my fall budget will be much tighter. Had to spend $95 on a homework platform—but, y'know, at least it comes with free textbook access! (pirates book anyways, because a pdf is significantly easier to reference than an in-browser thing).

Mistake of the day: scrolling through r/neet. These people appear to be pleased with themselves, merely because they do not have a job. They continuously degrade all people who have jobs—per them, employed people are 'wagecucks' who have sold their souls to The System. They claim NEETS are inherently superior to employed people. It seems like these people are trapping themselves in a self-enforcing cycle. Instead of aiming to not be a NEET, they must continuously justify their NEETdom. I think this justification arises from their unwillingness to acknowledge the problems in their life. Were one truly satisfied as a NEET, would one be continuously trying to prove to others that they are satisfied? No. They would not need external reenforcement. Leading questions. Perhaps they are blind to their problems. Perhaps they are too busy blaming society. Perhaps their beliefs, and values, are so degraded that every thing enforces their beliefs. They are not courageous enough to build a life they can be content with. They play by their own rules, to their detriment, while those who aren't NEETS have decided to find a balance between their rules and society's rules—internal and external rules?—to their benefit.

---

Lucy feels like she is falling. She's laying on a poorly-cushioned excuse of a bed, in a dimly-lit room designed to hold a single patient. She's on her back, unrestrained, though her head is turned to the side; I lean over, slip my hand under her cheek, ensuring that she's facing upright before I remove her glasses. I place them on the small table beside her bed, next to the clipboard of papers that her Retriever left. At least he did part of his job.

Tomorrow, she will wake up. She will wonder if she's still dreaming, and it may take her a moment to realize she is not dreaming. She will glance around the room, but she will not move her head. She will have already created a rule for herself. She will force herself to be dull and complacent, and she will not realize she chose to be this way. I will need to set aside my annoyance. Either a patient is an idiot, or he masquerades as one. She is no exception. In time, she will learn she is wearing a mask, and she will learn to remove it. What happens then is her choice. I only hope she makes a better decision than I did.

She wears a gray short-sleeved v-neck, black slacks, and black socks. Her hands and arms are littered with thin hairs; they look black, though the hair on her head is brown. She is frail and white. I suspect she will do poorly on our initial fitness exam.. I trace a hand over her ribs---their slight rises and dips, a shame I can't decide to force her to lose weight, further define her bones---and pause when I reach soft tissue. She is not wearing a bra. Her breasts feel small. I want to keep touching her, to slip a hand under the waistband of her pants and attempt to wrench an orgasm from her unconscious body. If only my desires wouldn't compromise my integrity.

0521

I want to bury myself in writing. I want to dedicate my time to writing, cooking, and math; nothing else would occupy my time, even essential tasks—hygiene and cleaning—may fall to the side, relegated only to moments when I cannot push myself further. I imagine dedicating my time to writing would unlock something new. I would keep writing, pushing myself, and—by virtue of time spent—would write something brilliantly new to me. I imagine I could solve my problems; write myself into serenity. I believe this will not happen. I am daydreaming and hoping all of my problems could have a straightforward solution. In reality, my writing would continuously fall into petty matters; I could not go further. The temptation exists. Perhaps, a four day trial?

I wonder if my father notices how much time he spends scratching his face. He's driving, yet one hand is scratching around his face; that hand returns to the steering wheel, and his other hand goes to scratch his head. He keeps this up for a few minutes, pauses, and then returns to scratching. The sound of his scratching grates my nerves.

He scratches until his skin starts to peel, driving the car as he peels his skin away, revealing the alien bones underneath. There is no flesh. Hundreds, if not thousands, of minute bones mimic the appearance of flesh. When covered in skin, one would believe there is flesh underneath. His eyes tumble backwards, disappearing into his body as he glances over at me. "So," and then he's rambling about his coworkers. Are they as alien as he is? These businessmen may have begun as humans, and were gradually replaced by well-learned aliens. They couldn't penetrate the real world. They found a building full of inhumane humans, realized they could begin to take their place, as they're indistinguishable, and then infiltrate homes in an attempt to discern humanity. They want to blend in. This one—who calls himself my father—has given up his facade. When will he realize?

No skin is peeled off. No eyeballs fall back. No coworkers are rambled about. No aliens masquerade as humans. He is still scratching. Jack White's only good album blasts out of the speakers. THAT WAS THEN AND THIS IS NOW AND NOW THE TIME HAS COME. Transition to Astoria, by Marianas Trench. I'd like to put A Normal Life back on, but my dad, now scratching his nose, may comment on it. NEVER AFTER WILL SUFFICE WHEN STAR-CROSSED LOVERS TAKE THEIR LIFE. The scent of his blueberry-pomegranate tea wafts through the car. He is still scratching. I consciously refrain from scratching itches; doing otherwise would be improper. People who keep scratching seem distracted and impolite.

The arguments about content warnings seem futile. I was recently reminded of the debates about "cw: food mention." I've heard people who are recovering from eating disorders claim this is counterproductive to them; the content warning enforces a fear of food. I've also heard people who are actively engaging in eating disorders ask for the inclusion of a content warning, because the mention of food is distressing to them. For whatever reason, the latter group is favored. I think it is up to individuals to manage their triggers. You cannot censor the world into suiting your needs. This is assuming that people are genuinely triggered—people who are merely uncomfortable, or mildly distressed, are not triggered and do not need content warnings. They want to reject the real world and create one where they will never face discomfort. At that point, a content warning does more harm than good.

So is there a time when content warnings are appropriate? I think there are times when context is sufficient warning. If I pick up an extreme horror novel, I cannot be surprised to encounter graphic descriptions of rape or other violence. Discussing material where the reader expects to be disturbed is counterproductive. I like doesthedogdie, because it gives moviegoers a way to voluntarily seek out material they want content warnings for. What am I getting at—catering to everybody's needs does more harm than good, content warnings are detrimental because they enforce fear.

---

I wanted to write about Limbus Company. Actually, I wanted to write about Undertale, or Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door, or Super Paper Mario. Other topics: anonymity. I am sitting in a school building; there are vending machines in front of me. I thought of writing about them to. Of time, of the internet, of---well, I have time, it's 12:54 and I've done half of what I need to do today, let's see how many of these topics I can knock out.

I stopped playing Limbus Company after the release of Canto IV. I finished Canto IV, beat that hellish dungeon, and deleted the game. The third part of Canto IV was released, and I spent 7hr completing it. Most of the time was spent on the final battle. See, Limbus Company has a unique combination of a complex storyline---I wouldn't be surprised to hear that each chapter was >10k words---and complex battle mechanics. When picking who you use in battle, you think about the strengths/weaknesses of each character, and how these characters work together, and the strengths/weaknesses of each opponent. Oh, and the opponent's strengths/weaknesses play off one another. I don't think I can accurately describe the complexities of a game I haven't played for, I dunno, ten months? Maybe more? The point: battles are complex. This is why I stopped playing. I wanted the storyline. The plot is chock-full of references to classic literature. Each Canto highlight's a character's background, combining character studies with character development to create an enticing story. This is what I want to read. Not play.

In other words, this game is not for me. To me, the battle mechanics are a slog, and understanding this battle strategy is not a good use of my time. I do not know enough about battle mechanics of games in general to cast accurate judgements of these mechanics. I want to say that the detailed battle mechanics & detailed storyline make it a good game. Aren't "what the game is doing" and "how the game is doing what it's doing" key components of a game? Rating each of these? Excuse me while I lose the plot. I'll catch up on reading the Limbus Company storylogs, later.

Something about good and bad games, and my amateur judgements of those games. I'd like to think that something that is good is rereadable / rewatchable / replayable; good to a single person vs good in general---this is a struggle. Components must be done well to be good. How well does something satisfy its point? I think something needs to have a discernable point. Then one can judge how much/well the point is met, and then that contributes to how good something is. I'm talking about media, not morals. Good === beneficial; losing the plot, don't know enough about games to create the plot so she rambles into the void in hopes someone will make sense of her words.

Someday, someone will make sense of these words. Some reader could find more meaning in what I've written than I can---my influence, for lack of better word, exists. Could be better. What am I influencing people to do? I want people to think; if they're thinking, they're getting something out of this. They can think alongside me; as I formulate my thoughts, theey may start to formulate their own _as a result of my formulations_. Do people benefit from reading about me?---I like reading about other people. I like understanding how others may live their lives, how they deal with their problems, how they improve, how their happenings contribute to them---how they develop. How does this benefit me?---greater understanding of others...? People who maintain quality diaries seem to have discernable personalities and viewpoints; there is a consistent person, and they expose their character. People who do not maintain quality diaries rarely maintain one; I'm thinking about simple online diaries with sparse updates. So lacking in life that they have little to say. Harsh, but true.

These vending machines are tempting. The contents themselves are not---maybe it's the novelty. Hit buttons, get food. I see chips, which I dislike, fruit snacks, which are tasteless, pretzels and crackers, unenjoyable, a cookie, which I'm curious about, gummy candys, the sour ones sound nice, granola bars, the illusion of a meal, m&ms, don't taste very good, skittles, whose taste and texture are unenjoyable, halves of kit-kats, probably cost $3 and the chocolate isn't good, peanuts, which I have at home, snickers, again with the bad chocolate, oreos, which make me want the cake oreos, some packaged baked goods, they won't taste good, and pop-tarts, where I could buy a box for the same price. The second vending machine is full of colorful sodas, unnapealing, and water, though I can walk down the hall and have cold water for no cost. I think I should leave. I am hungry. I'm making typos---fingers moving too fast, stumbling over each other, indeed, it is time to go home.

---

The electricity bill hasn't been paid since 2022. Electricity is included in rent, so I wonder what happened? The landlord has said she'll take care of it. Hallelujah. Here's hoping she does, and service isn't terminated. Okay. I am writing because I am tired of doing math homework. Calc 3 is easy, so far; calculations are straightforward. Plug and chug. I need to email a few professors to see if they're willing to be my advisor for my senior project. I'm still planning on learning about spectral graph theory. Eeep! In the fall, I'll be taking 18 credits of upper-level math classes. (There were many Fall-only classes that I wanted to take). As long as I can survive that + part-time work, I'll be 24 credits away from graduation. Wow. Undergrad is coming to an end. I shouldn't count my chickens before they've hatched. I guess, despite all my despairing, I am pleased with how far I've come. If you told me from a year ago that I'd have moved out, started a physically-strenuous job, and was nearing the end of a math (not liberal arts!) major:

NOBODY-ONE-YEAR-AGO: Am I hallucinating? Please go away.

NOBODY-CURRENT: I'm serious! Real life is better than what you're doing.

NOBODY-ONE-YEAR-AGO: I knew these meds were a bad idea.

NOBODY-ONE-YEAR-AGO pulls out a tablet. The screen shows the loading page for a game called Shining Nikki.

NOBODY-CURRENT: You do know that you're better off without that, right? That game is wasting your money, stressing you out, and making your life worse. You could be doing so much else with your time.

NOBODY-ONE-YEAR-AGO: Life is shit and this is comforting.

NOBODY-CURRENT: You'd be much better if you just got out of the house.

NOBODY-ONE-YEAR-AGO: And go where? The library, which I already spent a few hours at, or the cemetery? There's nothing near here.

NOBODY-CURRENT: You could start biking. Or earn your learner's permit. Our parents don't have the time to take you driving, but they might be willing to split the cost of driving lessons. You might be able to use the car a few times a month; then you could go somewhere for a few hours. Wouldn't a bookstore be nice? Or one of the older libraries, or the art museum?

NOBODY-ONE-YEAR-AGO: I hurt too much to bike. And still think about those incidents with Dad. What's the point in getting a permit, if I can't learn to drive? Long-term, I—

NOBODY-CURRENT: Don't want to own a car. I know. My point is that you need a way to get away from our family, and that there are ways you might be able to do so. Your life will improve, once you get away from them. Trust me on this one.

NOBODY-ONE-YEAR-AGO: No. It won't. Please go away.

See? Wouldn't believe you. I think I'm going to go back to reading a chef's memoir, and then eat dinner.

---

It is 0522. My "new day"s are separated by sleeps. That is, 0521 lasts until I fall back asleep. Putting the entry under the calendar day it was written feels wrong. I have an emotional connection to what day it is? (Typo: initially wrote "what fey it is." Not sure how much the fey of the day matters—they're all pranksters). To me, the day starts when I wake up. I think of time in terms of how many hours it has been since I woke up.

I grew bored of writing that paragraph, and decided to look at videos. I remembered Alice Capelle's video essays, and saw one on a topic of interest: birth control, and its growing backlash. The first time I saw the increasing arguments against birth control pills was a few months ago, in r/ashleycarnduff. The subreddit's subject has spoken about her supposed negative experiences with an IUD; this was substance for a discussion on the anti-birth-control people.

I have taken birth control pills. I have a birth control patch that I've been waiting to try. The contraceptive aspect is irrelevant. I have endometriosis, and the doctor is telling me that this may alleviate the progression of my symptoms. I am aware that there is not concrete evidence proving birth control helps with endometriosis. I have seen a lot of n=1 evidence. Birth control pills do seem to alleviate others' symptoms.

My body prefers to be difficult, so I've received months of side effects without benefits. I wish doctors were more transparent about side effects. When discussing side effects, my doctors have consistently brushed off side effects—these things could happen, but they're rare, so they won't happen to you. Guess who has a habit of experiencing side effects? (Who knew Cymbalta (an antidepressant) could give you nosebleeds?) Despite knowing my history with medications, doctors continuously brush off my concerns about side effects. This bothers me. I want doctors to frame side effects as a trade off for starting a medication. "Here are the pros (for starting the medication), here are the cons." If cons are worth it, start medication. If cons are not worth it, don't.

What does this have to do with birth control pills? I'll restate: state the side effects as the cons, especially if you're prescribing birth control pills for non-contraceptive reasons. I'd also prefer more research into women's health issues—again with endometriosis, again with PCOS, again with (etc). We still lack a concrete explanation for what causes endometriosis. There are some theorized explanations, but that's all they are: possible, but uncertain, ideas. Someone could develop better treatment options—right now, it's contraceptives and surgery. Goodbye, reproductive system! And don't get me started on the issues people have had with getting approved for surgery. I've heard too many stories of people spending years trying to get approved, only for doctors to want to know that the patient's husband approves. Sounds ridiculous. It is ridiculous. Treatment options amount to "have a bandaid" and "your finger is broken, so we're gonna amputate your arm, k?"

This is tangential to the video I linked. One flaw that bothered me—noting what the Democrats did in the 1920s, 30s, etc. is a poor argument. The beliefs of political parties have changed over time. One wouldn't cite the Democrats of the 1850s—they were primarily Southerners who wanted to protect the rights of slave states—as an example of Democrats doing good. I also remember reading that, at one point in the late-1800s—early-1900s, the decisive difference between the parties was that the Democrats decided to pander to the Black population, thus they would be able to gain the presidency. (Pander isn't the best use of words. The issues with low Black voter turnout weren't only due to grandfather laws and the like. Something about neither party appealing to, or including, Black people. However, political parties want to win elections, and when the White voting population is pretty evenly split, they needed to turn to other populations to try to secure the presidency. Either party could have done it, but the Democratic party decided to do so. (Fuck, my US history is rusty.))

0522

I want to be one of those girls who's walking out of Starbucks with a smile on her face. I can see them from my seat in the library. People exiting, chatting it up with their companions, laughing, holding their drinks, looking like they're having a grand ol' time. They look happy. There's a sign that says MACADREAMIA, shows a picture of a (marbled?) brown drink with white foam. The background is a gradient: white, faded teal, faded yellow. It looks comforting. Selling an experience, not a drink---that's what these people have. An experience: hanging out, fun times with friends, chatting before they get back to (school)work, or maybe they've just wrapped up a three-hour study session. I don't want to go to Starbucks, but I want what the people who come out of there have. I'm on the outside looking in, and I'm so tired of being on the outside.

I should be content to be a spectator. People, on average, annoy and disgust me. They seem so unaware of themselves, and of their existence. These people might appear to be having a good time, but---more likely than not, and unfortunately---they aren't people who I want to be around. My idea of a good time with some ideal person doesn't even involve Starbucks! Urban exploration _with_ someone else would be fun. Slowly trying all of the local restaurants would be fun. Finding a restaurant (we) like and gradually trying their entire menu would be fun. Wandering through bookstores, making note of interesting books, and going straight to the library to grab those books would be fun. Exploring the city. Going to the farmer's market, and small local grocery stores. Talking about such-and-such book/music/art/etc. media. Maybe even making/playing music together. Many of these are things I already do on my own, or plan to---exception being urbexp, since a) that terrifies me and b) wouldn't be surprised if all of the abandoned places are inhabited by the druggies---once I have more disposable income, I will start trying local restaurants---but it would be nice to be around someone else. Then I could hear thoughts that aren't my own. Maybe I want an incessant reminder of the world outside myself? Something more relevant to me than the rest of the world?

Okay. I am distracted and restless. I half-heartedly finished taking notes on this week's Calc III work. I'm bored by it; everything, so far, is a new application of old information. Straightforward, not remotely difficult to grasp. I need to do something that requires an expenditure of energy. Writing about a specific topic would do that. All that comes to mind are familiar rants---I'm tired of thinking about the problems with the education system, and I'm tired of thinking about the way AI has infiltrated the education system. Students who use AI do not see the value in doing the work for themself. Students who do not belong in college do not want to complete their classes, or they don't see value in learning what their professors have to teach. Put simply, they don't care. I suspect they're used to life being easy, and being able to get away with shit---talk to primary and secondary school teachers who say that their administration forces students to be passed along, forced into passing grades despite not earning them---and putting in effort is foreign to them. They can't even use AI well, ffs! I mean, if you're going to cheat, at least put effort into trying to get away with it. This has gone well beyond the undergrad population. WHY. DO. YOU. WANT. CREDIT. FOR. WORK. THAT. IS. NOT. YOUR. OWN. How do these people _not_ see that they're missing the point of the assignment? How do they not care?

I cannot wait for the generative AI bubble to burst. Right now, it seems to be an imprecise tool with infinite possibilities. These possibilities will cease. Generative AI must turn in to a trendy thing of the past. It will have had its time, it will fade into a few appropriate uses, and that will be that. People will recognize its shit writing, and laugh at themselves for ever being taken by its novelty. Unfortunately, I have no evidence, only my own hope/despair. Please stop removing humans from human activities.

something something...do something new, but overall not great, once and it's a good novelty---thinking of Duchamp's urinal, haha, time to move on, except people _don't_ and they take it too far. Art devolves to a banana on a wall, utter nonsense which contributes nothing beneficial (to my worldview, that is, perhaps drowning society in meaningless despair is your point, eradicating meaning is your goal, in which case these perversions do benefit you; also, grow up).

I'm closing this, going home, resisting the urge to bake something---why am I still so hungry? I'm going to eat peanuts, which I dislike, because I might as well use my hunger to eat something that's been sitting in my pantry for a month and a half. Shelf-stable food is nice, but something about food staying edible for this long disturbs me. Shouldn't it get moldy, or decay, or something? I thought about making peanut brittle, but I'd rather save the sugar for things I'll enjoy, instead of using it to make something taste slightly better.

---

How nice it is to have a roommate who does say hi! The living situation does not feel hostile. He is using the fridge, cabinets, and pantry. This is going to force me to do a better job at meal-prep---I can't use the entire freezer to store uncooked meat. Oh well. I have some frozen soups (from my mom) which I'll need to eat before the weather gets too warm.

---

I may have changed my desktop environment. The config file successfully rebuilt, so now I just need to turn it on to find out. I am saving this for tomorrow—my computer's gotten enough use for the day. I need to figure out what's draining my computer power; is there anything in the background, and so on. I'd wondered if watching Youtube was what kept draining it, thought about downloading videos instead of streaming (maybe that'd save power?), but watching any visual thing on VLC drains power quicker. (I can play .mp3 files through VLC without worrying about power). I can't watch a DVD without having a charging cable on hand, but I can have a web browser open to Youtube for the same amount of time without worrying about power much. I think I need to find a different media player.

I am writing instead of doing worse things with my time. What did I do today? I made Eggs Benedict, which was annoying, I took care of some website things, which were very nice to get off my plate, I emailed a professor, I took out recyclablesI reviewed some things for work, and I took notes on the rest of the sections of this week's calc work. Not much at all. I read some, but I primarily watched videos? No wonder I feel restless; I didn't do much today. I showered! That counts for something. When I was walking home from the library, I ran into one of my coworkers. Spoke for a few minutes. What else. I want to make butter bites, but I can't afford to spend butter on that. What else do people cook things in? Lard costs about as much as, if not more than, butter. I save the beef lard, will need to remember to use that. I'm making an egg white & parmesan omelet tomorrow—maybe I'll cook that in fat.

I spend a bit of time on survey apps. I primarily use dScout; I recently got an account for Prolific Academic, but I have yet to receive any surveys. I rarely qualify for—my point is that many screeners ask about hobbies, and listing "shopping" as a hobby the survey-taker can select annoys me. One, this is a dead-giveaway on which population they're looking for. Why not start out by saying this is about shopping? Shopping is not a hobby. That is all.

0523

There is a difference between "video games are my hobby" and "[VIDEO GAME] is my hobby." One is a particular piece of media, while one is a category. Idolizing a singular piece of media is confining. While this may begin to show what one's taste is (I like GAME because x, y, z), it cannot represent a developed taste (I like playing video games with x, y, and z). I think the reasons why someone likes a particular game (which they turn into their identity) tend to be too specific to the game—ex. "I like the character/plot/worldbuilding"—and aren't elements that can appear in other games. One becomes confined to a single piece of media. This confinement prevents one from exploring other media, and from developing their tastes.

This confinement may also be self-enforcing. One dares venture out of their comfort zone, tries another game, and is disappointed because that game is not the game they usually play. For the time being, all other games will pale in comparison; why should they bother with other games, when they already 'know' the best there is?

If one wants to develop as a person, one must free themself from their self-imposed confinement. You exist in this world. Nourish some interest in all that this world has to offer, instead of confining yourself to one picayune fragment.

(Weak arguments.)

Footnotes to some ideas in other entries—

"CW: eating disorder" is another mixed-bag. People who are in recovery may benefit from this warning. On the other hand, people engaging in an eating disorder will seek out this content to trigger themself. This is a garbage point. The online eating disorder community is highly capable of finding media which portrays eating disorders; they don't need a content warning to find that shit. I'm blanking on the normal eating disorder books right now, and the only move I can recall is TO THE BONE. "The Passion of Alice" was from the 1990s, semi-obscure, poorly-written, and I only found it from a post on an ED-forum.

The thought of noting the exact forum gives me mixed feelings. Minor detail. Eating disorder tumblr is nothing in comparison to the ED-forum. I found that the forum population tended to be older, either more resigned to their issues, more aware, or more yoyoing between recovery and disorder(s). People were better at encouraging behaviors, for better and for worse. Competition is higher. EDblr was primarily thinspo, wannarexics, and people who had been in it for several years. Eating disorder communities are fascinating—the disorder is all encompassing, and the disordered person cannot be free of it. I don't think it's extreme to say that an eating disorder can be a significant part of someone's identity.

0524

It is 0016. Yeah, proper day.

I'm not certain I want to talk to people. Having good conversations is difficult—I need practice. To practice, you must have something to speak about—can't force yourself to have a good idea/question; either you have one or you don't. Also need an appropriate conversational partner. I've grown tired of the co

I want to make a music video for Halloween, by Noah Kahan. SETTING: city, no person except the narrator. NARRATOR walking on sidewalk; back is to camera, NARRATOR is slightly to the left of the center of the frame. "I'm sailing away"—new location ~every two measures (roughly every two seconds). NARRATOR's position does not reset; they keep getting farther from the camera. NARRATOR's pace is in-time with the music. "I'm drinking my days"—GHOST in foreground, facing away from camera. "The last that I heard"—new location: walking alongside river, GHOST maintains a constant distance from NARRATOR. "I drink 'til I drown"—new angle; ~30deg from original camera/narrator angle; halt scene changes. "I worry for you"—NARRATOR sitting on boulder in/by river, dusk, holding beer bottle. "You worry for me"—GHOST walking to stand behind NARRATOR. "It's fine if we know we won't change"—NARRATOR hesitantly uncap bottle. "Collect every dream"—NARRATOR drinks, GHOST watches, steps off camera. "But the wreckage"—NARRATOR walks away. Camera to GHOST, collecting wood for a fire. "The ash"—something about narrator. "to the earth"—ghost assembles fire, lit by "I'm leaving"—NARRATOR (back facing camera) is walking, angle like camera looking over shoulder. At "changing address" fire is visible, ghost visible at "come if you." "It's not Halloween"—over ghost shoulder, alternate with narrator at every measure. "(hums)" fire in center of camera, ghost and narrator are equidistant from fire, near edge of frame. NARRATOR turns away, camera over ghost shoulder watching narrator walk away. "It's an ode" narrator looks at ghost, camera over shoulder, turn away.

The remainder of the video takes place inside an apartment. Features: packing boxes, random ghost appearances. This ghost is a person covered in a white bed sheet; black eyes.

Work was rough. Had a panic attack :| during a lull, nonetheless. Today was not busy. I know better than to talk about customers—weekend will be busy. It's Friday, dafuq? Ooh, I'll get my check today! How nice. I want to purchase food or a meal from somewhere. However, I need to keep an eye on my budget, and have another week before I need to buy groceries. Instead of spending $10-15 on a single meal, I will buy...fresh berries, quail eggs, cheese curds, or a different cut of meat. A chuck roast? God, I want some shredded beef. The texture is better than that of ground beef. The last book I read mentioned cooked pork jowls a few times;

Yesterday, I refrained from watching videos. I'm not certain that this had a significant impact on my day. I didn't dawdle on videos, but I dawdled on other activities—finishing a book, writing, so on. Come to think of it, I spent ~6hr reading books, and another hour on some very boring, mindless math homework. Mix in cleaning, hygiene, a spot of cooking, boring-but-necessary tasks, I spent 8hr well, then 6hr of work. The past three??? hours have been spent writing, listening to music, and reading on the interwebs. Yes, I am pleased with how I spent my time, what gave that away? I took care of things. Now I'm falling asleep. Ghooooood night!

---

I do not give much thought to how my dietary preferences impact my interactions with others. Exception: being around a wannabe-vegan who tried to sell me on moral arguments against meat, and how eating meat is bad for the planet, and obligatory climate change talk. (Except putting the Earth's population on a plant-based diet would be more damaging to both the planet and its inhabitants). Exception: working at a restaurant. I am constantly not partaking in eating food and drinking our over-sugared drinks. My coworkers comment on this. I dodge the question by saying that I never think to have anything. This is true, more or less.

While I was waking up (after a whopping 4hr of sleep), I was watching this video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XXKDlBxHfSw. Why. Waste of time. The recommended videos are similar wastes of time—an de-influencing video, something about finances of fictional characters, more nobuy vlogs. I am tired of writing this and tired of typing on my phone and tired of hurting my hands. So many typos; I write about 1/2 of words twice. I wish I could've fallen back asleep.

---

It is 1421. I've been out of bed for about five hours; somehow, I got a couple more hours of sleep. I ate, I got dressed, I found a few recipes to make, I finished math homework, I completed this week's math quiz. I keep thinking about my boss's comments about how I looked so depressed that I was bringing down his mood. Am I such a downer? He's not the first person to say as much. I don't know what it is that makes me look/act/talk in such a sullen, gloomy manner. As in, what is it about my behaviors/words/etc. that is so depressing to others? a;sldakfjjjjjjjjjjjjksjdf;alskdfj;asldkfjnalskdvjfnawioejnaw;m iowa eoirhaw;e irhawe rahw;eir ahweihr awek r;kaes f;kasjda;il weorua we q3 q29p3 uqo3 q 3q230 9u 3rq3uq liql;kk kjqh3 rq2hrjk; whawei szs fzsd8of yeq 2;y3 qk 3jkq 3hkq23j4h q jkwehz skdhzf8sd p8y wq4qhui hkjdxhads yfqyq raw;sdh jhq8q oqiw rw;ad;oih zej qjknq3oih3 28 q3krhj wrkljweh ranm,nrwjrhq3q 388q 24y03 i ahsekf hask fae,m rae,wr soy vaefpyaweoir awe,xc akhw;oery2q30op290 q34k,54j q34m, 5qy34 g5gfuysd 9uc90v fdiso fkljeh k34n , 2 m3, 34m2hiuh iucioxu 89p aspd f8as df a8 ralkjrhjdniwla8eyh djk hsdkjalhkjfh ewkjhr 4h3hj khq3,esfbd iuhz 89s fslkdf hasmdr,a3u yqi

0525

- refusal to accept any responsibility for one's problems -- oppression as a convenient excuse; overrides personal responsibility; responsible for 'dismantling systems of oppression' but not for fixing one's problems -- why solve the problem when you can blame someone else for it? -- ego stops one from giving personal responsibility a genuine consideration. -- this is a teenage attitude, but it's spread to adults, taken root - blaming society, 'systemic oppression,' and so on -- illness fakers as an extreme example? illness is a convenient factor - "don't question, just listen" stance on illnesses ---forced acceptance of idea

0526

Coated in anxiety. I should start writing, and then I'll start feeling better. It is Sunday afternoon. I am making more blueberry kompot. I talked myself out of going to a new grocery store; from what I saw online, they had a good fruit selection. I don't eat much fruit. I finished meal-planning for the next three(!) weeks. I think I need to buy frozen yogurt, or something cold, because this weather is too hot. However, whatever I buy would melt on the way home. So I won't buy anything. I was looking at local ice cream shops, but they cost too much. I could make my own? Or, y'know, just not.

The past two days of work did go well. I was able to competently handle expo during rushes. I did some more line work. One of the owners told me that people tend to be fully integrated into the kitchen after three weeks. I'm four weeks in. The other owner was the guy who said that if he was responsible for my training, I wouldn't start line until the end of summer. (He also spends significantly more time in the kitchen than the other owner). Talk about contrasting perspectives...either way, I'm relatively pleased with some of the work I've been doing. I'm able to handle rushes _on expo_, which should mean I'm more prepared to handle rushes on line. Now I just need to be more confident in working line, and be faster. Much faster.

I still feel like crying. I'm hungry, and I don't want the food in my fridge. Food is on my mind. I've been thinking about food all day, since I was working on meal planning, and that isn't helping. I should eat the canned tuna. Nothing sounds appealing, so why should I order food? I'm stressing myself out. Quick, write about any of the things you've bookmarked!

Some thoughts on a r/college post on helicopter parenting:

The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Parents begin to think that being a good parent means protecting their child from any harm. Instead of helping their child develop a capacity to deal with challenging scenarios, they protect their child from any scenario that could challenge them. Challenging scenarios are uncomfortable; the parent thinks that, to be a good parent, they must protect their child from discomfort. None of these ideas are new I am going to keep writing to distract myself. These kids are so used to comfort that being in uncomfortable scenarios does not occur to them; this also creates anxiety and avoidance of uncomfortable scenarios. They are accustomed to a life which is easy, where they do not have to try, and where they can count on their parent (anecdotally, this is typically the mother) to protect them from uncomfortable situations.

How can parental involvement be managed?---perhaps increasing opportunities for children's autonomy is an option. Alternatively, keep parents busy enough that they don't have the time to be helicopter parents.

fucking hell i'm bored of writing this. Wow, [X] is a problem. Wow, [Y] is a problem. Hey, why bother trying to find solutions to problems I can't do anything about? This---parental overinvolvement, children's lack of discomfort and increasing unpreparedness to _exist_---is a societal problem. Must we set guidelines for how parents should be involved in their children's lives? Should schools send out yearly information packets---"by grade [#], you should be doing [this] and you can stop doing [this]. Watching your kid grow up is hard; here are some suggestions for how to handle it!"

Grade (US)	Parent Duties	Child Duties
K - 5	Objective: help child develop tools which will help them be independent in the future. Help children with homework. Guide them, but do not give them the answers. Find a tutor if necessary. ...make sure your kiddo knows how to read. Reading comprehension. Pack lunches. Help kid get ready for school (ex. pack bag)---kid should be able to pack their own bag after first/second grade. If they forget something, they'll learn the consequences. Help child find extracurriculars. Hopefully, they have some idea of something they want to do---even from a list of options. If not...yeah, they need to be doing something outside of school. Libraries run community events. Keep 'em involved in the outside world. Your child is now in school. Congrats on the free time! Use it for/on yourself, and not on the kid. (...as in, get a life outside of your child.)	Objectives: exercise independency/freedom where they can. Learn some degree of self control. Complete homework. Have input on lunches---this could be a time for kid to get an idea of what healthy eating looks like. They should also be able to help out with preparing their own lunches...really, they should be able to take care of their lunch by the end of elementary school.(Chips are not lunch! Food other than sandwiches exist!) read read read read READ. ...learn to ride a bike? (useful for independence; own form of transport before the car is an option). play. with. friends? Engage in unstructured activities---as long as the parent isn't overscheduling the child, this should come naturally. This should've been happening when they were younger.
6-8	Objective: allow kiddo to have more responsibility for their own life. Let the child make mistakes. The kid can probably be left home-alone for short periods of time. Take advantage of this. Note: your children are not homemade babysitters. If they are regularly required to babysit, they will resent you.	Be able to pack own lunches. idk i'm drawing blanks. I have no experience with parenting; just raging against well-intentioned parents who harm their children by trying to protect them from harm.

---

I'm talking to the parents, and they decide to doordash me something. Yay! Doordash shows up, under _very_ dim lighting, it looks like the right order. I take it inside, and the guy dropped off the wrong order. I don't want this food. I'm hungry and upset---I should've looked closer, I should've double-checked, also: WHY DIDN'T HE GIVE ME THE RIGHT ORDER. IS THIS TOO MUCH TO ASK??? Whoever already received the wrong order is disappointed. I'm disappointed. Nicole, I am very sorry that you did not get to enjoy your chicken biryani. (Followup from 20min later: nvm, you dodged a bullet. This chicken tastes like mildew, and has a foul aftertaste). Hope whoever got my order gets to enjoy it.

I'm being a whiny baby right now. "oh, there's food in my fridge but i don't want it" "oh, someone's setting off fireworks and it's annoying" "oh the downstairs people are being loud again" "oh it's too hot" "oh i wish my boss had sent out this week's schedule" "oh nothing tastes good" "oh i'm hungry and everything sounds terrible" "oh i wish i had more money" "oh i wish i could afford more than rent and groceries" "oh my computer's overheating" whine whine whine. who cares. it's 9pm on sunday, you should be enjoying yourself. god, stop being such a bitch.

---

MSR is a data-collection app that seems to require users to screen record data on their phone. In an attempt to earn a few more dollars, I decided to start using it. One of the tasks asked me to record my browsing history on Safari. I use the DuckDuckGo browser, so I thought I wouldn't have much data to record. I learned that I have spent an egregious amount of time browsing Craigslist. I keep checking roommate listings (when will the upstairs unit be listed? Did the inhabitant move out? ), free stuff near me, gig listings (which seem to focus on the poster's fetishes), and job postings (in case another good part-time gig comes up). Useful Craigslist postings are rare. I have wasted too much time on hoping that something useful comes up. Also, I get nothing out of checking housing listings. I need to stop that.

Going over my screen time shows more problems. I'm averaging 4hr a day on my phone—half on web browsing, a quarter on notes, and a quarter on everything else. This week, I will cut that down to <3hr a day. I am going to focus on spending less time on browsing the internet. I think the ways that I tend to spend WASTE time are taking up more time in my day than I realize. Tomorrow, I'm going to download an RSS aggregator; then I won't have a reason to keep checking these websites. I'll see the post title and know I don't need to read it.

I have all of two shifts this week. Two. They tell me I belong, yet I'm left to feel like they want me out. One of the cooks is leaving this week; hopefully, I'll get one of his shifts. I'm still worried about my hours. 2-3 6hr shifts a week will not pay the bills. At 20hr/week, I'd make enough to cover rent and groceries and nothing more. Can't afford to put money in savings. I'm looking at other part-time remote work; might need to go for a sales gig. I do not want to, but I have the time and need the money. I'm also going back to beermoney. I'll start usertesting tomorrow, and go over other well-paying (lol) sites. Maybe ProlificAcademic will start giving me surveys. r/beermoney had me thinking it would be a gold mine. I've been on it for a week without getting a single survey. I'm going to quarantine two hours (mid-day) to beermoney. At this point, even $20 would be appreciated. I am stressed. I am repeating myself. How do people live. I need to get better at my job so that I can work more hours. I need to practice on my own time. I wonder if I could knit my way through my mom's yarn stash, and profit? Summer is not scarf season. I don't know I don't know I don't know.

0527

A few days ago, Marianas Trench released another song from their upcoming album. It is titled "Lightning and Thunder," and it is a disappointment. The opening chords are reminiscent of Ever After, and the synthesizers feel like a callback to Astoria. Unfortunately, the opening instrumentals are the best part of the song. The singer's voice is muddled, and the lyrics are cliche pop. "All it takes / Just get through one last show / Before our hearts both break" is something that any other pop singer could have written. "And this is only just beginning" is cliche. The instrumentals build up at the end, and the title of the song is repeated a few times. The only unique line is "But sometimes I feel my mother and father in the room." I don't have much to say about the song. It's barely Marianas Trench.

I'm re-playing "A Normal Life," because that one is interesting to listen to. It has complex instrumentals throughout the entire song. The theme of the lyrics hasn't been over done (not fitting in, hero's journey), and what they have done is unique to them. That french horn ♥ love their use of an orchestra.

---

Addressing a problem correctly is difficult. Deciding upon a vague, broad change one could make that might address the problem is inappropriate. This misses the problem. Better to just address the problem. "What're you trying to say?" Last night—very early this morning, if I must be exact—I wrote about keeping my phone screen time to <3hr a day. This was an unnecessary decision which missed the reason why I thought there was a problem.

Last week, I spent an obscene amount of time on web browsers on my phone. The sites I spent time on tend to be a waste of time. I do not need to check Craigslist, various subreddits, and neocities on a regular basis, and certainly not multiple times a day. That, not my overall screen time, is what I need to reduce. I would be content to average 6hr/day on my phone, iff those hours were spent writing. I promptly modified my objectives: do not open any of those sites for the next 28 days.

At 5pm, tired of doing work all day, I'd wanted to call it a day. Okay self, I'd thought, you're tired and have done a lot. You haven't done everything on your todo list, but that's fine. Then I thought again. A quote from Allison, by NAME, came to mind: there's so much time in the day, if you only spend it on yourself. There were at least five hours before I went to bed. I could take a break, eat, goof off for an hour, and spend more time knocking out todos. Or so I thought.

I ate the chicken biryani. The chicken was inedible. The rice, which managed to be spicy but flavorless, was edible. I enjoyed its heat until my heart started pounding. Heart palpitations? There was too much chest pain. Unfortunately, eating anything with a significant amount of carbohydrates seems to have this effect on me. Was it always this way, or is this only because my carbohydrate intake is relatively low? I decided to lay down, as I couldn't focus on anything, and generally felt like garbage.

I do not know how I fell asleep. I know I was laying in bed for an hour, and when I got up to use the bathroom, my chest pain had diminished. I know I looked at the time around 1930. The next time I saw was 2am. Then 4am. Needless to say, I've been awake since then. I am not tired enough to go back to bed—I may even say I'm well-rested—and am not sure how to spend my time. I'll end yesterday's entry here; then we'll see what happens next.

0528

Verdict: drink water and keep writing.

I'm working two shifts this week. I am aware that the reasons for that have little to do with me—closed for Memorial day, have more cooks than are needed—yet I'm left to feel like I'm being pushed out. I can't do enough, I'm not good enough, so the shifts go to the people who are useful. I can only handle expo. They're too busy to let an unexperienced person work the line. And when they're not busy, well, someone else is already doing it. Wasn't there a week, or two?, when I had four shifts? Yet I'm useless.

I say I'm useless, yet my employer points out (to others!) how the way I handle expo makes it easy for someone else to take over expo. Everything is organized. If I step away to do something else, someone can step in easily. I dislike switching to expo when someone else has been running it—the orders are disorganized, and too many things need to be restocked. What a mess.

I was panicking over money. I've already earned enough to cover next month's expenses. Yes, this week's decreased income is bothersome, but it isn't the end of the world. (Also, self, you tend to be frugal. Look at your bank account. You're fine). Doing surveys should bring in another $10-15 a week. I'm not rich, but I don't need to be. Things will get better; just wait it out.

As far as brain-training apps go, Elevate is decent. Their games focus on grammar, spelling, learning words, reading comprehension, and word recall. They have math games, but I focus on playing reading/writing/speaking games. I think that their approach to brain training is useful because their games are applicable to the real world. Remembering grammar and spelling rules is useful. Remembering words is helpful.

---

Incidentally aiming for balance: yesterday was a productive day, so today begins as a chill, self-indulgent day. I ate breakfast (salmon!) and scrolled through a few pages on Neocities. I tried to read Steppenwolf, by Herman Hesse, but was not paying attention to it. I am rescheduling my study session to this afternoon, when I will visit the library and enjoy the AC.

I emailed a professor. Okay. First note. A few musicians with similar music: Ruelle, The Rigs, Fleurie, of Verona, Ghost Monroe.

Second note. I decided to look at Limbus Company fanfics for the first time this year. I was specifically looking for Dante/Vergilius fics. I do not seem to have missed out on much. fafkun, author of the bus trip, office sex, and clock maintenance fics, has not posted anything since June 2023. LetoLeGaosaure has posted a few more fics (most recent is from March 2024). Deep-rooted feelings, a Hanahaki fic, is not my cup of tea, but it does show the author's continued improvement as a writer. Compared to what I remember of their previous fics, the plot is fleshed out, the fic is detailed, and their grammatical errors are nonexistent. meowevel (wyrvel), the Backstreets Dante writer, still has Limbus brainrot. Either Better off Worse is a decline from their previous work, or my tastes have changed. Weather is too hot for this.

Waffle Company, by slothencoly, has gotten a few chuckles out of me.

“...That creepy blue kid is going to steal his organs to sell on the black market,” Ishmael says blankly.

“Hey, hey,” Rodya complains. “Maybe they just wanted some time alone, y’kno. If you know what I mean.”

“Nah, mate,” Heathcliff sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Kid’s good as dead. His skin’s being made into a purse as we speak.”

“You,” Outis says slowly, as though she heard wrong. “Customers.”

Hermann smiles; it looks like a grimace. “Yes,” she manages, “I would like a… hashbrown. Hashbrowns.”

Outis stares; it is not even hostile. It is more one of great confusion and dawning horror. Hermann fidgets. Neither backs down.

“Would… anyone else like anything,” Outis says slowly.

“No,” snaps Hermann, adjusting her coat and crossing her arms. “We will… share.”

“You will share… a single hashbrown. Between all of you.”

"How was your, uh, date?” they ask.

“We broke up.”

“Oh.”

Sinclair sighs, reaching Dante before sitting down at the curb and staring out gloomily at the giant fluorescent Denny’s sign looming above him.

“He wants to take advantage of an international accident to take over the world in the name of a fake god,” he continues glumly.

“Oh,” Dante says carefully, doing their best not to let their complete lack of surprise show. “Um.”

---

Already got a 'no' from the professor, but he did recommend two other professors who I can reach out to. I will take care of that later. Apparently, my topic is good. I should there are no shoulds. I want something novel. I'm not hungry, though, and sugary drinks don't taste good. Instead, I will sit here and drink water and write about another thought.

Some notes on the author's note in Steppenwolf:

Of course, I neither can nor intend to tell my readers how they ought to understand my tale.

His introduction focuses on the ways in which people have misunderstood this book. Yet he concludes the introduction with a cop-out: he does not think he can tell people how they are supposed to understand the story. In other words, he does not think he can tell readers the point of the story. He shows that he had a few points which he wanted to get across---indeed, enough points to write a book demonstrating them!---yet he thinks that he cannot tell the reader what these points are. Readers' misinterpretations warrant a forward to the story, yet he thinks it is not his job to correct these misinterpretations.

Hesse wants people to get something out of his work, and would prefer that they get what he meant, but thinks that it is not his job to ensure that readers get him. This seems like a wishy-washy, "well, SOMEthing is better than NOthing" approach to writing.

Many an author has found readers to whom his work seemed more lucid than it was to himself.

Readers have a habit of getting more out of a work than the author did. Readers seem to form more crystalized opinions on the book than the author---after all, they are the ones who continually discuss the work and search for further meaning. And one's personal context will influence what one gets out of a work. A common example of this might be how someone feels 'seen' or 'represented' by a particular character, while the author had no intention to (or not to) do so. (I'm starting to think that comparing readers to writers is a poor choice---while their Venn diagram has overlap, the activities are different, so what one gets out of the activity will be different).

I think that the point of writing, and arts in general, is to portray something about the world and/or human experience. By reading a (good?) book (well?), one gains a better understanding of people, or the world. People can get too much out of a book. Religious books exemplify a particular worldview, and people dedicate their lives to this worldview. Non-religious books have begun to be treated as religious books.

One can always warp a book into being commentary on an issue. This is a problem because people begin to find things that aren't there, and then they use the thing they find to determine the character of the author. A bit of worldbuilding becomes racist. Class, let us now analyze [arbitrary piece of media] from a psychoanalytic / feminist / historical / post-colonial / deconstructionist / queer / ecological / political lens. What, must we not ask, does this book tell us about historical systems of oppression? What does Donnie Darko say about climate change? What does Mirrormask say about feminism? In House of Leaves, is the house a metaphor for colonialism? Shall we analyze an orange plastic bag from a sociocultural perspective?

For the record, some of these approaches will make sense for a given text. However, arbitrarily mashing any approach with any text---as some people are prone to do---is a sign of poor judgement. I think that feminism, queer theory, and race are the most widely mis-used critical lens. Inherent fallacies in choosing to represent a category of people as a broad mass, reduced to their category. I can only say so anecdotally.

---

I lie. I write to forget. I write to put my thoughts to rest. I write to dispose of problems. Apple Music shows me a list of indie artists who are doing something new with music. Noah Kahan is included on this list. He is not doing anything new. The lyrics in the album "Stick Season" are personal, and that is the only unique thing about the album. Apple Music shows me a recap of what I listened to in April. 91hr of music; 15hr of Valencia, my most listened to artist; about 4hr of "Dancing with a Ghost," my most listened to song. Most listened to albums: Dancing with a Ghost (Valencia), Der Graf Von Monte Christo, Mr Jelly Lord - Standard Time vol 6 (Wynton Marsalis), Emerge (Daniel Kelly), Fear of Dawn (Jack White).

I started trying to use last.fm. Their app syncs with Apple Music. Unfortunately, it only tracks albums downloaded to my phone. If I listen to a playlist consisting of downloaded songs, last.fm will not track it. Heaven forbid I listen to a song before I download it. Manual sync is annoying---can't you just do it automagically? These are minor issues. last.fm has done a better job at introducing me to different artists/musicians than Apple Music has. Apple Music's recommendations are few and repetitive. When it comes to jazz music, Apple Music serves up a bog-standard list of Duke Ellington and Count Basie. last.fm's recommendations have provided significantly more variety, and have introduced me to names that I have not heard of. Yay. If you want to stalk / judge my listening habits, here ya go. Prepare to be bored and confused.

---

I am sitting here and procrastinating. There are seven hours left in my day. Are there things I need to do?—math. An email. The email is 5min, and math is about 2hr. I would also like to read another book. I'd whine about, oh, where has the day gone, but my day doesn't feel wasted. I did a small bit of writing, and another bit of miscellaneous reading. I spent ten minutes fidgeting with a cable until my computer started charging. My output may not be my desired output, yet there is still time for me to fix this. I'm telling myself that I will leave for the library at 4pm. Or 3:30pm. Either way, I will actually get work done. I'm starting to feel restless. I hope I don't fall asleep early.

I'm visiting my family on Sunday. There will be several hours of bullshit, which I am not interested in partaking in. This will be followed by more bullshit. There are relatives visiting, and they will be annoying. My entire day will be wasted. What's gained?—food, free laundry service, and my mother's peace of mind. I haven't spoke to these relatives since my first year of college. I'm worried I'll be dragged into explaining why I'm not at either of the two colleges I attended. Oh, have you found an internship?—no, I only applied to 50-60. Why'd you take a job as a line cook? Y'know, you could've kept living at home to save money. You don't know how to drive?—no, because your kid is too busy dealing with her kids to teach me. Now, class, let's all question Nobody's life choices.

Isn't there more to conversations than catching up on whatever's happened since you last spoke? Catching up can happen at any time; it doesn't even need to be a conversation. If you see someone so rarely, shouldn't you use that time wisely? Do something you can only do in-person? I dunno. Human behavior is not my forte.

---

I recall Rachel Stephen's vlog LINKME about the vlog as storytelling. She started to vlog her day, so she must set out to accomplish a particular task she's been mentioning all day. This task, and its completion, give the vlog a plot. As I was writing and reading, I thought about that, and realized that I must go to the library and study. After all, I've been lamenting putting off this task all day. So here I am.

I read the sections of the textbook, which took up all of one hour. This class is too simple. Reapplying old concepts to three dimensions. Straightforward, brainless, boring. Am I whining because I have too little to say?

I told myself I'd read more Plato. Well, I'm backing out of that. I am not interested in reading more of his dialogues. The core of his philosophy seems to be in how he thinks about things. Define what you're talking about, and continue to make it concrete. Reach an understanding of what you're talking about, or understand your lack of understanding. And so on. I know The Republic would provide more on his ideas about politics and gov't, but I truly cannot bring myself to care.

This means it's time to start Kant. Do I just dive right in to his most well-known work, or do I start with papers/books/etc. which he wrote before that? Starting at the beginning would, I think, grant me a better understanding of how he's come to the conclusions he's come to. I recall bits of secondhand information on his philosophy, as presented in A Guide to Philosophy in whatever fucking hours and minutes. Bad book; I shall disrespect the author and refrain from finding the actual title.

I'd also been thinking about reading Aquinas. In On Wanting to Change, the author, Adam Phillips, repeatedly referenced Augustine's conversions. I confuse Augustine and Aquinas. I do not know enough about them to know better. I cannot pinpoint why I want to read them---is this only to remedy my ignorance, or do I have another reason in the works? The library is open for another hour. I shall skim a few of their volumes, and see if something catches my eye.

---

My body does not feel like it belongs to me. It is too flabby, too fat, too chubby; my face looks fat, my cheeks are chubby and I have acne; even my feet look swollen, and often purple. My legs and arms are slightly hairy, and this is ugly. My hands are small, and my fingers are stubby. My stomach is flabby. My collarbones are my only redeeming factor; how are they so visible, when everything else is not?. If only I could lose enough weight to see my ribs. Begone, flesh. I wish I were bonespo. I want a new MPA account. I do not like myself enough to be in good health. If I could be <100lb, I would start to look good. I need to push myself to get there.

0529

I'm engaged in a constant cycle of self-sabotage. Here are my goals, I say, now how do I ensure I don't reach them? I dislike myself, so I hurt myself. I can't imagine a different life, and it's time to stop aiming for one. I must stop lying to myself, and then I may be satisfied. I will not take care of myself because doing so means lying. I remember what I wrote about how one is not inherently undeserving of life, how one inherently means something, and so on. How one can treat herself as if she is worthless. Yet I don't believe it. Treating myself as if I am worthwhile is a lie, because I do not believe I am. Treating myself as if I'm worthless is also a lie, since this rejects my existence, but. What am I supposed to do? I'm caught between two lies. One of them contains a truth, while the other one is less of a lie to me. I do not know how to make myself believe the truth, and I do not have the courage to do so. I am weak, and so I despise myself.

I shall contain my hatred. I will do my best to direct it at my body, since my brain is fucked and will always find ways to fuck me over. My body is in constant pain—fuck you, why don't dietary changes fix this?—but this is not enough. I will hurt myself until I look pretty. I will not be worthy of my appearance. I will still think I look fat. My body will represent my constant contradiction and my internal hypocrisy.

I am reposting this website. Every old page will make an appearance. The size of this site will stress me out. Pages will be scattered and unmaintained. I recovered the bowdlerized bits of 2023; it's a mess and I do not care. I also recovered 2022. Here is everything, I say, let this entertain you. Be amused. Be judgmental. Hate me. I've spent two years running in circles, improving moderately but never truly improving, and deserve criticism for how much of my life I waste. Writing this is a waste; I am only reiterating my beliefs. I will drown myself in my tasks, and chain myself to my writing. My work will be impeccable. My flaws will be displayed.

These flaws seem inherent; is it wrong to stop denying my natural instincts? Perhaps I will find fulfillment in living with one fewer incongruence. Dear reader, do not be alarmed. My contempt will take center stage. However, I am a hypocrite. I will not make up my mind. I will last a few days, and only a few days, and then I'll come crawling back to the idea that I shouldn't hate myself.

"Should" is pesky. I do not know how to like myself, and I have grown tired of trying.

I don't know what to do.

I'm so tired.

> how much more of our time will you waste on lies?
> don't you know, you shouldn't lie?
> i thought you said you didn't lie.
> fucking hypocrite.
> make up your mind for once in your self-damned life.
> all of this is counterproductive. do you know what you're trying to achieve? are you happy with your goals?
> oh, wait, i forgot. you can't be happy.
> you've never experienced happiness.
> your life has been average. you weren't abused. you let yourself be hurt by others.
> what do you want?
> because if you want to be content, this is the wrong way of doing so.
> are you trying to kill yourself?
> are you trying to bury yourself into a hole where suicide is the only option?
> what the fuck are you looking for? what do you want—nothing, you utter shallow blob of a person, why bother spending my time on you.
> you only exist to waste my time and yours.
> i am tired of this, of you.
> i will not give you the satisfaction of hearing me say i hate you.
> so fuck off already.

---

The small hole in the wall beckons her. Come closer, it says, and I will show you my secrets. The hole is at eye-level, and she stands a few feet away from it. She swears she sees a flash of yellow in its pure blackness. Come. It continues to speak, uttering promises of riches, power, fear, and respect. These are lies. She stands a few feet a way; she will not step forward, and she will not step back.

---

At 0900, I will get up. I will exercise, work on math homework for at least 30min, write an email, and then go to the library and read.

---

From Halloween, by Noah Kahan:

But I only tell the truth
When I'm sure that I'm lyin'
So I'm settin' sail once again

---

Made a mistake. Then exercised, then showered, then completed three (out of four) math assignments. It is 1237 and I have not left for the library yet. This morning could have been better, and it could have been worse. Did I just need to vent...? I don't know how to get better. I don't mean to lie and contradict myself and be inconsistent---not that that excuses my actions---and I don't know what to do. Excuses. Excuses. I am sorry for being a terrible person. I wish I were better than this, but wishes are worth nothing and there aren't actions that can follow through so what am i supposed to do. Dumb brain. Local retard. I don't think I can get better, or do better, because shouldn't I have figured this out by now? 'this is counterproductive' yet I can't be told how to be productive! God, I hate this. And me. Veering into bad grammar I so don't know. Whine whine whine. Who cares. I'm stepping back and doing who knows what, maybe the library, maybe write about something other than myself.

---

"Munchausen's by Internet" is a mental disorder where people fake illness to receive attention online. Dr Marc Feldman is the authority on this; insert site and books here. I am not here to ramble about r/illnessfakers (or r/ashleycarnduff, the beigest munchie). I want to discuss why people monitor people who fake illnesses. What's the appeal? Should illness fakers receive attention—are communities who monitor these people hypocritical? Once there is reasonable proof to believe someone is faking, why continue to monitor their actions?

These people—whom I will call "munchies"—seem to fuck up their lives in a way that is easy to explain. The ease of explanation may, in part, be due to how much munchies document their lives. Calling a munchie a social media addict would not be unwarranted. Every detail of their life deserves a post; they (typically she) must do something to get attention. They overshare—ex. Ashley Carnduff's IUD-removal post. (Or no-pants Bethany? Or the girl who posted graphic pictures of her legs? I am not going down that rabbit hole again). My point is that, to the internet, a munchie's problem is easy to explain. One can construct a timeline: here is how she fucked up, they say, and here is what she must do to become better. The problem and solution is made simple.

Simplicity could also be derived from having an identity which is tied to social media. Present a simplified view of oneself (easier to market? Personal branding? Consistency helps maintain an audience? Remove complexity to appeal to social media?). Caricature of oneself; this is a self-perpetuating cycle b/c social media addiction. Spitballing, carry on.

Simplistic view of someone—easy to cast judgements on, thus deflecting from one's own problems. Envy/jealousy? "my problems aren't easy to fix, fuck you for having easy solutions which you refuse to implement." (Fixing others instead of fixing yourself). Common saying: people who monitor munchies are people who are actually afflicted with this disorder. Resent munchie for a: pretending to be incapacitated by something that the munchie, and anyone else with the disorder, could handle (a la sickolympics), b: choosing to have a disorder which the munchie-monitor has (free from incapacitating symptoms). Boiling down to false representations of disorders.

Late at night and losing the plot. Why do I read about these people. They knowingly fuck up their lives. This abstraction of their actions is easy to understand; I get it. They trap themselves in their own lies; I get it. I see a (worse) version of myself in these people. I take some perverse pleasure in having not fucked up my life in the way that they have. For now, I am better than them, and hope to keep up my streak. What a low bar. Mind you, I would genuinely enjoy seeing these people recover. Every time I check r/ashleycarnduff, I hope she has turned over a new leaf. There will be one day when she doesn't disappoint.

0530

People aren't better off without me? All I've done for others is waste their time, how are you not better off without me? My job should have gone to the other candidate; instead, they're stuck with someone so incompetent she had a panic attack and can't fulfill tasks more complicated than day one. I've contributed little—nothing to anything meaningful, I'm thinking of the sound theme(?) I wrote for Habitica, is that seriously the only genuine contribution I can think of? The fanfiction which I continuously hoped others would get something out of? Except they did, so at least that objective was achieved...I hate this, and myself. The context for this paragraph is lost. I'd been cleaning up my computer, and found an email from someone which contained the email he was responding to, that is, my email. Nothing genuinely changes. How depressing. Had I a shred of intelligence, I would have figured out how to be better, how to be good for others, how to help people (be better, for their ends/ideals) yet I am retarded. There is nothing worthwhile in this empty head. I should stop swindling people into believing otherwise. I'm brought back to how I don't want to exist, how I make life worse for myself and others, how I have proven myself unworthy of existence. What have I done, gotten people to be concerned about me? It's always are you okay, how are you really, if you need to step outside it's fine, blargh. I. hate. people. I hate the effect I have on them. I'm writing myself into being worse. I should care. I should redirect myself. I should get out of bed. I am making the wrong choices. I really, really—how childish—wish I cared. Oh well. Bitching over. Teacher can't teach. Class dissmissed.

---

Side notes, on books I've not read in years: The Bell Jar was not a good book. The first half of it was strong. The second half, starting with being institutionalized, was weak. The ending was too tidy; she was depressed, voila, she's cured, all she needed was electroshock therapy and birth control. The neatness of the ending did not fit the beginning. Her descent was chilling and lovely. And just like that, it's over. The other book: Lolita. Whenever I see people sing its praises, I feel compelled to state my distaste of it. I've read three of Nabokov's books; Lolita was the weakest of them. The plot was lacking in being a plot. The characters were stagnant, undeveloped. The entire novel was unmemorable. I think it only gained attention because of the subject matter.

---

Why do this, or anything, especially if you're doing it poorly—because I still believe, perhaps naively or idiotically, doing something is better than doing nothing. Bad writing >>> not writing. Could be better, yes, but I am doing something and the act is what matters. Doing something can bear fruit, while nothing is, well, nothing. Sitting around and whining about how you deserve good things be dropped in your lap is a waste—you do nothing, how can you expect to get something out of nothing? Only to fuel despondency, self-righteousness, ego-stroking...where was I going? Benefit by not being that. Trying something creates opportunities, and if you try you can confirm how right/wrong you are, instead of rejecting all possibilities as not worth it. Placing too high a value on your time. Yes, doing something for others does satisfy me, why say that like it's a bad thing? I am a part of this world, and not some solo thing in a void. Better to acknowledge this than deny. My guessing—as thought out or not as it may be—is inherently worth it; predicting outcomes puts me in a hole, while—heh, guess and check happens to bring me out of the hole. Bring you out? What nonsense is that—you were just contemplating suicide, now you're implying you're fine? Stop creating strawmen; better than before, even if trapped in denying such. Easy method for hate. Rejecting life because you can see through it is childish. People are able to see through it and find a path anyways; they've decided to get something out of their existence. Obligatory inspirational yolo. https://viruscomix.com/page590.html again, the thing about courage and existing. Hitting on a head with a frying pan (step back baby, step back)—get it through your thick skull or die trying. Fucking try. I don't know who I'm writing for right now, what I am—haphazard ghosts of others, please stop haunting me. That is, isolation—intentional and not—is inhumane, not better than humans (due to ???? over-inflated ego???) but worse, forcing oneself into subhumanity. Stability rejects existence. Certainty rejects existence. This is life, not fiction. Remember the point. I've lost. "If you need me dear / I'm the same as I was / It's all okay / Not a drop of bad blood" (All My Love, Noah Kahan). Nope. Lost. Only a good job which I use to hate myself.

Am I using other's words to hurt myself? Finding ways to let myself be hurt by others? Taking them too seriously, too literally? Fixating on the wrong thing, missing the point, not getting it? I hate the constant stream of "not getting it." People say I can ask what it is I'm not getting, can ask for an explanation, yet doing so ruins their fun. I don't get it (thus already ruined the fun), so they deserve to shit on me (gain some pleasure, retake the fun which I wrongfully stole from them). They're more important than me; that is, I make their life worse, so why should I ask them to make my life better? "To prevent future errors" has never been enough of a reason. I'm doing it again, aren't I. I hate being shat on with no explanation, yet asking for an explanation seems petty and childish. I don't get what I'm being shat on for, so can I understand the explanation? I just want to know what it was that I wasn't getting, and want to talk about that until I understand it.

"Just One of Those Things - Louis Prima"—opening sounds like a song from a musical. It's familiar. What musical am I thinking of? A woman's voice.

Where was I. I think I want explanations which I can't get, or which it's too late to ask for. Missed opportunity. Missed the point, too caught up in...? I feel like I'm writing myself into being a victim, or portraying myself as one. I'm not a victim. I am an unreliable narrator—that's how memories are, unfortunately—and even as I do strive for accuracy, my memory fails to provide me with it. But when I talk about my side of things, I seem to fall into a pit of half-heartedly blaming myself. I could have written more. I could have skipped classes and abandoned obligations. I could have cut back on sleep. I could have skipped homework, studying. I could have forced myself to spend time on interests of his which I wasn't interested in; forced myself to be interested outside of his talking, and then had better conversations. I could have done what he kept asking me to do and thank him until I believed what I was saying: lied until the lies were true. I could have learned to take good photos, developed an eye for photography, and learn to care about visual appearance. I could have spent time on developing a good question, instead of talking about what came to mind. I could have wrangled myself into being the right person. If only I tried harder, and gave up my self in favor of being the right person for him, then maybe things wouldn't have gone that way. Except I was too retarded to care enough about someone other than myself. Too inhumane to learn to satisfy someone else's needs. I don't know where to go with this, or where I came from. Does writing help me? I think getting the thoughts out of my head makes thinking easier. I can clear my mind. Quick, find a positive memory: the 2002 glasses, which I ruined by not paying enough attention to something which you were saying. I wasn't thinking about you. Goddamnit, [redacted]. Please take care of yourself (...that's not what I meant, you horny bastard), get sugar when you need it, and keep the knives sharpened. Now get out of my head! (exit, pursued by bear...if only. curse the city)

An anxiety: I need to respond to my advisor's email. I need to find math papers and read them, and use them to refine my topic. I don't know enough to do this. I can't do this. I'm taking calc 3, haven't even done real analysis—how am I supposed to write a math paper? I don't have the knowledge. I'm not smart enough. I'm going to look like an idiot and forget information which I should know. I'll fail my topic; disrespect mathematics. Math papers. I'm not ready for this. I've only been in math for two semesters, so how can I know enough for this. I'm biting off more than I can chew. I'm wasting people's time. I shouldn't be in college—look at how slow, dull, stupid, and gullible I am. I'm struggling to keep up a part-time job and five credits of classes. The rest of the world completes this work in half of the time; they can handle 90hr workweeks (in school), yet you struggled with a 50hr workweek, and you are struggling with, what, 15hr (for classes) and a variable number of hours for a part-time job? Ffs. Do you need further proof of how dumb you are? Yet, of course you're worried about 60hr for school (in the fall) and (hopefully) 24-30hr of work. That is what everybody else does. Suck it up. And make up your mind: either kill yourself, or table suicide, because you are still wasting your time.

Wow.

Somehow, this writing has made me feel a little better. I think I've gotten what I can, for now. I'm not alert. I'm tired. The only things I need to do today: respond to advisor, spend an hour looking at math papers, review for math quiz, take math quiz, go to work. I have 6hr until work. My roommate is being too noisy. I want to go to Dunkin for a change of scenery. And, somehow, that is the only reason I want to go there. I like the environment: there's background noise, so it isn't isolating (like the library), and I don't need to wear headphones to focus. Here, at home, I need to wear headphones with earplugs. This is stressful and uncomfortable. I wish the guy downstairs would stop talking. This is what annoys me: his voice is isolated, too audible, and I can hear it too clearly to be able to tune it out. I think I'm going to stay here another hour, then eat lunch, then decide what to do. Rain is preventing me from unnecessarily leaving the house.

I feel like I'm losing myself.

> don't you know by now? females aren't capable of learning; they only feel like they've learned something.

The Essential Difference comes to mind. Do I agree with it because I like the explanation? Brains, according to the author, exist on a spectrum from systemizing to empathizing. Males tend to have brains with stronger abilities to systemize, while females tend to have brains with stronger abilities ro empathize. Empathy is worth little, though, so cue shitting on females, and cure generalizations stating ALL men are one way (better than woman) and ALL women are another way (inherently inferior, only useful for boobs and reproduction, and also this is a bad thing because they're not men. How dare you not be a male—you're already ruining the world by existing). Author postulates autism is the extreme male brain—significantly stronger ability to systemize at an obvious cost of ability to empathize—this implies the existence of the extreme female brain. I don't know where I'm going; pent up anger at someone who hates women (pardon the simplification; should say 'shits on woman whenever given the chance'), blaming really, coming down to "not my ideal so bad" or something equally childish. Because shitting on women does seem childish! It's a convenient way to deflect from problems—"you have a different opinion which does not match my ideals so idc fuck off whore" vs "you have a different opinion." "you are inherently not human" vs "we have different ideals and that is fine." No, that's not it. This is writing, which shows that I have done something, but I feel like I've done something, thus rendering it worthless. Why is eradicating emotions more human than experiencing emotions? I do not understand the argument. I think these ideas are contradictory.

This writing has made me tired.

0531

I got to work line yesterday. Could have been better, could have been worse. The day was not busy. There was a rush which was barely a rush. I managed to make things more difficult by stressing out and making dumb mistakes. Very "deer in headlights."

---

Was called in to cover someone's 8hr shift. Did line. I know more than I thought I did. Concentration started to wane around 7hr in, though. Not good. However, I managed to work lunch & dinner rushes. Go, me? Day seems like a haze. What else. After work, ate dinner and went to a convenience store. Did not overthink it; I just went in, paid too much for an overpriced frozen dairy product, and walked out.

Wired and tired.

New girl needs a lot of work. She acts like she has all the time in the world. No sense of urgency. I shouldn't need to be doing things for her.

Came home and took care of the math quiz, and meal planning. I know what I'm eating for the next 3 weeks. Hoooooooray. Did I do something else? Eating (fridge is almost empty). Okay. Plans for tomorrow: 30min study for math exam. READ MATH PAPERS. Finish From Hell. Check actual todo list. Work at 4pm. Maybe go to Greek place and buy some baked good for sister's graduation?

0601

Oh shit, it's June. When did that happen? (Today, lol). May was well-spent. I did a good amount of reading and writing. I've gotten better at my job. I think I'm dealing with being an adult...I've moved out for two months! Yes, I'm giving myself headpats for doing normal things. Be quiet. I'll go back to criticizing myself soon.

Confirmed: now that one of the cooks is gone, I will be taking some of his shifts. Is my not taking breaks that strange? I've been reminded, repeatedly, I'm entitled to a break. Eh. To me, a quiet kitchen is enough of a break. Dishes are chill, so's restocking...there's still a sense of urgency, but there is less pressure. I dunno. I think I just like my job. Physical endurance needs to get better. My wrists, elbows, hands, arms, and shoulders are sore. As is everything else. Okay. I'm going to go stretch, read, eat, finish a book, and do some math. Feels like I'm turning into some boring adult who only talks about work. Quick, write something with substance!

As a reader, I struggle to abandon books that I feel like I should like. My struggle intensifies when I'm reading something relatively niche, where there are few books to begin with. Graphic novels are not niche, but they aren't mainstream. A good graphic novel—appealing art and plot—is hard to find. So when I do find one, I feel compelled to read it. Beggars can't be choosers (and whatnot).

Yet—is it worth it? High Desert, a graphic memoir which I recently read, had a few things I like. The art and plot were okay, at least they weren't unappealing, so I pushed through my disinterest and read it. Finishing the memoir didn't feel worthwhile; more so a relief to be done with it. I'm reading From Hell, by Alan Moore & Eddie Campbell. I like the art. It's scratchy; black lines create the textures. The setting (England, late 1800s) is nice; I like the griminess, and the formality of daily-wear. The plot bores me. It's a mystery, with elements of horror, yet this is not enough to compel me to keep reading. My sense of obligation compels me more than the book does. How odd! The natural choice is to abandon the book. I don't want to keep reading. Yet abandoning the book makes me feel like I'm being too picky—I have so few options, shouldn't I be grateful? Shouldn't I read something good, which has elements I like, and shouldn't I be able to enjoy it? I'm not enjoying a good thing, so I feel like a failure. Okay. I'm dropping the book—fine, pulling out the bookmark!—and returning it to the library.

---

"Opt in to build better AI" does sound better than "let us gather your data and add it to the AI's corpus." Seriously, Canva? You are a platform for graphic design. Graphic design is done by humans, using a computer, for humans. It is not done by the computer, using human data, for humans. Using AI for graphic design is inhumane because it takes the human out of a human activity. I'd say fuck AI, but you lot do take that literally. Pull your dick out of AI. You know better than to fuck crazy.

"Can I get under you" sounds suggestive. It means "I am opening this fridge; slide over." UNDER! BEHIND WITH A SHARP KNIFE!

0602

“What a paltry thing, after all, is man, man uncomplemented by woman! Left to himself, he stagnates; linked with a woman, he rises—-or sinks. A gentle touch stimulates him, a confiding heart makes of him a new creature. Under the rays of feminine sympathy, he expands who else would remain inert. Fame may allure him, friends encourage him, fortune cause him a momentary smile, but only woman makes him; and fame, friends, fortune, all are naught if there be not at his side a sharer of his weal. A man will strive for fortune, strip himself for friends, scour the earth for fame; but were there no woman in the world to be won, not one of these things would he do.”

How pathetic this is. Deriving value from other people, and other people alone, is a shit way to live. One can rise upon this bizarre dependence on others. Why not be good enough to complement another's life, instead of choosing to need other people to give you a life? Perhaps my alien views are too prominent here. Perhaps I'm rejecting human dependency. No, I'm losing my thoughts. Isolation and dependency on others are rejections of humanity. They're two extremes on a spectrum. One needs to be around others who enrich her life. She needs to learn to be content on her own—this is human, as we are ultimately alone—while finding people who she is content to be around—we do not exist alone.

Ideas: 1—internet damaging the percentage of people who are capable of enriching others' lives. Explanations: the internet provides easy access to content, this distracts people from self-reflection, thus existing requires less work. These people are undeveloped. A person who barely exists has little to offer to others.

2—people develop by struggling. Have opportunities to struggle decreased?—on average, people are safer than they used to be (See: Do Humanity's Best Days Lie Ahead? booklog). Same for access to food, resources, etcetera. Life becomes easier, so people struggle less, so people are undeveloped.

2.5—discomfort is to be avoided. See content/trigger warnings. "For you" pages reduce discomfort; easy to find appealing content (no effort). Echo chambers. Overprotective parents; is there a rise in helicopter parenting? Technology may provide helicopter parents with more effective ways to be helicopter parents. See: tracking children's locations.

3—tangential thoughts about social media fucking with one's sense of self. Identity is always on display (if posting); meaning of the word "identity" has been twisted into labels. Pre-packaged people. This is tangential, undeveloped, and too far from the point.

---

...a bizarre set of responses to someone's diary. 240531 and 240601.

"I'm trying to talk about myself less. (is that an oxymoron?)"

Yes, but that's irrelevant. Acknowledge it and move on _to something else_. You could use a specific topic as a way to talk about yourself---the usual 'talk about thing, tie it back to the writer,' thus balancing the urge to talk about yourself with the desire to talk about yourself less. Transition state; taking steps to being better. Could use talking about yourself as a way to work on a particular personal issue, address a problem, adjust frameworks, find better questions, and so on. Ultimately, you are your audience. Make your writing worthwhile. Don't be me :D

Don't worry, not killing myself is my screw you to the establishment and life, I refuse to die early!

I am borrowing this perspective, thankyouverymuch. (Engaging in a parasocial relationship? N-no. Once again, using someone else's writing to inspire my own writing. Now with direct credit!)

I know I'm supposed to probably organize my thoughts in a better way, maybe post an article, but I find that to be too much work and too organized.

Can the 'supposed to.' Do you want to, or do you not want to? Why is the work & organization dis-incentivizing? What do you want to say? Thank you for acknowledging your responsibility to yourself. Remember to act on this. Find a way to do so.

---

I was thinking about making my site public. I wanted to do so on 20240613, the anniversary of the website's creation. Once I decided to do so, my mind was at ease. I am half-heartedly certain. Hah. Hypocritical? Contradictory? k. Moving on.

Schedule went out. Five shifts! This is good. I have a calculus test this week. On the other hand, power is being shut off at the end of the month. I've told the landlord about this, twice. Ialskdfjsvfa;dslkfjasv;aie;owemwleakewvmafwjeiawlieamw. I am stressed. Fucking with mealplanning, since the repeated 'power will be turned off at any time before the end of the month' means I will not be making a month's worth of meals.

---

I need to move on from you. I can't keep wondering how you're doing, what's changed, if you've changed, what you're doing, what you're (not) reading. What good does it do? You gain nothing. I feel sad and hurt. Net loss. I don't even want to talk to you. There was one book I'd read, and a piece of it reminded me of you. I noted it for a future email. I haven't edited that file in a few weeks. Here is what I wrote:

Part of Loneliness, by Clark E. Moustakas, reminded me of you. The third chapter (titled Concepts of Loneliness) discusses loneliness as alienation from oneself. What he had to say made me think about you and your (past?) unfullfilled ideals; the things you'd do _iff_ some 'dommy mommy' could wrangle you into doing things. (The start of the chapter, up until the subsection titled 'Existential Loneliness,' is the only part of the book that I thought was worthwhile. Most of the rest of the book was anecdotes from the author & others.)

I am so tired of thinking about you. I cannot describe how disappointing you are. I need you out of my brain. Rather, I need to stop allowing thoughts of you to evoke an emotional reaction from me. I know, dumb alien. Shut up. Please stop making me feel guilty. Please go away. Did I say I'm cooking a pork butt? My back hurts; I'm folded over the yoga mat. My stomach hurts. My (list) hurts. I cannot wait to go to work tomorrow. Back to the land where everything makes sense. I'm not fine, then. I need to read more. I was looking through Project Gutenberg, and thinking about how older books have nice prose. I want to stick to older books. I don't think I can go back to old movies, yet, too tainted. Old books (not necessarily classics) are safe. I need to find a good way to deal with these emotions. I can't keep spiraling over one person. I need something else to occupy my time. I've been listening to more music; I could keep writing about music.

"God No!" by Chxrlotte is catchy. Pop, and lyrics focus on a mental issue. "Heaven cannot help you / The only devil is yourself" grabs my attention. It is true and memorable. This song is not deep. I like the opening because it starts with vocals (she sounds like Billie Eilish) and finger-snaps. Then the electric guitar joins in, rounding out the sound. There is not much to it. Music video? I'd start out monochrome. See: shadow of someone snapping, camera pan. At guitar, zoom out, only shadows of a person standing and snapping. Spears. Dodge 'em. I don't know. All I see are shadows, like that trailer for Candyman? Updated version?

A chill from remembering how people could behave. Someone could break in. Someone could hurt me. Someone could turn on me. My life could end in an instant. I need to check on the pork.

0603

I have been told my social skills need improvement. Pardon, I was told my customer service skills need improvement. I'm worried I'm too brusque, unfriendly, impersonal, etc. I don't want to be rude. I prefer to keep it short and to the point, but maybe that comes across as rude? How much is there to say—here is your order, have a good day? Argh. I'll whine here, but I do need to figure it out, because I don't want to create unnecessary problems. Customers: can't live with 'em, can't live without them.

I dislike how much my mood impacts my behaviors. Bad mood===(more) curt, closed off, giving major "fuck off" vibes, very on-edge, more likely to make dumb mistakes, difficulties talking to people. Good mood===talkative, engages in banter, lighthearted?, communicative. I don't mean to inflict my mood on other people. I don't notice when I do. I don't know how to stop doing it.

I'm told "good job," yet I can list off too many dumb mistakes I made in half an hour. How does this warrant a good job?

Another day of line. Was fine. Pardon the rhyme. Different cooks have different expectations. I don't know what I mean to say here. Today went well, once it was busy? In the afternoon & dinner 1, I mean. Initial lunch was not good, too anxious, too many mistakes. I felt out of place. Dunnoooooiooooo. Hopefully redeeemed one major mistake I made (on Friday). HOPEFULLY. Wrote "hopedully" lol. Drowning and laughing. Where am I going? I like my job. Annoyed with the girl who reminded me to clean—I was cleaning, you needed me to go do something else, was going to finish cleaning when the urgent tasks were done. I don't feel like doing math. I'd said I would happily take over someone else's closing shift, and I meant it. Alas, I was kicked out of the kitchen. Owner asked me why I let myself be bullied like that...hahaha.

Back to priorities. Why does doing something for others feel good?—acknowledgement of existence. Social (structures? rules? society) might be a facade, that is it's arbitrarily put together, but we benefit from the structure. Yes, we lie and decide to give meaning to our rules and lives. We can keep ourselves alife—thinking yolo, thinking tired.

Thinking. Tomorrow morning, I will be at the library. I will read for 1hr. I will be home by 0930. I will take the practice exam. I will smile and go to work. On Wednesday, I will read, study, buy olives, visit the library, study (practice problems), LOOK AT RESEARCH, maybe talk to family. Exam is on Friday. "I guess I'll make my salad," yes, fuck off, I dislike the two of you, but other you in particular. Women, amiright?

Cross contamination.

Stop taking things out of my hands.

The pseudo-souvlaki tastes good. I'll write up later. Pondering: I'll hang out with you. Social exposure. Fucking people. Our structures make little sense, should facilitate ease of daily life. Cognizant of memory. z do on. I'd let you work me to the bone; necromancy to work me 'til I'm dust.

0604

This is not new information. I encourage everyone to stop paying attention to main stream media which has been captured by the power people, those who are benefitting from our collective ignorance. Start expanding your awareness by getting your information from not only the TFP, but other online sites. That is where to find true and valuable information. --- comment

Misses the point. The source of information is not the key problem; how people react to (pseudo)information is. Think about what you're reading. Are the arguments based on logic, or emotions? What facts are there, and are these facts supported by unbiased sources?—hating how we can't rely on information to be true.

Do pay attention to mainstream media. Compare what mainstream and non-mainstream are saying. What's being said, and what isn't being said. Why pay attention to mainstream—it's mainstream, it's what's being passed around, be aware of that side of things to know what others are saying. Have the counterarguments prepared (practice practice practice). Keep an ear on what's going on. CONSTANT VIGILANCE, hahaha.

You are ignorant because you are not thinking about what you are being told.

---

Feels like I'm falling. My body is so heavy. Down the rabbit hole. She sees an ace of spades, a knight of hearts, a king of crowns, false chess pieces, a die with bedposts, fading together as she plops on a twin-bed-sized leaf. Brown limes are barely presentable, but they go out. How long will it last? Crawling into smithereens. Smithrings. What was love kernels. Parched; friendless; my lack of people too obvious. Customers had to ask, how shameful, my friday error more so. Too brusque, or is it brisk? Brisket? Yum. Want feta, food unsure, inventory tomorrow, perhaps pasta sauce. The tickets will keep coming; platters and boxes will kill me, not! Keep head on. So very tired. Sleep's been stalking me for longer than I can remember. Until the inky blackness. And then the nightmares will begin. Aaaaaand Mister Miller's put you in the mood. It's make believe ballroom time....night.

0605

r/ADHD_partners post - Reminded of r/fakedisordercringe; how people romanticize illnesses (which they don't actually have). Mental disorders became quirky traits. People who genuinely have those disorders may take this as a chance to romanticize their problems, thus not dealing. Creating excuses. Yadayada, this song and dance has been done before. I thought this comment section was interesting because it showed the consequences of romanticization of ADHD. Children in adult bodies :|

The whole "accommodation without accountability" ideology is a result of the neurodiversity movement. Which attempts to reframe disorders as "differences". source

To decide what I'm doing today. Morning: review unknown topics for calc exam. Go to town library. Eat. Olives? Afternoon: cook! Practice exam round 2. Mix in reading. LOOK AT MATH PAPERS. Go over todo list. I am going to get out of bed and get ready for the day (0832...).

---

I think I'm not occupying myself enough.

> Nobody, what do you want to do?

Lightheaded. Physically, something feels wrong, and my consciousness is detaching from my body. I am sitting behind my eyeballs, watching a thumb type on a phone. I need to go do the dishes, put on lotion, do site updates, try to jerk off, study, READ. Wanna know what I'm doing?

> You're getting distracted.

Trying to put moisturizer on my peeling sunburn. As if I must baby myself into making use of my time.

♪ oh beat me daddy, eight to the bar

Had water. Washed a dish. Where did the afternoon go—cooking. Kompot and orange chicken. Tried a new grocery store, grabbed a mango and lemon, they have a good selection of animal parts. Grabbed cookbooks from the library. Would like to try beef tongue, next week. Hate thinking about food. I know what's better for me, but there are so many flavors, so many ideas and options, flour is so versatile. I don't even want to eat things, just make them. Talked to family, unsatisfactory. I'm lonely. I want people. I wish I had consequential things to say, and people to say them to. Today was not well-used. Lies! Spent the morning studying, then doing math—exam FRIDAY, plan on ~failing~ (aka a 70/80s, don't care enough, i want to be back in the kitchen. highlight of my summer).

Syrena—Kiki Rockwell: enunciation needs to be better. This is like the ??? of Billie Eilish, except difficult to make out. So lackluster. Song is new, and I'm not interested in it. Adding more playlists to the queue, too lazy to look for new music in a productive way. Crawl—margø is annoying, cliche, been done before (redundant!).

0606

Chapter for Not Being Hung Upside Down on a Stake—Nile is nice. The drums seem to be the backbone of the song; love how prominent they are. The tempo is nice & fast. I dunno, the band members just seem like they're having a good time. There's a certain energy—this is too vague, I can't pinpoint it—which makes this song stand out.

My roommate threw out a pound of lamb, because he couldn't be bothered to cook it. Ffs. His lax approach to feeding himself is so annoying. The disposable plates, the filling the trash can on a weekly basis, the overpriced fruit salads, the fluffernutters, the...you get the idea. Normie. And here I am, always worried I'm hogging the kitchen.

Beef tongue. Why not just call it cow tongue?

---

I feel like shit. Unfocused. Off to work in ~20min, thank Merlin. Was trying to read and couldn't focus. Thinking about buying ice cream tonight. Also wishing one of the evening-shift people would call out and I could take on his shift. This is ??? why is my head SO FUGGY. FOGGY. Stare at the letters until they turn into nonsense. I don't want to write, I'm only forcing myself to not be a sloth. Shouldn't that be a semicolon? Eyes are blurry and unfocused. What goes on the frys. Fries. Scallions; I lose track of what does and doesn't get scallions. The damn curry sauce; why would you put that on ---? Discussing odd sauce combinations. I'm gonna murder my coworkers :DDDDDDDD

I think the heat is making me feel ill. I was sitting with an ice pack on my head. Pack bag; don't forget umbrella? The forecast doesn't mention rain, but the clouds are gray.

---

I know I need to study for my math test. I wish I cared. Keysmash? So little interests me. I need to force myself to keep doing things. Did heavy lifting. Was told that "even the sun hates you." Batch of kompot tastes good. What was it, if the writer is bored, the reader is also bored? I started reading the Gluttony book, and should abandon it because I'm not interested in it. It's well-written, and I'm too shitty to appreciate it. What's left to do, or say? Writing myself into a depression. Calculus is boring. Basic-bitch math. I was listening through Nile's discography; they have a nice, harsh sound. I'm not paying enough attention to describe it; my apologies. I'm going through the albums I saved to my library to try and find new music. Most of it has been a miss—Bad Omens and Preylium were promptly deleted. Bad Omens was too melodic, getting far too alt / alt-rock for what I wanted to hear. Too bland. Their sound was indistinct and dispassionate. Next up is Breaking Benjamin, except I need to turn this off and focus on math. Do things, and then I'll be distracted from my emotions. I want to look at the cookbooks and meal plan for next week. New recipes! New ingredients! I'm excited.

---

I think working is distracting me from how shitty I feel. Which is good, to some extent. I get a break; I get to do good work; I get to be around other people; I get to be (appropriately) challenged. Until I come home, and then I'm down in the dumps a-fucking-gain. Not dealing with anything. The problem is masked, not fixed. I'm left to keep looking forward to going back to work. Please let me back into the kitchen! ♥ I love it when I can keep up with the pace. Yes, it is a distraction, but I don't care. I enjoy muting my world and focussing on the one thing I currently enjoy.

Aaaaaand there's the problem. I'm not putting effort into math, and find myself disliking shit because of it. HOW DO I FIND A SPECIFIC TOPIC FOR A PAPER. What even is appropriate, as an undergrad? So much to learn, and I'm not all interested in it. Like, I do want to know if/how eigenvalues are related to planarity, or chromaticity. I dunno, too technical, too application based.

I don't think I'm treating myself well. I'm scrolling through reddits when I want to be reading, watching shitty videos when I want to listen to music, abstain....who knows. Counterintuitive responses & actions in-deed.

0607

I want to drag myself to local events for the sake of getting out of the house. I don't actually want to go to these events. I'm only trying to look alive, or is it to force some life into my tired body?

> is that a question? How do you not know why you're doing what you're doing?

There aren't events I want to go to. I find this annoying. How am I supposed to look alive when there's nothing to keep me alive?—by pretending to be alive? There is something meaningful about "hey I went to do this thing." I engaged in reality. I left my house and put myself in a world which is not my own.

Thinking: need to shower (don't wash hair), last-minute review for exam, eat breakfast, tired and considering coffee, could exercise, legs are sore, calves are stronger than used to be, successfully transferred rice!, no muscles, compared to the people I've known he's kind and jovial, stop fucking apologizing!, shift at 4, could go to the library—why not make a dent in some reading? Can't pay attention, can't care, failing myself and making my life worse. Remember the point. What are you trying to accomplish? Use the proper actions to accomplish it.

Dreamed: scratching my head, and dandruff was coming off in handfuls.

I think, "hey, I could go to the library and read this book," and instinctively suppress a hint of interest. I'm thinking: the library opens at 8, so I'll get up in fifteen minutes, I'll shower and maybe I'll eat, I'll be out the door at 0805 and in the library by 0810.

---

Calc exam was easy-peasy. There were nine questions, two of which were extra credit. I'm worried that a page was missing...how was the entire exam multiple choice? I showed my work, got the right answers the first time around. (I think. At least, my answers were options). Still thinking about walking to the library book sale. There's also a street fair...maybe I go to both? Right now, I'm sitting in a corner and reading. I feel relaxed, for a moment. Good to have the exam off my back. Taking it in-person was the right choice.

---

Spending time on Neoshitties sites again. Vivarism was 5am girlfriend; there's something odd, nearly hypocritical?, about someone who wrote about the disconnect between the online/offline self being a self-shipper. Her obsession with Sans is disconnected from reality. This is disappointing---you've proven you have a brain, please keep using it?! Or something, I don't mean to be unfairly harsh. I do admire her web design. She's mastered this colorful, cutesy style which is easy to look at. Her page is full of graphics, but the graphics don't distract from the content; instead, the graphics and content support one another. Her website is coherent. Her site looks like the website of someone who enjoys trying to make things look nice. For that, I almost envy her---I wish I could do cutesy designs. I could, but they would feel like a lie. Her designs feel authentic.

---

Trying to pinpoint a wave of shit. What is it. I did feel hurt by what — wrote; that's what you have to say? He's so petty and childish. I'm left disappointed, both in him (for continuously making the wrong choices) and myself (for continually choosing to waste my time on him; for believing he would change; for thinking I could do something to benefit him; for thinking things between us would improve; for—all those hours spent on writing to him, on stressing out over him, the emails I didn't send because 'they weren't good enough' (NOTHING would be), the lighthearted things which took too long for him to say he didn't want, certain images/activities which make me want to bang my head against a wall, the hours spent taking photos (and looking for things to take photos of), of trying to attach photos to ems—seriously, sending photo attachments through protonmail's iOS app was (still is?) a time-consuming process—on _allowing_ myself to be thrown around by him, thinking I could help someone who can't (and doesn't want to) be helped by others, not putting my foot down on bothersome behaviors (even if that would have caused us to end things—I inconsistently wanted to talk to him, to write those good morning/night emails, dragging myself to be optimistic to try to benefit him, and at what cost (my time and energy) for what good? (He got attention...? Sometimes I think that writing some meaningless thing was better than nothing, to him; his annoyance with any email I sent was never worse than his annoyance with me not sending an email. As if he wanted that constant stream of emails, of attention, to distract him from finding a way to deal with life). I don't think either of us got what we wanted from each other. Unfortunately, I am better without him—I get to breathe, have time to myself, enjoy uninterrupted bits of life, schedule my time. Hah, he wouldn't want to talk to me now because I have obligations that prevent me from being at his beck and call. How dare I).)

Yet.

I.

still.

feel like crap. How do I want to spend my time?—I don't. I want the little squirrels to crawl out of my bag and wander around my room. I want to watch them gnaw on cables, to try and play my clarinet, to bark (look it up, squirrels do bark) at themselves in the mirror, to feel their FLOOFY tails, pet 'em all. They'd dig squirrel holes to Wonderland, and pull me down. I'd fall asleep while falling.

I still feel lonely; how would things be different if there were someone else here with me? We'd be reading, talking about the book, probably affirming each other's reaction to the book. That isn't anything I can't—or don't —already do for myself. Yet I long for some mystical Other who would do my things with me. An externalization of my thoughts? Things would only last if they had new things to say. Constantly agreeing would be so boring. Circles are boring. I almost talked myself into going to a thing, but I have work in an hour, so I don't have the time. Damn legs. I wish I could walk the normal 7mph, instead of 3 (because waiting on traffic). Slow legs. Stop. What's this song? Poison—Gin Wigmore. Nice start. Her voice has this slight edge to it; she has a sound. Refined? Slightly strained...? I love the aggressive "huh, yeah" in the background.

---

Thoughts on Saddleblasters Saddle Show:

Listening to someone speak a language I don't comprehend is odd. Other languages don't sound like gibberish—they sound coherent, there's an audible structure, the sounds (phonology?) makes itself known, yet the meaning is lost on me. The other language is reduced to structured sounds. Thinking about hearing a certain other internet person's voice for the first time. Hearing another's voice is oddly humanizing, and personal. A stronger sign of humanity than their words on a screen...? Sometimes, words on a page seem detached from the person writing them. The words have separated themself from the person; they're permanent. (Not actually). The words are more refined than speech. When speaking, you have the luxury of starting a sentence and interrupting it; there's a degree of fluidness which is often lost in print. The fluidness, presumably, is more reflective of the way we think. Dat inner monologue sure loves interrupting itself (getting sidetracked...why are my neighbors partying? It's 1522...).

I think people should strive for coherence. Going in circles is worthless; you waste your time. Revel in incoherence? Aren't you trying to communicate with others? Or I've not been paying enough attention, and your points are lost on me. To say so much without saying anything. Him talking about his college radio show is the most concrete thing in these ?? minutes.

I came back to his site because I was thinking about web design, and his entry on cuteness. (My cursive is also ugly). Similar feelings—on not really feeling like a girl or a boy, but knowing this has nothing to do with my body/sex/etc, or a form of dysmorphia. Envy. I wish being a "real girl" suited me. I wish I could do so without feeling like I'm lying to myself and others. This is all I am, and all I ever will be. I look at femininity, and I crave being feminine, but I am not feminine and forcing myself to be feminine is a lie.

Thinking about my former radio show, that former college, and how I had written about starting a show again. I'd started recording audio for it. Was that last fall? I can't recall. (Sorry not sorry).

---

Eyes are too personal. I dislike looking at 'em. They make me uncomfortable. They're innately humanizing—something, eye contact is a form of contact (ex. touching), albeit non-physical but still contact, which is inherently personal/intimate?/humanizing. This is my body, this is me, and so on.

0609

Error143 claims to be "A bickering and bantering rivals-to-lovers visual novel." In the hour it took for me to play this game, two of these claims appeared to be true. The 'rivals-to-lovers' aspect was nonexistent. The player and love interest are bickering from the start, and the interest in one another is far too blatant. There is no relationship development. Plot summary: they meet (via Le Hacking), banter, he's on a plane for a day and the player misses him, voila he is at the player's door.

This visual novel is eerily reminiscent of tumblr culture. The love interest is a nerd whose room has a cyberpunk color scheme. His outfit includes an oversized hoodie---or is it a blanket wrapped around him? Also, hair dye, pointy chin, and vampire teeth. "one hot snarky asshole" he is not, but this is reminiscent of the kind of character whom tumblr would idealize. The pseudo-stalking is, again, tumblr-esque. 'voila i am at your door unnanounced, love me babe.'

I do not understand how this game received so many positive ratings. Enemies to lovers requires fleshed out characters and relationship development. These two begin with a friendly rivalry (and calling it a rivalry is an exaggeration). Great, that's all I have to say, buh-bye.

---

In All My Dreams I Choke on Invisible Smoke

.

Footnote from the future... I can't remember what I was going to say about this game. Dream-like style? It wasn't annoying, but it wasn't memorable.

0610

Feeling at loss. Plans for the day: complete survey. Review salad setup. Oh, put things away. Read chapters for calc. Work on finding topic for paper. Keep reading library books. I just want to push myself to do everything. The sun is glaring in my eyes; my dad is sniffling and trying to converse; I am tired and my stomach hurts. Nausea is becoming a new problem. Woe is me. At least I have work today. Can't wait to feel like an outsider, make more dumb mistakes, and all that jazz. Shitty feeling. Sorry, me. I was saving more albums; need to find the time to listen to all of 'em too. I was with family yesterday. Can't wait to get home and eat real food—eggs and sausage sound so good. Listening to the album V, by Bullet for My Valentine. So sad and lonely. Quick, try to redirect and fail as you always do. Oh, now you're just going to whine about feeling miserable again. You do this to yourself. Stop denying it. Put your energy into feeling better. Except you won't, because changing your patterns takes effort, and you're too weak to do so. You just want to go back to bed. Don't you know that getting things done is more satisfying than lying down could ever be?

Fine. I will go home, put groceries away, make/eat breakfast (and read!), and take notes for calc.

"I am not your remedy..." ahahaha (from The Last Fight, by Bullet for My Valentine). Am I actually going to make this site public?

---

Made a salad, and the customer said it looked beautiful. Yay :)

I was doing prep work, which one of my coworkers was repeatedly told to help me with. She avoided this until I was almost done. Then my shift was over, and the other coworker first tried to kick me out (I wanted to finish, damnit!) and he helped finish it in another twenty minutes. So...3hr on garlic? My hands were cramping. Such fun. Getting a chance to talk to my coworkers was nice. There's one girl who talks about her math classes. Also, the whole "suddenly sweet-talking to evict me from the kitchen" is funny. How was the rest of the day—there was a moment when it was busy. Most of my shift was a steady trickle of orders.

The note about "autism as the extreme male brain" keeps getting stuck in my head (from The Essential Difference). Sensory issues—something about processing the world in a disciplined, overly-aware manner? Aware that the framework doesn't clearly explain all aspects of autism; just a possible explanation.

0612

Yesterday was boring. My coworker was grumpily standing around—there weren't many customers, so there wasn't anything to prep, and there wasn't much of a rush to recover from. Damnit, I need a good rush! I'd started restocking things as soon as they approached possibly needing restocked. (That is, low enough to be restocked, but not needing to be restocked). Hand-drying dishes. Doing coleslaw—a much-disliked endeavor—because I had nothing better to do. We were busy for a few moments at dinner, but barely busy, aaaand then my shift was over :(

The owner told me that, starting next week, I'm learning fryers. He claims I've earned it. Naturally, he had to say this when there were a few people standing around me, including a cook who's been there for ~5 months and hasn't gotten to work fryers. (I think I've started to gain some respect from her? Yesterday & the day before, she was nicer to me than she was last week. She deferred to my decisions on a few things). I do not think I'm ready for this level of responsibility! He thinks too highly of me. This is my sixth week working there, I think. AHHHHHHH. I hate how he draws attention to me. I get it, though. The cooks who have been here longer should be more, not less, competent than I. He wants my behaviors to rub off on them. All of this praise(?) is stressing me out.

I'm off today. I need it, too—everything is sore. And I'm cooking today! Let's see what pork tongue tastes like. I need to start on that now.

---

I don't know what to write. I can say I'm sad and lonely and wish I weren't so alone, that I wish I could be around people, had a person I could talk to (and things to say to them, but there's nothing there; dead, braindead child...tired. I'm not sure what I did today. I cooked, I ate, I read some of a math textbook, I finished this week's math homework, I finished reading a book, wrote up a few things, shaved, listened to a few 'new to me' albums).

0613

At 0011, because I have decided to put entries under the calendar date. I want to engage in self-destructive habits. I don't mean to contradict myself, be unreliable, be inconsistent, etc.—the urges are there, and sometimes writing about the urge, my bad plans, is enough to make the urge go away. Sorry to disappoint. Also not-sorry. I want to ridicule myself. It's quite easy to do. Just look at how often I fail people, how I'm not good enough for them, how I want to help them but can't, how I think I care but must not actually care because if I did care I would be able to do good. Yet I don't. I keep failing (to learn from my failures; you know you aren't trying hard enough when your every attempt to do better fails, please use your brain and not half-heartedly).

A family member gifted me some mediocre chocolate bars, so I binged on them. I'd fast, but there's pork in my fridge which needs to be eaten, and also pork tongue, and then I need to fast because I am getting fat (she says, knowing full-well she's overthinking and has probably gained nothing). I can't undo the damage. My only choice is damage control. Of course, my job leaves me exhausted, so I need to eat, but do I really? Shouldn't I be disciplined enough to not?—yes, I should be, but I only fail. Only working 30hr and whining about being sore/tired/hungry. Get over yourself. The stakes are high. I hate my growing obsession with work—I think about it too much, I want to be there too much, already attaching my worth to it, not spending enough time on math. embarrassing. Why must I forget what I'm doing. Why must I daydream about what it'd be like to spend the next two decades in kitchens. Idiot brain. Remember your future.

---

Someone made a negative comment about me, so I'm instinctually cataloguing each of my perceived flaws. Didn't mop thoroughly, damn bottle broke so I managed to mess up cleaning tables...okay, that's the extent of my work errors. Made a mental note to clean fridges when bored. There was a good dinner rush! We handled it. I need...what was I saying. PAY MORE ATTENTION.

My roommates (yes, the guy who moved in and the upstairs people) were talking. He has an engineering coop at (large, important place)...I literally applied to that. Dude is making $24-28/hr. No wonder he buys nice food. Upstairs people are in medicine. Now I feel like a failure. I couldn't get a real job. I'm a minwage cook at a fast-casual place. This is barely cooking. I want to stay full-time in the fall. What about that is so good? I do like what I do, but for a moment this stops feeling good enough. I'm abnormal. I'm weird.

Apparently, my cooking smells bad. They know when I'm cooking because it smells. Am I a bad cook? At least I shouldn't need to cook until next month. I've decided to make this week's groceries last until the end of the month. I don't know what to do. Maybe there's something wrong with my nose. I'm going to start restricting to one meal in the morning. I think I should also drink the chicken stock (after salting it), since some people say it's a good way to get sodium in. Above all else, I need to deep clean this house. I'll clean the bathroom & kitchen when I wake up. I'll find a way to declutter my room. I'll take out the recyclables. I'll make sure everything is spotless. No foul smell shall haunt this house. I need to shower more often. I need to shave my arms and legs. I need to moisturize. I need to look good. I need to look like feminine. I need to be pretty. I will be thin.

"Doesn't he seem like someone who would be fun to hang out with?" why is that your question/topic. You sound like you're trying to get me to socialize. I don't get it. Also, you primarily talk to me if you need to point out something I did wrong, or something I should be doing that I'm not doing (which, don't get me wrong, is good to know, since I don't want to make mistakes) so is it that surprising that I'm a bit anxious around you?

0614

Wow, I still feel like garbage. The pork went bad. Before I continue to write, I will take out the garbage and recyclables. Done! Also took care of dishes, and grabbed breakfast. See, that wasn't that hard.

---

Food is stressing me out, again. I finished the mediocre salad; there was too much mint in it. Taste of feta wasn't strong enough. I feel like I'm making myself miserable. I'm hungry; nothing sounds good. I'm so tired of eating. The pork tongue will probably taste shitty. Everything I cook is terrible. I feel so self-conscious. I need to do more reading for my project proposal. All of this sounds unappealing. I'm going to disappoint everyone. I'm not worthy of anything. I should stay in the back of the kitchen, keep up with dishes, and prep when told. This is where I belong.

---

I am wasting.

0615

Still thinking about work. One of my coworkers fucked up; we were too busy to have time for mistakes. Yet. he. fucked. up. Wait times were egregiously, unnecessarily long. I have no idea what he was doing, but it was not his job. Our boss had to step in. On the other hand...I was fine? I stayed on top of what I was doing. He told me I seemed to be the one person who did know what was going on. I still made a few mistakes. I dunno. We took too long to close.

---

The pig tongue didn't taste bad; didn't have much of a taste at all. The texture was rubbery, but it wasn't difficult to chew.

0616

Yesterday was fine. I worked fryers for a few minutes. They are so stressful! I can't grab things from the freezers quickly enough, nor keep track of what I've grabbed, nor keep track of what is in each damn fryer.

---

...I c/s a Milky Way. Should've done the same with the brownie (...140cal, 15g carb). The cream-cheese brownie wasn't good, too bland; cream cheese was just a small swirl on top. $1.19 down the drain, AKA my stomach, which now hurts. On the other hand, I was carrying around ~12lb of groceries for an hour. I spent an egregious amount of time walking back and forth in the store. I tell myself to buy something different, some crap snack, just to mix things up and keep myself happy. Then I take too long looking for something appealing.

This week's groceries (when added to what I have at home, this should last 2—2.5 weeks!): 5lb potato, cream cheese brownie, milky way, black cherry jello, spaghetti sauce, 1lb frozen strawberries, 5lb beef patties (they were $3/lb!), aaaand edible cookie dough. I didn't want to meal plan. I have 5dzn eggs, so I'm going to do eggs & beef for quite a few meals, and shakshouka, and some egg soup with the chicken stock I made.

Heard a woman talking about how we ain't got time to feel bad about ourselves, to feel down, all we need is love & she's allowed to make her own choices because it's her life. I kept walking by her (incidentally). I approve of her character. The lady who bagged my groceries actually packed the bag well. Good for her.

Opened up Apple Health, and it asked me to take a mental health questionnaire. Fine, Apple; anything to give you more of my data. They really should start paying us for all of the data they harvest.

0617

Why, oh why, must I continue to be so damn tired? These books don't interest me. I can't bringe myself to care. I feel like I'm lying, saying I mean to familiarize myself with Kant, saying...I don't care, that's the problem, I did for a moment yet now I don't. I don't mean to lie, or change, though 'change is the only constant,' or be inconsistent. Is saying I want to do a thing a lie, because I don't know if I'll still want to do it in the future? Must I preface each statement with "at the moment I think X, but I may change my mind in a few months (or years!), who knows." I should have never said my hobby was composing, as it was only true for a period of time, and I should not hold true something that could change in the future. Only at death can we make definite statements about ourselves, summarize our lives, as what we claim in the present (unless appropriately prefaced) will be a lie. I am writing at this point in time. That is a lie, because what point in time are we referring to? I don't mean to go in circles, or maybe I do mean to point out something someone said which bothered me. I should not try things, because they will fail (and I cannot know if they will succeed; why try if there is no success, and there will never be a success, time to go binge on the cookie dough---a lie, as I should not do so, so there is no time to do so, so there cannot be a time to do so). Lies lies lies. You have changed, only not in the way you wanted to, and why did you say you were trying things, were interested in things, if you weren't going to try and you weren't interested? Why lie?

I want to rewatch a few episodes of BoJack Horseman. I want to watch him fuck up his life, try to turn things around, fail, rinse and repeat...except I may not want this in the future, so I cannot say I want this. At this point in time, I am thinking about rewatching BoJack Horseman. No. At this point in time, as I write this very sentence, I am thinking it would be nice to rewatch a handful of episodes. No, I dread them; why bother putting myself into words? No thing I can say will ever be accurate. By demanding precision, accuracy is rendered null & void. Someone is laughing, snorting, and I hate them; the final phrase is a judgement, how can I say I hate someone if I don't know for sure I know what hate means? My taste buds are untrustworthy, I think something someone says is 'sweet' is actually 'bitter' so I don't know what it means for things to be sweet or bitter, because my taste buds are as discombobulated as my brain; am I capable of perceiving the world correctly? As it is, in the manner others verify, is correctly. A fixed manner. So humans cannot be perceived as they are only fixed in the past; even then our memories are faded---good lord my chest hurts, I am light-headed, I am in the library and I want to curl up and cry. Do I. I want to be sitting in the library and reading yet this is not an option. My eyes are heavy; I slept for <4hr, so maybe I should go home and try to nap. Yes. I think I will. Too tired, will need to do well tonight.

---

Did not nap.

---

I'm tired when I open my eyes, and awake when I close my eyes. What gives?

---

"You don't know what that entails."

She nodded. "I'll do it anyways."

She imagines grueling training sessions, being asked to come in at odd hours, being worked to the bone. Her workload does not change. She finds more time to pay attention to what's going on around her.

0618

I mean, I do like getting to work here. Besides, my finances kinda say I'd be better off working full-time year-round. I keep a tight budget, but still. Point is, I will happily work as much as you let me. I'll be in class three nights a week. So my schedule is still pretty open. I seem to attract men who want to parent me.

0619

The heat is making life difficult. I have said this many times. I am a broken record. I feel like crap. I've spent a lot of time on —, and I know this hurts me. I'm counting calories and restricting. I will make this fine. I will stop whining about food, and I will stop making mistakes. The only thing on my mind is a desire to sleep. What is that banging sound? Work is in an hour. I haven't felt lonely. I exchanged a few messages with someone; maybe doing so helped. I could be too tired/drained to be lonely. The books I started were shit. I'm obsessing over food.

0620

I need to remember to drink soy sauce. I managed to head to the library, nearly fell asleep, went home, had soy sauce, and .5hr later I am fine.

Came home from work and ate more food. The app I use to count calories (Appediet) says my total is 1272cal. I am not fine with this. More to say, but I'm so tired. 'night.

Eggs, sausage, and pasta sauce. Potato. Total: 550cal. I hate how hungry work makes me. I'm only there for six hours, do I really need more food after? Or during? The answer seems to be "yes" and/or I have no self-control. I used to be able to do OMAD effortlessly and unintentionally. Now, I struggle. I think this is because of how much more physically active I am—my job is a workout. I'd like to exercise more (I need some arm strength!), but I'm worried about increased soreness interfering with my work. I hate how full I feel after eating a 700+cal meal. Then I go and eat more, later. I'm going to switch back to two meals a day and continue to aim to eat no more 1000cal a day. Maybe this will help me stay in my calorie limit.

I want to be thin enough to see the number on the scale go down. I need to restrict enough to do so. At the same time, I think I need to gain muscle mass? This is going to be a problem. I want weight loss, and I want to be able to do my job well. Do these contradict each other? I'm worried.

On top of this, I hate how restrictive my eating habits are. My food seems so boring. Packaged crap is crap, but it looks exciting. I like some of my meals, and I do enjoy trying new recipes. I also just want a tad bit of novelty. As I write this, I'm thinking about running down to the grocery store to buy a candy bar. I'm not going to do this—I can't let myself get into the habit of buying whatever I feel like; already spent this week's grocery money—but it sounds so tempting. And fun. I know trying to be low carb is better for my health; the difference in mental clarity and pain is astounding. But it's so damn boring. There is low carb packaged food, but it isn't in my budget. I am constantly worried about money, and I hate being this way. I just want to go somewhere and buy something interesting and eat it and then I'll be happy. I'm attaching my emotional state to food and I don't know how to stop. Chill, girl. I'll eat my next meal in 4hr or after work. For now, though, I need to buckle down and do all of the work I didn't do yesterday. I don't want to. My job is the only part of my life I'm interested in. Aaaaaarrrrgghh.

To be fair, she was throwing rocks at me. I don't know. That was when we were kids. Aaaand other things. I will finish the eggs and yogurt and—what else is there. The sausages and burger patties.

My coworkers are oblivious. I left a bottle out (to see if they would refill it); they were chatting and it took 'em fifteen minutes to notice it. I keep hoping that my behavior will rub off. They're ignorant, oblivious, and flippant. Inclined to waste time. Dude, you don't want to talk to me. I've moved on, more or less whyyyyy can't these painkillers kick in. Gonna

Cataloging mistakes: didn't immediately fix sauce, put siracha on dish b/c sauce changed, messed up sauces, things in wrong order, didn't wash floor spoon, didn't double-check fryers and other dishes. Can't cut fast enough. Did I mess up restock? I spend so much time double-checking things, I can't imagine I did. Fantasizing about wanting to be able to do food truck, and wanting to learn more prep—instinctively caring about what I'm doing.

0622

There is a drizzle of rain. Will it get worse? Escalate into a thunderstorm? I'll leave for work in twenty minutes; hopefully the weather won't be too bad.

I need to figure out how to ask my coworkers questions about prepping food. I'm being told to ask questions and learn more, and I want to prove my worth. There is one dish I don't know how to make (for a ticket). I don't know how to do the prep work for the meats. There is one coworker who does the prep work, and I want to learn to do what he does.

Commonly used words: HEARD! BEHIND! FUCK! SHIT!

I wonder if I swear too much.

Your childish antics are exactly that—childish. Yet you claim to be better than most others. Why elevate yourself when you can't even pretend to be mature? You're acting like a teenager, and you reach out to & attract your ilk. Stop blaming the world for your choices.

I don't like thinking about my long-term plans. I don't really want to go to grad school; I don't want to keep sitting at a desk all day. I've seen the alternative. Maybe I'm too attached to my current choices. The shiny new thing distracts me from everything, until I become disillusioned. I'm struggling to work on my project proposal. I was interested, yet I'm struggling to give a fuck. I can't find a concrete part to latch on to. I was thinking about eigenvalues and planarity, or chromacity?, and wondering what the relation between those could be. This is the extent of my thoughts. Maybe this is enough of a start? I might be procrastinating on talking to my advisor. I'm scared of biting off more than I can chew. I'm making my problems worse. Whoop-de-fucking-do. See, I know what I want and I can't admit it to myself because something terrifies me.

I also want to reread The Scholomance. Rewatch The Black Swan.

good lord how the fuck. my stress just keeps going up. Can't write because you're not a good writer—you improve by writing—doubt you can write anything, fanfiction or not, that's good, or even passably decent. only published to push an agenda. zYou're being fuelled. Fooled.

0623

The tldr: "more hours; you've earned it." I'm nervous about this week's schedule. It won't go out until tonight. Will I actually get more hours? Two thirty hour weeks were followed by a twenty hour week; at least I was able to pick up another shift. I was told when a certain coworker is gone, I'll be opening, and I'll be running fryers while the owner runs line. I can't believe I'm remembering correctly.

---

Yes, another 5-day week :) Scheduled for 30-32hr (depends on how long closing takes). I was asked to swap a shift, said I could, but haven't received confirmation. Is the confirmation implicit? lord, I hate people.

I am at my parent's house. I was browsing the cabinets for food, and I thought about treating myself to a c/s session. Like a normal person XD. Shit, I forgot my squats. Okay, 100 squats done.

I wish you cared enough to say something. I wish it meant as much to you as it did to me. You can see how that'd leave me feeling disposable, well, disposed of, right? You go back to wallowing in your own problems, and I'm the one who lives with your aftermath. I don't make an impact on you, or a difference to you, devil knows you'd repeatedly made it clear that all I can do is irritate you. You aren't even reading this. Edgelord. You like the persona you've created for yourself. You don't want to do better. I don't know how to stop worrying about you. How to stop _wasting_ my time on you. At this point, I feel like I just need you to be a weird blip in my past, because I am so tired of remembering you.

0625

My schedule changed so I'm off today and on Thursday. This was communicated via text, so I'm naturally worried there was a miscommunication and I'm supposed to be there anyways. Or I'm hoping I get called in? Work feels like the only part of my life I like. I get to do something that I want to do; I get to do something that isn't about me. Even when that 'something' consists of peeling garlic XD. Couldn't even finish peeling all of it. One of my coworkers was helping, too. I had to take a break to prep coleslaw. That, too, was heavily interrupted, so it took longer than necessary.

I thought about going on a walk. The hundred-squats-a-day challenge is making my legs sore. I need to preserve my strength for tomorrow. Something tells me it's going to be a longer-than-expected day. I thought about going out to the Greek place, but ehhh. I want olives, but also not really. How lame and unexciting.

I was talking to someone about something. They framed an experience of mine as "being taken advantage of." The phrasing sounds odd---I did feel pressured, absolutely, and I was doing things to try and evoke a positive reaction from someone (more so than doing the thing because I wanted to). My actions were my choice. There were times when I didn't cooperate, but then I felt guilty for not cooperating and ended up doing something anyways. I feel so awkward. Then let down, or just down on myself because I'm not good enough anyways. I force myself to do things I don't want to do, and for what? To fail, as per usual? To make everybody feel awkward? I'm creating problems regardless of how much I cooperate. How sad. I think others don't really know what they want either. THey think they do, so they whine about other people not knowing what they really want, but they, too, don't know enough about what they want. They know what they think they want. They aren't fine with other people saying that they think they want something---they want more certainty than "I think I want," yet they have the same degree of uncertainty. They choose to hide it behind self-righteousness. Or, worse, they backtrack and say that that's not rewhat they meant and this is your fault.

I understand the urge to find an accurate set of rules for reality. I understand why we want others to say what they mean. However, this can turn into mandating inflexibility and enforcing uncertainty. To be precise, one must say "at this point in time, I like THING." They must acknowledge their opinion may change in the future. Then, "I like THING" is a fixed statement; it says "I have and will always like this." So if you say "I like THING" and then move on from liking it, you are lying to yourself and others.

To me, "I like THING" can only apply to the moment. If I say "I like scifi," then I do mean I like it at that time (and have liked it in the past). I think other people's interests wax and wane; liking it at one point does not necessitate liking it in the future. Changes are inherent. Where was I going with this; who cares. You cannot set up rigid rules, and you cannot wallow in uncertainty. Just---know that there is uncertainty, know that things change, and stop demanding things not change. I think that is part of being alive. People are not fixed things, and demanding they be such is contradictory.

I want fish sticks. I should not have bought the mud fish. I said I'm fasting today. If I keep up with this, I have some coconut milk (?) drink which I can have in six hours. I only need to keep fasting for six hours, and then tomorrow. I think 2200 will mark 24hr. I'm tired of sitting here; tired of existing. The library is open until 1900. I think I'm going to go home and do ???.

---

Wow, I'm home. I want to rewind my thoughts and write down everything that's been going through my mind. Getting up in the morning (instead of lying in bed) feels nice; at least, it does feel better than continuing to lie in bed. I took a break from finding new music. For some reason, I feel like I should feel guilty. I haven't been listening to much jazz. I've been playing comfort music. I started the summer by saying I was going to read that jazz textbook, refine taste, etc. At the same time, I'm fine with what I know. Should I keep reading to find if there's other genres of jazz I might like? I'd only be reading out of obligation. On average, I like big bands. This is enough for me. I feel like I'm supposed to ask for more. I could spend more time looking for other people to listen to. It's hard and uncomfortable. There's so much bad music out there, and so much music I don't like. I have to put in effort because I'm supposed to want to do more. I shouldn't be satisfied with this. I am dissatisfied with my satisfaction.

How odd. I become content with things and feel guilty for being content. What if I'm missing out on something? What if I become too stagnant and comfortable? What if I'm confining myself? I don't feel like I'm allowed to be fine with the way something is. Waging war against & sabotaging myself. aha aha ahahahahahahahahhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

Do we inflict our discontent upon others? Dmaybe. It is a poison. I wonder if we can be content while asking for more. Appropriately pushing forward, instead of forcing oneself into misery.

Sometimes, just sometimes, I wish you'd email. I should be mad at you, and I kinda am, but more hurt than angry, but I'm more disappointed and annoyed. You constantly talk about all the things you'd do---but no, you need someone else to convince you to do them (are they even worthwhile, I wonder). You want a low-effort existence, but forget that the way you live isn't exactly low-effort. You're making your life difficult. Stop whining. Fuck, this derailed. I don't want to talk to you. I do, but I don't, because I want something better and you'll only continue to disappoint me. What good is that? So I can try, again, and think that hey, maybe this time things will be different? Because I want to delude myself into thinking you'll become a better person? I am so tired of the self-righteousness and the way you think you're different. You aren't. There should be something comforting about being like other people. Except people like you won't meet each other, because y'all think you have better things to do with your time (than, of course, whining about being lonely).

I want to buy some food to c/s. Treat myself. Checked on the aid thing and got that taken care of. Completed two survey tasks. In about four hours, I can have the drink I bought. Unless I eat...no, bad self. No food today. I will do well this week. I will stay under 1000cal a day, and I am fasting today to a) make up for overeating over the weekend and b) have calories to spare on Sunday (want <7000cal for the week, so saving calories for Sunday). Hah, I have a Very Normal^TM relationship with food. No disordered habits aaaaaaaaaaaaaaat alllll.

---

I know — is not healthy for me. I know I am using it to channel an unhealthy obsession with food. I know I am making myself miserable. I'm creating a life I hate. I'm forcing myself to not be fine. I hate myself and am finding new ways to take it out on myself. I can't imagine being okay. Ievery time I say work is the only part of my life I like, I mean it. I can't be satisfied on my own—I don't let myself be satisfied? FUCK. ME. I CAN STOP THIS. I SHOULD STOP THIS. I DO NOT WANT TO STOP THIS.

On craving nostalgia. I started gathering lists of cosplay music videos, anime music videos, and animatics which I remember liking. I remember rewatching these countless times—I'd loop 'em for hours on end, mesmerized by the videos. Yet I gather 'em up now, and so many have lost their touch. I can see what was good about them, but I'm not interested in rewatching them. Take this Magnus Archives animatic. The song still slaps—I hear it, I pay attention to it, lord do I love the long songs they do. The animation is good. This is a bad example; rewatched it and didn't want to look away. The artist has a good grasp on perspective, proportions, layout...and then everything is perfectly synced with the music. This is the video that got me hooked on Marianas Trench and The Magnus Archives. It's too damn good!

Okay. A different example is needed. Most AMVs do not hit the way they used to (exception: Toxic). Maybe if I still rewatched the shows, they would resonate more. I can see what I liked about them, but now that I'm farther removed from their context, I care less. A good counter-example is this Death Note CMV. I read Death Note in middle school and didn't think about it again until college, when I was looking for CMVs and found this one. Some fan-creations do transcend the source material. How marvelous.

I want to eat normally. I'm making my life worse by obsessing over numbers. I know CICO doesn't need to be on my mind. Yet I still think I look fat. I just want the numbers to go down, and then I will be happy.

0627

good lord i'm tired. time to sodium up! <-- has three shots of soy sauce, swears she's normal.

I am not vegetarian. *holds up pig-heart stirfry* why are my coworkers consistently concerned about my eating habits?

The mudfish was shit; I ended up throwing it out. It just tasted fishy! Swamp-y, even. No amount of lemon could fix it. On top of that, I wasn't able to fully debone the fish. Every other bite included a minuscule fishbone. I could not enjoy what I was eating. Lesson learned. At least I have pork heart to look forward to for dinner. To clean it, I chopped it up and put it in a bowl of water and squeezed blood out. I think I spent a good fifteen minutes on this. The pork has a subtle copper taste. It's a bit chewy, so I probably overcooked it. I added thai chilis, garlic, and a dash of soy sauce. What a delicious piggy heart <3

My downstairs neighbor(s?) tend to play EDM during the day. The thumping bass is audible upstairs; I can feel the vibrations. I hear the music when I'm in my kitchen.

0628

—and how much I deserve to be hurt. I seem to express masochistic tendencies. (She fights the urge to find an "am i a masochist" quiz. She's thought about adding a section of quiz results to her website. She thinks online quizzes are funny. Does the result match? How odd can she be? She wants to know she isn't like other people; she needs to confirm she differs from the average person).

To make sure I spent enough money to pay via card (not cash), I bought a coconut milk drink at an Asian grocery store. Today, I learned it costs a dollar less at the regular grocery store (and they have more flavors). Yay! Maybe I'll let myself try a new flavor every week. (https://fresh.hmart.com/fruitival-coconut-milk-drink-mango-flavor--290ml-/p I liked the little chunks; they were slightly chewy. The mango taste was not prominent, but it was noticeable). Snickerdoodle pork heart. The pork heart stir fry was <3 OR use sesame oil? Would have a nice kick, with chocolate. Why do recipes call for Worcestershire sauce. My ingredients mismatch; I take one meal, then swap most of it with another meal. I want to do a junkorexic (typo'd HUNKorexic, lololol) week. I'd feel like shit. I'd eat the junk meals which appeal because they're novel. I wouldn't have eaten that when I was younger, so I get to eat it now. I'll eat like crap for a few days, get it all out of my system. I saw mochi which I wanted to buy but didn't.

I spent an hour and a half at the grocery store, yet only bought tomato sauce, ice cream, and a piece of candy. I spent so much time checking the calories and carbs on each item. The ice cream was a serving size, one of those tiny things that comes with its own 'spoon.' Before you berate me, I did c/s the piece of candy; I only swallowed one bite.

I hate when people comment on my facial expressions. My face has a mind of its own. "Why are you making that face" I didn't even know I was making a face. Thanks for bringing it to my attention. "Are you trying to kill me" YOU DIDN'T SAY BEHIND. You never say behind! Aaaaargh. Someone—two people—said I seemed to be "in my element" on the fryers. Well, I do appreciate getting to be the important part of the kitchen. Working almost every damn ticket! I don't like the memory game, but I like knowing what's going on. Thinking about the mistakes I've made. THE PAST IS IN THE PAST. MOVE. ON. He seemed like he was high; kept saying a word which sounded like the name of somebody I used to know. (cue music)

I'm daydreaming again, in all the wrong ways. I'm talking to imaginary people instead of myself. My thoughts will not slow down until I talk to myself. I am tuning out my existence and avoiding thought. I think the sugar-free Jello pudding created temporary GI issues. Pistachio pudding did taste damn good, though. Bacon is unsatisfying. You eat a lot of it, and it ain't filling. Not worth the price.

Thinking of writing an email. Multiple emails for multiple people. One: minor question (shouldn't I do better? But this is all I have to say). Two: unnecessary worrying, where's the point because it'll get nowhere. Three: feel like I should have something to say. Me and my brain-dead self-sabotage. I will wake up and get to work. I procrastinated and now I will pay the price. I thought about buying the smore's donut, but I'd need to c/s it. I'll stick to the half-caf coffee...maybe. Caf does not help. Worried they'd give me full-caf. I am so high strung, on edge, worried I'm making myself seem incompetent. I underestimate my abilities. I have little confidence in myself. I need to do well. Continue to show people can rely on me to be on top of my game, even though I feel like I'm on the verge of fucking up.

The silent coworker has begun to speak to me. I consider this a win. Tonight, I'm closing with someone who has been on vacation for the past week; can't remember why I was told to kick his ass. Still, I shall fulfill my duty. I kinda wanna work fryers (just to show him). Not to mention, the fridge is mixed up, so he doesn't know where things are. On the other hand, I've been on fryers all damn week. Sometimes I give line a hand.

I am falling behind in my classes, and I cannot drag myself to care. The second exam is next week. I should check the syllabus—maybe the lowest exam score is dropped?

0629

The lowest exam score is not dropped. If I miss an exam, the score is replaced with the score I get on the final. However, I did the math and realized I could earn a 50 on the exam and still end the class with an A. Hooray for the way our grades our calculated.

Hearing my coworkers talk about me is so awkward. I get that the owner is asking them about my performance for a reason—he needs to know how I'm handling things and if I'm making mistakes, and needs to know what I'm doing so he can point out how I can do better. On the other hand, I FEEL SO AWKWARD. When he asks me how I'm handling things, my instinct is to shit on myself so hard that I sound like I'm fucking up everything and should be fired. Objectively, though, I'm not making mistakes. I'm not causing problems. I just have zero self esteem/confidence XD

ARGH. I AM STILL ENGAGED IN CONSTANT SELF SABOTAGE, and I don't care enough to stop myself. Change is hard and I can't imagine improving. Would it even matter? My life would improve. I might be able to feel neutral about myself! Have an ounce of self-respect! Stop coming across as self-centered!

Pardon the exclamation points.

I know what I need to do, but it terrifies me. Why.

Topic change. I like my meal-plan for next week. I'm going to make cheburek. I'm going to make taco filling. I'll buy more pork heart. I keep thinking about buying some shit microwave/oven dinner because that cheap crap is novel. Hehehe. They're so full of garbage—does a chicken pot pie need 50g of added sugar? No. I could make my own. Then I wouldn't need to risk having an allergic reaction to the carrots. Also: I NEED TO BUDGET. No more of this "minimize all expenses" shit. I probably do have room to spend more on groceries, or grab soup from a certain local place. I could start paying down my college loans. I could buy curtains. More cooking equipment. Funny how much my attitude changes when I have heavier workweeks, though I am being told more hours & they're relying on me. Did I mention I overheard one of the cooks saying he's leaving? He mentioned having two weeks left; wasn't clear if vacay or gone. I know he's spoken about picking up another job. ARGH. They're talking about bringing on another cook. Some high schooler. Another one is waiting to hear on her other job. I'm worried about losing shifts, and I'm worried about dealing with incompetent people. At least I outpace the high schoolers. I'm not at the bottom of the hierarchy. I need to talk about myself as if I'm the worst, while also reassuring myself I'm better than others.

Did I talk about chocolate pork heart? Chocolate and ginger. Or cinnamon. Pine nuts? Chickpeas? The Thai chiles? So many ideas.

I want to cry and I want to leave for work. I instinctively tell myself I'll fail. I want a hug. I want to stop messing up conversations. I want to stop feeling so lost. I want to be in the middle of a quiet forest on a cold winter's night. I'm curled up beside a boulder and crying. There is no breeze. The tears freeze on my face. I want someone to come save me. There's smoke in the distance, and I instinctively know it belongs to the chimney of the house of someone who would shelter a stranger for the night. I cannot ask for help, nor could I accept it. I will sit there and I will rot and I will criticize myself for being a stupid piece of shit and I will sit and hope —(list of people)— would appear to take care of me and save me from myself. There is no smoke. I hear no footsteps, no breathing, not even the who—who— of an owl. There is no wildlife. The clouds have covered the crescent moon. It is dark and I am alone. I did this to myself.

I should be fine on my own. I want the comforts of others. I am surrounded by people, and I feel so very alone. People talk to me and I barely respond. I trap myself in a hell I created and wonder why I'm so miserable. Creating my own problems is easier because it is instinctive. I need to stop. I am going in circles. To what avail? The end is to change, and I do not know how to convince myself to change. What to do is blatantly obvious. I will not progress. I want someone to make me worse. I want someone to feed into my bad habits; I want our self-hatred to consume us as we encourage—require—each other to obsess over fixing our flaws. We thrive in the way we hurt each other. We lie and compete and are shitty to one another. We create a cocoon of misery and convince ourselves we're better than others; we know we're not but we weave webs of lies until we've forgone the world in favor of our own reality.

The weather app says "fuck it, look at porn all day" and I want to send someone a screenshot and say "hey, this better not be you :DDD" or something else silly. I won't. Now I'm sad. I leave for work in twenty minutes and do not have time to be consumed by—what is this, grief? pain? confusion? regret? sadness? sorrow? disappointment? how am I still so bad at identifying my emotions. I used to use a mood-tracking app which was very specific about emotions. Emotions were displayed on an xy coordinate plane, x as a spectrum from negative to positive, and y for low to high energy. I thought it would help me understand myself. It didn't. Or if it did, it hasn't helped enough. I can't write about this. How can I move on. I am so certain you aren't reading this, and that's barely a relief because I want you to understand the effect you've had on me. I wish I understood your side of things and wish I knew how to help you. Except I also think you're a self-obsessed dick and compulsively stroke your unearned ego so you don't have to face your problems. I don't think someone can help you because you have brought yourself to a point where you are the only person who can help yourself. Stop it. Both of us. I need you to be fine. I need to talk to you and I need to never hear from you again. I am asking you to please go away. Will you please go away?

0630

I am in the endless building again. This is a corridor, no, more like a church without the pews. The place is built with cobblestone. The windows are arched; a few meters tall. They repeat ad infinitum, fading away with the corridor. I cannot see the ceiling. I cannot see an end to the hallway. The floor is covered in shards of glass. I pick one up and prick my palm. My eye looks back at me; tired. It (I) blink(s). I put it back down.

I'm asked whose life I ruined this time. I say mine. He asks for more information. I lose track of what I'm saying and he doesn't give up. I don't get it. He says I make his life easier and I think that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. He says he doesn't say "good job" often, and he says good job. He tells me I did well today. I wish I believed him. I hate people—will anyone else fuck me today? (I made a coworker laugh). (Someone said "yes chef." I find it funny and I hate it. I am no chef. He is not my sous chef. No, chef. Fuck you, chef). We were sending out orders after closing. I reward/hurt myself by being hungry, and I reward/hurt myself by deciding to binge. I need to be in pain. I have restrictive eating habits and disordered eating habits.

Today was stressful. We did twenty orders in the last half hour. It was busy, repeatedly. There were multiple rushes. I am surprised with myself. I am not making errors (somehow). I still jump between fryers/line/expo/dishes/cleaning. I don't know how to be lazy. Do I need to cultivate Sloth? No; I am better without it. My anxiety gives me an edge.

I want my website to be bloated; it will have all of the pages, it will be broken, I will not remember what has been posted and it will feel endless. I want to create a rabbit hole. I want to keep this website slim; no new pages, everything is regularly updated.

I haven't been reading much. The time I've spent on —, reading and talking, has gone up. I need to stop. I am fueling my problems. Must I set a goal—I will read THIS LIST OF BOOKS this week? I should download a book for the car trip. I want to finish Spadework for a Palace. I want to read more kitchen memoirs. I think about how my mom talked me out of applying to culinary school. I think about how much I want to be in a kitchen. I think about how I'd gladly take up a second job at a butcher's; how I'd like to learn more about meat.

When I get like that, I think interacting with reality and reminding myself of the pointlessness of these thoughts is what helps me. Believing I'm the star of my own personal Truman Show does nothing to help me—even if it were true, that's not how I want to live my life. By "interacting with reality," I mean getting out of the house, doing things, talking to people. Anything but isolating myself. I need to counter my thoughts and distract myself from them.

0702

time to, in no particular order: fuck up a math exam, starve, buy groceries, and be ass-fucked by customers

0704

You do know a good book would be much more satisfying than an idle daydream? You can keep yourself company. You don't need to fill your hours with idle daydreams—you're doing it again, and then you're thinking about food, what the fuck is wrong with you. No food until you make a dent in the paper. Make the damn dent. You are fucking up your future. You don't care, because you're distracted by the latest shiny thing.

I understand the urge to have hands that show your trade. The accumulation of scars, burns, and calluses. I hate having a taste of something I want because I end up wanting more. Welcome to today's episode of making my own life worse. I'm overheating.

---

I remembered people use razor blades to cut themselves. I have a razor. I tried, but I couldn't. There was something thrilling about trying—the way the cold metal felt against my skin, the pressure, the anticipation, the relief & disappointment as I failed to cut myself. I'd call it oddly arousing. What a surprise. I want to try again. If I want to get out of bed, I need to put on pants. Damnit. Tomorrow. I'm fantasizing about it. Fuck. me. And buying a pizza to binge on.

0705

LIES.

0706

Where to start. I am bothered by myself writing about yourself again, fucko? Grow up---I've not been doing enough. I spent the 4th being miserable. Then an email showed up and my mood temporarily improved. Was that all it took? A tiny piece of human interaction? Is it the possibility of something---I receive an email from a stranger who asks me a few questions, I recall other people I've emailed, I feel hope on where this may go. I get my hopes up. It would be pessimistic to decide this person will let me down. No, it is me who has the positive & negative reactions---I do not need to allow a negative reaction. I will take it as it is. So it goes. hah!

I do not mean to be rude to others. I do not know what's appropriate for each situation---is a mere 'hello' correct, or should it be a 'hey how's it goin'?' Would sound so foreign on my tongue. Maybe it would be an improvement. Cue my own awkward laughter. I don't want to give a fuck off attitude. I think I incidentally do, but I really don't want to. How to change, how to change...well, put in effort and be willing to be awkward! Thanks, voice, you sure know what to say.

Effort is a challenge. When I'm at work, I put in effort without second thought---my default is to fire all cylinders at all times. My work ethic is appreciated. I'm told I make other's lives easier (by doing my job well), and I wish I believed them. Do I need to list what I do well, if only to make myself believe? I drop the tickets in the order they come in. I make the food correctly. I pack the food correctly. I send out the food---sometimes I do not enunciate well enough, sometimes I mispronounce a name. I stay on top of dishes. I stay on top of restock. I find time to clean. I do my work in a timely manner. I know what's going on in the kitchen---I can't say the same for my coworkers!---and step in to do other people's jobs when I need to. (aka when they're falling behind). Why do I still think I'm doing a shitty job?---because I find myself standing around when everything is caught up? Because I dropped one thing on the floor? Because I'm not catching all of the mistakes? FUCKING. HELL. SELF. GET OVER YOUR---victim complex? Not the right term. What is the right term for what I'm doing.

I hate myself instinctively. I blame myself without second thought. I need: self-help for masochists. How do I---stop this? convince myself to stop this? Oh, a person. i want to cry, i want to die, these thoughts are second nature and i can't figure out how to turn it around. just stop. I don't have to think these thoughts. "just stop" I need to do better and I need to stop overthinking it and I need to act. How can I have a normal relationship with food??? Sometimes I hate that I need to eat.

I'd read something about anxiety as self-hatred. wow, sounds like you're fixating on self-hatred... I am, maybe, but I also think I'm onto something. I don't think I deserve to walk into a store and get used to a new thing.

0708

I can't remember what I have and haven't written. There are some things I've posted to — but not to here. Where do I want to begin? Work, as always. Last week was nice. They're throwing more hours at me this week (38); some of the adjustments to the schedule make it look like they're gradually ramping up my workload, trying to push me without overwhelming me. This is nice. There's one dish I need to learn how to do this week. Then I'll be more-or-less fine to be on my own; dunno how to do the prep work, but I'll try to learn. I also managed to clean one filthy section of the kitchen. By the time I decided to stop, I looked like I was a chimney-sweep. "I'm in too deep" is what I told a coworker. Grease was caked on so thickly I could scratch at it, peel off years of grime with my bare hands. I wonder if this made a difference in the way the kitchen smells? I wonder if anybody will notice my work. I want it to be acknowledged. I doubt it will, though, and I'll have to be fine with that.

I told myself I would make today the day I catch up on everything. So I will continue this entry in bursts of work for when I need a break.

What emotions are self-perpetuating? Last night, I noticed how misery feeds itself. I felt like shit, so I binged to continue to punish myself. I felt like shit, so I kept laying in bed. I was miserable, so I ensured I would continue to be miserable—sabotaging my inclination to do better. Other emotions don't seem to perpetuate themself. Happiness is tainted by melancholy; I know it will not last. Sadness is not infiltrated by joy; I cannot imagine a positive emotion. How strange. Perhaps I have spent so much time being negative that it is easier for me to be negative than it is for me to be positive. If I am not negative, I presume I will be, because I believe I will always be negative. Something like that. I don't know how to convince myself to do differently. Can I?

As I walk to work, I instinctively think about the errors I've made there. I think about how shit I will be. I think about the errors I could make. Then I proceed to do everything but make those errors. I depress myself before my shift, yet for what?

I've had another cup of coffee. I drank the pickle juice (to try and get salt). I need to get back to work. I am tired; there is too much to do, and I cannot keep fucking myself. Hot weather exhausts me. Fasting may not have been the best choice—I wonder if I'm losing salt, and if that's contributing to my fatigue. I look forward to tomorrow's breakfast—eggs and sausage and cheese. How nice, how heavy. It'll get me through an eight hour shift. Can't wait to hear my coworkers comment: didn't you go on break? what is wrong with you? I haven't seen you eat. This will happen several times this week, I suspect. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. The caffeine makes me tired, the weather makes me tired, the lack of salt makes me tired. I am tired of drinking soy sauce. I have made a significant dent in my schoolwork for this week; completed 3/4 of the work for my calculus class. Okay. This is going nowhere. Time to—fuck ai'm tired. I'll read, how about that? I'll read. I'll sleep well tonight. In 15hr, I will eat. But now is not the time to.

0709

FUCK PEELING GARLIC ALL MY HOMIES HATE PEELING GARLIC.

0711

Had wagyu yesterday. American >>> Australian. Significantly more flavorful and buttery. Fuck was that good!

I'd been trying to write a long entry on Monday to "catch up" and update my NC page. I don't mean to be busy. I worked 11-7 the past two days and spent the rest of my time reading.

0712

HAHAHA. It is Friday. Time for take ???. I want to recall this week's events in the order they happened. I could also move topic-by-topic. I could go with whatever comes to mind. I had been thinking about Black Cat Coffee, from All the Wrong Questions, by Lemony Snicket. How nice it would be to run the eccentric coffee shop! Customers come in and choose from three levers: coffee, bread, storage. In my coffee shop, the options would be coffee, spanakopita, and a library (a la the little free libraries, or maybe the one in The Abortion, by Richard Brautigan? Where anyone can donate something they've written. I like that idea better).

School. I earned a 100 on the second calculus exam. On Monday, I managed to complete all of my calculus work for the week—including the quiz. I earned an 8/10 and have no plans to retake it. Maybe I will if I'm bored. It took me the better part of the day to get through the week's work. Maybe 8hr? I have a 6wk honors class which started this week. I was able to complete the week's work in 4hr; this included multiple extra credit opportunities. The class is bullshit. A question on the weekly quiz asked us to match a variety of movies with the name of the lead actor. The class is about a particular area of economics & politics. I felt no qualms about cheating—one must earn a 100 on the weekly quiz to be able to access the work for the following week. I am not okay with this. I am paying for this so I can complete my gen eds. I am not going to drop it—I miss discussion based classes, and I am not interested in the other classes which fulfill the same requirement—but I will silently seethe. And argue :^

PS—aaaand I just emailed my advisor. Fucking finally.

Work. This has kept me busy. I've found time to clean. There are spots of the kitchen which are absolutely filthy; there are now fewer areas which are as filthy. My next quest is to tackle the underside of the kitchen sink. I also need to clean the fridges, for the third time this week, because there are puddles. I wish my other coworkers would notice and take care of this. (There are many other things I want them to notice. Like, prep work can be done. Shit can be restocked). Note: remember exacto knife (for cleaning). I could also clean the area with the trays. There are three cooks on tonight, and I am relatively certain we do not need three of us. In other news...I feel comfortable in the kitchen. I was rereading my old journal entries, and I can see how things have changed. I'm not incompetent. Even though I instinctively am down on myself, I know I'm doing a decent job. Shit gets done. I don't stand around. I rarely waste time. I eat. I communicate. I'm fine with asking people to do/grab things for me. I converse with coworkers. I joke. I cut my wrist on the mandolin.

Misc. I completed a 40hr fast! I broke it because I felt woozy, and this was interfering with my ability to do my job well. Still. I'm pleased with myself. ~turns tables over~ I also got around to trying the peanut butter Oreo cakesters. I'd thought the originals were okay. I remember having them when I started college. The texture is a bit cakey, very solid, very processed. I'd seen the new ones at the grocery store, but wasn't buying them. I need one pack, not four. Turns out the convenience store sells singles! I froze one of them, which made for something reminiscent of an ice cream sandwich. Highlight of the week is still the wagyu. That shit was amazing. Fatty, buttery, practically melted in my mouth. Anything else to say? Pine nuts and ground beef do not belong together. The texture is wrong. I also bought some tofu; it's so cheap. Mixed it with arugula, teriyaki sauce, sesame oil, and green scallions. This was a good meal. I haven't eaten much else that has been that good. I've done the usual eggs, pasta sauce, and cheese. It's nice. There, now I'm hungry! I'll take care of some things around the house, eat, and go work on my project proposal. I know what I want to do, more or less, so I just need to do it.

0713

Today was good. I now have some idea of what to do for opening; need to build up that mental checklist. My coworker did a decent job of explaining new information to me. I've learned more about how we marinate meat in the past day than I have in the past 2.5 months. Not that it's difficult; just more responsibility. We were able to knock out a bit of cleaning today. I need to make a list of areas to clean and when they were last cleaned I made the list.

Was catcalled :( how do these people fail to understand what's wrong with their behaviors? I'd appreciate a stranger-friendly world where people were civil to one another. A strange guy could just strike up a conversation without creating an uncomfortable situation. Idk, men, can y'all leer with respect??? Refrain from making weird-ass comments? It's seven o'clock in the fucking morning!

I'm not sure if the conversation I had with my employer was a fever dream. Let me try to recount it. He divided the current responsibilities between two of my coworkers and asked to speak with me in the office. The office is mostly another storage space—naturally, every inch of this property is utilized!—so picture a cluttered, l-shaped room with racks of bags of who-knows-what. Mysterious white powder here, baggies of other powder here, containers of red liquid there. It's organized chaos. So I finish up an order, take it out, and then I remind him he had asked to speak to me. He's already finishing off something else (true cook move—every second counts). Wait. Anxiety builds. Okay, now we're in the office. I can hear the ticket machine go off. We talk. That is, he talks to me and I listen & make a few comments as needed. I also, apparently, proceed to fuck with his brain by virtue of being myself. It's kinda funny. So....I make tips now? He went over how it works. I'm still in shock. I appreciate having my efforts acknowledged. I like knowing my efforts are noticed. I also can't quite believe it. We've gone over this one before—I still feel like a piece of crap (why does this matter, jfc just move on already).

0714

Dreamed I was drowning in tickets. I had to ask someone else to take over fryers. I was on the floor and having a panic attack. Tickets kept rolling in and nobody was listening. Good morning to you too.

Back to my self-enforced conflicts. My website feels sterile, lacking in personality, and as much of a shell as I am. What am I missing that bothers me so? I'm looking over Vivarism's website and admiring her eye for web design. Colorful, adorable, eclectic, and coherent. I'm going in circles. I'm not about to change anything. Still, I tire of white on black, and I long for something new.

What else would you NOT like to know. My coworkers want different things out of their job, and their behaviors reflect this. Someone spends a lot of time talking instead of doing work. Someone instinctively reaches for their phone. I have been trying to redirect people—was told to do this, mind you—because there's work to be done. I have a mental to-do list and any help is appreciated. SHUT UP ABOUT WORK FOR ONE DAY.

People struggle to reach their ideals. Someone wants to do X, yet they don't. Maybe they make excuses. Maybe they sabotage their attempts to do so. Writing about self-sabotage as suicide sounds like a form of wordplay. Wordplay is best left to shitty philosophers, or, better yet, to nobody at all. How to separate bullshit from not. How to create useful points of inquiry. I struggle with two perspectives: any question is useful because it could lead to a new result, and there are better questions. There is more to this than asking open-ended questions. "How is it with the nothing?" is open-ended, and it is bullshit. One could ask "how is infinity doing?" for similar results. Bullshit bullshit bullshit. I am not writing well. I am not thinking well. I live my life in daydreams which create false connections with people I know. I instinctively reach for fantasy instead of reality. I need to follow my own advice—to interact with reality—yet I forget to. I choose not to. I choose to indulge myself; I find ways to make my life worse; I daydream to hate myself.

Hate, hate, hate! All I do is write about hate.

The bumpy, rough texture of the blanket makes my legs itch. The Sharpie has a pink paper taped to it. There are three remotes on this small square red table. There is a light-gray computer; a crumpled tissue is on top of it.

Thinking about: cannolis, pulled pork, castella, strawberries, clothes, Thai food, shopping, AI, and curtains.

---

I am at my parent's house. I've eaten so much crap today; none of it is appealing, none of it is satiating, all of it is empty calories and sugar and illness. I will feel sick tomorrow. I'm snacking throughout the day---grazing---and I feel fat and stupid. I struggle to focus here. There is too much noise, too many people, too much idiocy. They talk about shopping, clothes, what they want to watch tonight. The games they're playing and the crosswords they're doing and which famous person died. This is bullshit. There are better moments. This is bullshit. I feel stifled. I have moved on from this place.

I've managed to take a break from ---. I'm in a decent mood, and I'm letting myself eat like a 'normal' person (not counting calories, choosing to eat when I'm hungry). I should not have let myself rejoin the website in the first place. I can't keep embracing bad habits. No "this is fucking me over, but i'm fine with that." I need to stop.

wow, art thou returning to the usual circles? instinctively promising to create a grand plan to turn your life around? great, thanks for your love and support.

0715

cont. I got distracted. Mozarella sticks and sweet chili sauce go well together. Where was I?---myself XD

No grand plans. I fail them, and the plan would always fail, because I take on too much and don't address the real problem. I shouldn't let myself be distracted by pseudo-problems, or problems that are symptoms of an underlying problem. Focus. Start at the root of it all: the self-damned brain.

What bothers me? I need to be less okay with self-hatred. Those thoughts are not honest criticisms, no matter how much I want to frame them as such. They need to fuck off and die. One step at a time: ditch the hatred you sugar-coat as criticism, and develop honest (useful) criticisms. You are not a thirteen year-old edgelord. Stop acting like one. And stop fucking justifying it---a) probably makes the issue worse, b) you are not inherently less deserving than others (contrary to what other people have said), so c) you, like all other people, do not deserve to be shat on for existing. You are not special. You are not unique. You are not the cause of all the world's problems. In the grand scheme of things, you are average and you know this, so stfu.

Similar: you have made mistakes. This happens. Acknowledge the mistake, figure out how to make sure it doesn't happen again, and then move the fuck on. You do not need to keep beating yourself up for old mistakes which you have not repeated. You are looking for ways to make yourself feel worse. You are wasting your time. Stop it.

Daydreaming, again. There are daydreams which you use to create false connections. There are daydreams which you use to make yourself feel worse. Aaaaand then there are daydreams you actually enjoy / are neutral on. Cut the first two; replace 'em with the last. Write stories, if you must. You know it helps. You can get past the embarrassment---you used to. You did today.

You do these things reflexively, so you can't put a hard stop to them. What you can do is catch yourself engaging in them, and then choose to not engage in it for the next moment. Don't hate yourself for one minute. Don't hate yourself for the following minute. Don't---you get the idea. It'll build up. You'll err. You'll make a helluva lot more progress than you're making right now.

---

Are you surprised to hear I lost track of what I was writing? I fell asleep shortly after I wrote that last paragraph. Now, it's 16:38, and I am in an unused dining hall on campus. There is air conditioning; it gently hums in the background. There are not other people here. There are goldfish, popcorn, chex mix, and marshmallows littered throughout the room. Isn't there a summer daycare? They must have eaten lunch in here. There are a few grocery bags on a table. I'm considering poking through them. They're probably empty. They're probably abandoned. I see some trash from my workplace, too, and I smile. I am not working today. I am working the rest of the week.

I think the cashier (owner?) at the Asian grocery store recognized me. I purchased another pork heart---I need them for two dishes :DDD---and a red bean paste filled bun. The dough was dense; the filling was slightly sweet. I liked it. I've thought about going to the bakery that sells them. Now, I know I need to go! Just as a treat, sometime, maaaaaybeee. I've built up a mental list of local places I want to try. Once I figure out my budget, I just might. *laughs* I've been thinking about dining out tonight. There's a place nearby that does a lamb gyro. And falafel. I'll be doing meal prep tonight, which is why I'm thinking about eating out. If I don't, it'll just be...sausages, cheese, maybe the pulled pork, or one of the ground beef dishes. Scrapple, lol. I should do that instead of eyeing local places. Save it for another day.

fuck i'm hungry :( and I could go home, have dinner, and then come back to the school. See, I managed to break the light switch in my bedroom. I think the issue is self-explanatory!

What else did I do today. I took care of grocery shopping. I'm baking a coconut flour cake tonight, and nobody can stop me! I'm also making crab rangoons :D And I'll get started on the pork heart. And the chicken dishes. I am keeping myself busy. Y'know what, after writing this I will go home. Today, I also started to make a dent in this week's schoolwork. I will make a more significant dent tonight. See y'all later.

---

I start writing in my head. By the time my fingers reach the keyboard, I'm in the middle of a chain of thoughts and I can't remember where they began. Do I try to start from the beginning? Do I start from where I am? Does the context of what I'm thinking even matter (to me? to you?)? I will write regardless. Part of me was thinking about eating out at my workplace. I'd walk in. Someone would ask what I was doing there. I would say I didn't feel like making dinner tonight. Someone would make a comment about my never eating. I'd place the order, and I'd ask if they were able to take cash. This would cause a hiccup. It'd get sorted out. The cook would offer to let me make 'em. I would. In the process, I'd also hop on dishes for a moment. We would laugh about my work ethic. I'd take the food, I'd talk, I'd eat. What am I looking for---food, conversation, attention? I was with my family this morning, and that feels like an eternity ago. So much time has passed and so little time has passed. I tire.

I don't feel fine. There's a pressure behind my eyelids, a lethargy in my limbs, a tightness in my chest, a heavy feeling in my stomach. What am I doing here, I wonder. Why am I bothering. I bit off more than I could chew today; I start to bribe myself to take just one more step. Just finish one part of the homework for one class, I tell myself, and then you'll feel better. Maybe it would help. Maybe this would be the momentum I need to push myself to complete more work. Maybe I would make a dent in the readings for the other class. Maybe I would work on my project proposal.

I'm ignoring the email asking for updates on my proposal. It is not going well. I'm struggling to care about college. My current classes feel like bullshit. Or is it that I treat them as such. They lack rigor, and I lack interest, so I struggle to take them seriously. My fall classes will be better, I tell myself, because I'll be more interested in them. I'm ignoring my disinterest in my senior project. How healthy. I'm ignoring my neutrality---no, I lack neutrality, and there are times when I talk about math and my lack of neutrality shows. I do care. Why is this not manifesting? Maybe I'm only a lurker, a hobbyist---someone who isn't cut out for a long term career in math.

When I think about a career in math research, I can't imagine myself liking it. I can imagine the way it might feel safe and stable. This kitchen is fucking with me. I was right; what do I do with that? (What have I written about? I can't remember what I've told (you) and what I've only told myself). Maybe it would be better for me if my love of the kitchen is temporary. Maybe things will be better once it passes. There are too many maybes. How to live. What to do. My future will happen. I am confused. I think I should keep the kitchen in my back pocket; readdress it in January. July came quickly; January will too.

Why am I thinking of "In the Garden of Words"? I keep missing the days when I enjoyed anime. There weren't many days. The days when I was deliberately looking for things I might like. Watching Your Lie in April, watching Forest of Piano, watching Madoka Magica, watching Kakegurui, watching Blue Period. Watching Tatami Galaxy. K-On, was it, and some other shitty anime about---what was the word for it---teenagers roleplaying as magical creatures, was the word chunibyo? Assassination Classroom. I don't want to rewatch or reread Assclass, but I think I may need to. It's given me a well-needed kick in the ass more times than I can count. I'm struggling to listen to my own suggestions.

I have Netflix open. I was rewatching BoJack Horseman last night; I forgot I was doing so. I rewatched the last three episodes of season 2. BoJack makes some shit decisions that are painful to watch. I imagine someone resigned to his actions, resigned to making bad choices, resigned to falling into bad habits. Someone who tries to change but hasn't managed to change.

What else have I recently watched. Mindhunter was blah; the horror unsettled me more than it should have. The animation style of Archer didn't appeal to me. I don't remember why I dropped Disenchantment; maybe that's the one I'll watch tonight. later and so I spent the next ?? minutes scrolling through Netflix. I found some things I'll try watching when I go home. For now, though, I will complete a section of the homework.

0718

Yesterday was surreal. Hearing a ??-year-old (not young) man say "shut up" like an excited teenage girl was not on my bingo card. Especially in response to my cooking. Dude heard "pig heart" and immediately grabbed a pair of chopsticks and helped himself to a bite. Then added lime—which was much better than my usual lemon, the tanginess was perfect—and freshly-picked Thai chilis (significantly more flavorful than the ones that have been sitting in my fridge for the past month). So...now I need to cook some up for him. (He asked/told me to). I'm excited. I never thought someone would react so positively to my cooking, much less tell me to cook for them. His reaction was amusing, too. He looked/sounded enthusiastic. "Well, that happened" was a very suitable comment. Then I went back to scrubbing the stovetop. There were chisels and a stiff brush in a tool cabinet in the basement—need to remember these—which were well-suited to removing grime. If today is calm enough, I'm going to finish tackling the stovetop. I also want to make another pass at the area beside the stove, and *maybe* the underside of the sink. Removing layers of filth and grease is so satisfying.

0720

at 00:13. Heeeeey where did the time go? I've been home for 2hr. We closed hella quickly. I told 'em 2130, and y'know what? We hit it. This week has been good. I'm realizing how much busier I am when I'm working full-time. I'm also much happier? My mood is good. I've crashed a few times, but overall I am doing _well_. I'm comfortable in the kitchen. I know my efforts are appreciated (because they keep telling me! Someone referred to myself and the day guy as a power couple LOL but we do fucking bring it).

I baked for my coworkers. Based on the reactions I'm getting, the food does not taste like it's low-carb or gluten-free. I'm lovin' coconut flour. I also love getting to bake again. I might not be pleased with the results, but other people enjoy it! Anywho. I need to refine the recipe. I'm also thinking about seeing if people want dinner next week. Need to find more recipes to try too...damn, so much to do AND I WANT TO DO IT. Idk, I'm kinda just lovin' my life right now. I feel like this is the most genuinely happy I've been in ???? ever ???? I'm sure I'll crash at some point, but for now, I'll take it.

classes are crap. Possible topics for my final paper for the random-ass class on higher education: accessibility being detrimental to education, student abuse of mental illness, consequences of lowering barriers to education, possible decline in student literacy, what does a liberal arts education provide that middle/high schools do not provide (aka how did they fail, and let's face it, colleges keep failing). I'm sitting here and arguing, in an online class, about why technology should not be in classrooms.

I forgot: I DID NOT HALLUCINATE. I'M MAKING TIP. Hoooooly shit, that's a stack of bills. The other owner spoke to me about it today. Another round of 'em all being really happy with the work I'm doing. I feel like I'm in a constant cycle of thanking people and being thanked---we're all making each other's lives easier. He noted that I should do a better job of interacting with customers; there'll be more of that in the fall. Everyone's talking about it like it's armageddon. I'm looking forward to it. I'm dreading the possibility of running into more people I know---how many of my classmates and professors will frequent this place?---but I'm also looking forward to it. Cleaning is going well. Someone else was keeping up with dishes today (!), so I was challenging myself to see how much I could clean between orders. I've made a visible dent in the grime. Sure, I was scrubbing walls...but they needed it.

Damnit. I have more things to say. I also want to update Neocities. It's been enough weeks. Hypothetically, I'll do more within the next week. Realistically, ???

0721

Grandparents visited today. They said they wanted to come out to see where I was living and catch up with me, but they didn't talk to me much. No questions about what/how I'm doing, work, or school. All they could do was exchange pleasantries. They took a few photos of/with my siblings and I. It's like I'm a prop to them---look, this is our granddaughter, we get to see her, she's all grown up and moved out. They bought us lunch and coffee. Despite spending a few hours together, they couldn't be bothered to make an effort to talk to me. Why bother visiting? Why spend all that money on us---to make up for not knowing us? They live a 3-day-straight drive away from us (so with pit stops and tourist stops, driving up to see us is a 5-7 day trip, then they're here for a week, then it's another long trip back). I wish they tried to make good use of the time. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the free meal. I just wish there was more to it.

We got lunch from a fast-casual Greek place that was not fast. We were the only people there. With the way the place was set up (kinda like a Subway), we could watch them make the food. The cooks moved with no sense of urgency. They had to keep verifying what we ordered. I ordered lamb souvlaki; everybody else's food was done long before mine, and I was beginning to think they forgot about my order. The food itself was okay. Not bad, but not worth the wait. The lamb was overcooked and needed salt. The spanakopita was soggy and made me wish I had ordered dolmades or another souvlaki. At least the pita and hummus were good. The pita was extraordinarily light and fluffy. If I wanted to eat pita on a regular basis, I'd go there, but I am not going to eat pita on a regular basis. The place was five miles away from me. It wouldn't be worth the walk.

The coffee place was nice. I had a pistachio latte; it was everything I wanted. Buttery, creamy, not sweet, tasted like pistachios. I decided to try it with soy milk. I'm not sure I know the difference between how soy milk and regular milk taste. One sister had a matcha that was nice and bitter; the other had a creme brulee late that was sweet and vanilla-y.

Work is going to be weird. Most people are on vacation this week. They gave me Tuesday-Saturday again. I sort of wish they included Monday, because it is lean and there could be times when they need two people in the kitchen. They're fine without me, I know. I think I just want a six day week. This place is the highlight of my day---I'm not sure what that says about the rest of my day. I like getting to be around certain coworkers. I'm not there to have fun, but we still have some fun anyways---especially when it's busy _and_ the kitchen is running smoothly. If the kitchen ain't running smoothly, it's miserable (no matter how busy it is or isn't). I like getting to talk to people and joke around. They don't criticize me for being myself---surprised they aren't calling me a retarded alien? or a cunt?---they just seem to like me for being me. The baking is probably helping :D I think my anxiety has been an advantage; because I'm worried, I'm staying on top of prep, dishes, tickets, and finding time to clean. When I have three minutes to spare and everything else is caught up, I'll start scrubbing at random stains. I want to see how clean I can get the kitchen, and then I want to see the level of cleanliness I can maintain when it's busy. I'm thinking that when I open with the guy I've been opening with, I'll take that time to clean. I also want to learn to prep more...that'll come with time. I'm surprised I've only been here 2.5 months; I think some of my coworkers think I've been here longer. Eh, I guess I'm a fast learner.

Enough about work. I'm sitting in an empty cafeteria and am hit by a wave of anxiety. I'm worrying about someone who I'm not going to speak to---he said we might have something to talk about in the future, a few months from then, except a few months have passed and I doubt either of us have anything to say to each other. I think he's forgotten about me---except, of course, in his diatribes against women and humanity in general---but I think too highly of myself. Why would he remember me. My time was wasted on him. I don't want to know how much time I spent on him, but he didn't even want to talk to me, so it was all wasted. I start to think we only served to get each other's hopes up---that things could be better, that we could be close, that we could get what we wanted from each other.

I've been watching a show---My Liberation Notes---that sort of reminds me of what I wanted from this person. The female lead arbitrarily commits to a guy; the commitment is the basis of their relationship. There was no attraction. She decided to commit to him, and he decided to follow suit, and they work things out from there. They were lonely and decided to find something that would work regardless. Their relationship---which, mind you, at the point I'm at is a friendship---develops from there. The two of them are committed to figuring something out. I say this reminds me of what I wanted because, from my perspective, I was committed to figuring out something that would work with the guy I was talking to regardless of how much he annoyed me. I was talking to him and had no plans on cutting him off, no matter how many problems he created. (You think just anyone will put up with being called a retard? That there's anyone else you could stand around and be a dick to, who would decide to put up with you _regardless_ of how much of an asshole you were? Ffs, hon, you _can't_ understand me. You once said that maybe you just get off on supposedly hurting people who supposedly care about you more than you do---in a remarkable moment of self-awareness---and then you decided that, no, I am the one who was the problem. It's my fault for getting attached. For being the weirdo alien retard with emotions. I let you waste my time, and for what? So that you could jerk off to your ego? Funny; reality, from what you've written on your site, is trying to give you a good slap to the face---in a last-ditch attempt to make you get (ha) it---and you're still too self-righteous to understand, or to look in the mirror and wonder if you are the problem and how can you fix this. You've spent the past ? years killing yourself. I think you know this. I think you don't care about yourself at all. You tell me that you know what you want, but I'm not sure you actually do. Then again, you don't know me and I don't know you. All each of us can do is predict each other's behaviors and think about how right we are).

Now I'm sad again.

And you thought you'd be some embarassing blip in my past that I'd forget about.

Hah.

Hah.

Hah.

Calc 3 is reminding me why I didn't think about majoring in math in the first place. The work is accounting; running calculations without needing to think. This is the kind of math that bores me. I don't care about the class. I don't care about doing well. I can learn a thing or two, but for what? All I'm learning are a variety of partial-derivative-related crap. Where will I use this. Why should I pay attention.

I'm paying for this class. Why don't I care? I can do well without putting in effort. I don't like this. I can't incentivize myself to actually learn the material. The information is going in one ear and right out the other. I pass the tests, somehow; I earned received a 100 on the first two exams. I could skip the third exam and end the class with a B. The exams are multiple choice, ffs, though we do have to show our work to receive full credit. Is the point of this class to expose students to shit they might encounter in the future? Is it supposed to be easy? Is this just another example of how far our education system has declined? Could be all three. I wish I could talk to someone about this. If I heard someone talk about this class the way I'm talking about it, I would want to give them a slap in the face. I'd want to tell them that they're wasting their money. I'd want to tell them they're being a privileged asshole. They'd tell me I don't understand.

This class is only a pre-req for an applied math class. Maybe it's more suited to engineers? I'm not going to dig through their courses and see what else this is a pre-req for. I'm annoyed with the class and myself. I wish I had to challenge myself; that I hated this class and had to put in effort to pass anyways (because that is a challenge). Instead, I hate this class and can pass with minimal effort. Just another round of do homework assignments, take tests, get As, forget information, rinse and repeat. Pass Go. Collect $100. Who cares.

I'm remind myself my fall classes will be more interesting. I'm reminding myself I get to take a third semester of linear algebra. I'm remind myself I get to find out what abstract algebra is. I'm reminding myself I get to take real analysis, AKA the math class that determines just how cut out for math you really are. These are things to look forward to. I might dread 'em right now---what if they're just like this?---but I know they won't be.

I will graduate. I think I'd regret dropping out. I don't think I'm actually considering dropping out. I just want to do work that's more 'real' instead of this cycle of inconsequential, self-serving assignments. I prefer to spend my time in a world outside of myself. I wonder if talking to classmates would help this---working through problems and helping each other understand problems might be enough to satisfy this need? Maybe this fall can be different. Maybe this crash course in the real world (that I've gotten from work, I mean) has made it so that I can turn things around. Now I'm tearing up. Am I becoming dependent on others for my happiness? Except it isn't what other people do for me that makes me happy, it's what I can do for them. How odd. How shit. How _not_ self-reliant.

Does being self-reliant matter to me? I'm not sure that's the right question. Maybe I'm starting to reach for a different question; maybe I'll find it; maybe there is no question. I'm fixating on the wrong thing again. Isn't that right.

0722

When reading a book on my phone, I can copy-paste quotes. I can't do this with paper books. Paper books are tactile; I pick them up and hold them and move as I try to find a comfortable way to sit. I flip the pages. The paper is coarse, and there are places in the book where the ink is faded. Books can have that musty-sweet-vanilla smell (if you know, you know). They're cozy. Reading on my phone feels cheap and disrespectful. The experience is less personal. Each physical book feels different; every digital book feels the same. The mediocre books become less memorable.

---

Crawling back into bed after using the bathroom is oddly satisfying. Despite the summer heat, there's a sense of coziness which comforts me. I can hide in bed and postpone the real world for a few more minutes. The way I dread my senior project confounds me; I think this is just anxiety about trying something new.

When I went to the Asian grocery store yesterday, I think I saw another white person. This seemed notable. The cashier was constantly speaking, and I couldn't figure out if she was speaking to herself or someone else. I had a green bean bun. I think there was also lemon in it. It tasted slightly sweet, and a little nutty? I'm struggling to describe the way green beans taste.

I should get out of bed. I have a todo list. The only thing I genuinely want to do is cook. ARGH. I need to get out of the house. I'm going to go to school, where there is AC and wifi and I. will. focus. I'm going to put breakfast in a container and eat it later. I don't feel like having caffeine today. I want to make red bean filled buns next week. Ooooh, homemade bagel bites? I have more ideas every moment. And the only way I can fulfill these ideas is if I get my ass out of bed and get a move on. UP AND AT 'EM.

I'm not restricting. I had a chance to weigh myself recently. After binging for two days, I was at 112lb. I was so damn worried I'd find out I weighed 118, or had crossed back into the 120s. Writing those numbers down stressed me out. I think reading Fast Like a Girl actually helped me—yeah, there are times when my food intake will be higher, but they will be followed by times where I will effortlessly fast. This is comforting. Except, of course, I am restricting as I write this (when I shouldn't be); what a hypocrite. I want to binge. I feel like I need to binge. I'm planning it—I'll start with some meat that smelled a little off when I froze it. This will happen Saturday. I'll visit a few bakeries before work; I'll stop by dunkin after work. I'll bring home food from work. I'll be able to spend Sunday feeling like utter crap. If the meat has actually gone bad, I'll have a nice round of food poisoning to clean everything out. If not, then it won't go to waste.

I could just visit my parents. It'd save me money. If I don't visit, I'll need to visit the laundromat.

Or, y'know, I could do none of these things.

I want to hurt.

On the plus side, I have made progress on my project proposal. It's due next week; if I don't have it approved by then, I'll fail the class. I need to crank out a draft tomorrow morning.

I am trying to do better. Maybe I just need to binge one more time, to get it out of my system. The waste of money hurts about as much as the waste of food and the food itself.

I have two books on ultra-processed food saved to my phone. I wonder if reading them will help.

---

I am sitting in the cafeteria, and I am acutely aware of how lonely I feel. I completed the work for the higher education class. I started trying to take notes on calc 3; I can't stand it. This hurts. I started thinking about work, how much I want to cook, how nice novelty tastes. I think about the chocolate shop I went to the other day yesterday. How far away ago that feels. The lady was selling upscale snickers bars; I recognized the brand of chocolate she uses in her bars. I think I want to go there again and start trying all of her bars. Support local business, have an interesting hint of something new. The bar I bought---the size of a small candybar, maybe 2inches?---was white chocolate with passionfruit and ginger. The ginger was bold and unexpected. It was a little sweet, but with a very nice kick to it. The filling was stickier than caramel. I thought I might chip a tooth while eating. I wouldn't buy it again.

was writing that all it took to bring my mood up? even briefly?

I'm wearing a white t-shirt, light blue jeans, and black shoes (with white laces). My hair, which goes past my shoulders, is tied back in a low ponytail. I like this outfit. I think I look nice. I spend most of my time wearing black and other dark colors (to hide stains in the kitchen), and I do like getting to mix it up from time to time.

There are five hours left in the day. I am failing my todo list. I think about how much I want to go home and cook. I think about how my roommate might be making dinner; this isn't the right time for me to hog the kitchen. Since when has that mattered? I want the chicken dish. I am hungry. What have I eaten today---yogurt, ground beef, cucumber. I think about buying dinner for the sake of getting to interact with someone else. I think about going home, curling up in bed, and watching videos. Does sitting here do anything for me?

0725

Wow, I'm fucking running on auto pilot. 5hr wasted on internal diatribes. Good night.

0726

Another night of internal diatribes. 30min until tomorrow. I'm all over the place. I have new things to cook for next week. I am so tired of cooking. I am not tired of cooking either. What is exhausting me—poor time management. I will finish calc 3 and still have the same complaints.

I'll start with what happened today, else I may forget. I had a nice egg for breakfast; ingredients included thai chilis, fish sauce, and coriander. I cannot remember the other ingredients. The spice wasn't overpowering.

I think about how I instinctually worry about other people. Someone's eating habits disturb me, so I think about how I might cook for them. I think about bringing lunch. This is partly for them, and it is partly for my peace of mind. I spoke to my coworkers about this. Baked goods and homemade meals...oh boy. One of my coworkers asked if I'd like to work in a restaurant when I graduate from college. I said maybe—devil knows I want to spend the next ?(?) years as a line cook. My future feels up in the air. Is this impulse. Is this real. I fear for the changes my head makes. I instinctually imagine a conversation that could happen if I burn out. I want people to be understanding. I'm not sure what I'll do.

My cleaning list has made its rounds. My coworkers half-laugh at it; they understand the necessity/importance. I think of a shelf I haven't cleaned. I think of the trays I want to clean tomorrow. One of my coworkers started cleaning them, but she didn't clean them correctly. I do not care that I'm disagreeing with a long-term employee about how to clean this. I have cleaned them his way, and that is why I have my own way of cleaning them. There is a difference.

I'm getting better at using the wok. I could actually flip the rice! A long ticket which could have tripped me up didn't. Someone thanked me; I said, "heard." Why does this sadness linger. From where is this surge in anxiety and self-doubt. Do I need it to balance out the—

0727

oh its tomorrow. Do I need it to balance out the confidence? Flipping over mushrooms makes me anxious. Balance out my "I'm fucking awesome." I'm closing, so they know we're getting out early. We made good time. Which fryer do we filter? I should make dumplings next week and drop them in the fryers. I worry about closing at 11pm. I worry about closing at 10pm. I think we can get out at 0915. I'm aiming for that tomorrow; there are six of us, there were seven today, and we can still handle it. There are enough of us that I don't have much to do.

Is that music?

My eyelids are heavy.

I think I may try to sleep now.

---

Further notes on yesterday. I did confirm I want to keep up with five days a week in the fall. Both of us had been meaning to talk to each other about that. Also: I SUBMITTED MY SENIOR PROJECT PROPOSAL! I'm still waiting for the course coordinator to approve it.

I think I want to swing by 7-11 and grab a frozen chicken pot pie. I know, I'm eating crap. At least it has a high sodium content. I'm getting tired of doing shots of soy sauce. I'm struggling with food again. I binged on Wednesday—did I mention that? A salad, a nectarine, an Almond Joy, a red bean bun, and an entire goddamn cake. I am tired and confused. I chose to binge. I had to go to the grocery store to buy food to binge on. I forced myself to eat all of it. Why am I so obsessed with punishing myself? I say I know I need to change. I don't fucking know what to do.

*sighs*

Okay. My ideal self would be out of bed by now. She'd fall asleep between 1030pm/11pm. None of this "using the night to do more" bullshit. She'd eat good food for her meals. (I do need to cook that chicken). She wouldn't feel qualms about going out for a cup of coffee right now. She'd start knocking out the rest of her schoolwork. I have 30min before she would leave. She wouldn't check —. *checks, closes tab* I could sit here and feel guilty and read, or I could get up and start by reading for a few minutes. I know I need to do the later. Turning on my favorite playlist. I will do this.

---

dunkin went from playing "call me maybe" to "stick season"

---

I am bored and I don't have the time to do the things I want to do. Another workweek over. Will they give me Monday off? I need to return library books. Nothing is stopping me from running errands in the morning. I could go to this or that local event. zhow boring, how droll, how normie.

I keep thinking about my weird relationship with sexual matters. When someone shows/has shown interest, even if interest is too strong a word, I think about fucking them. There is some sex drive. I jerk off on a regular basis. Then, when there is no one, I have little interest in sex. I rarely jerk off, and I only do so to help myself relax / to get my mind off of things. I try to watch porn and can't get myself to—something about it disgusts me. Not some moral thing. Yet I'll reread sexual fanfics to help myself get off. These statements seem inconsistent with one another.

0728

What am I trying to do today. I need to buy groceries. I want to go to the farmer's market & visit some local shops. I need to knock out schoolwork. I need to meal-prep. The first grocery store won't open until 9am. The other one is already open. Why do I insist on visiting them in a particular order? I also need to return my books to the library. I need to buy snack foods; sausages count. I was out of sausages this week, and it hurt me more than I thought it would. I am defrosting meat for dinner. If I want breakfast—I'm hungry—I need to buy food. But I want to wait until the end of the day so I can buy a discount salad. That is a shit reason. If I want salads, I can make my own for less. I could eat the tuna <-- does not want to eat canned tuna. Edamame? Popcorn? I want to buy fruit from the Asian place. They have a better variety. Oranges also sound really good this week. I need to find out if my family is coming here this weekend. Oooh, mozzarella sticks. They're too expensive. And, y'know, breaded.

I think about my bizarre instinctual concern. I want to cook for others, and it feels too personal. I think about my cramps—fucking endo, I wonder, or is it something I ate? A coworker gave me an empanada. I had a chicken pot pie. I didn't have much to eat.

---

I started my day with a bit of tidying. I returned my library books. I stopped by a cafe and had a matcha brownie for breakfast—nice and bitter. I went grocery shopping and found the pandan leaves; didn't buy any, but I'm glad I found them. Bought some baked goods that had the texture (and size) of a glazed donut hole. One tasted like it had a red bean filling, and the other tasted like it had a green been filling. They seemed fresh. I was there when some lady was dropping them off. I usually see older people at the asian grocery store, but there were some younger people there today. I'm starting to do most of my grocery shopping there. It makes it easier for me to find the ingredients for the recipes in the Thai cookbook. I also realized they had frozen takoyaki! It's the same brand my workplace uses.

This feels so fucking stilted. I need to exclude identifying details. I also want to remember what I've done today.

Picked up an orange and some blueberries (hooray for fruit that was on sale). The book I'm reading—The Dorito Effect—has been talking about cravings, and now I'm thinking about how I was craving an orange. Can't wait to dive into it. I also bought some cherry-flavored kefir. I like the tanginess; I wonder if the aftertaste of vomit has to do with the cherry flavor? I added some lemon crystals to try to alleviate the aftertaste. This did not work. I started my afternoon by visiting local shops. The apothecary had some nice soaps; I'll buy from them when I next run out. One of them smelled like root beer. They also had quite a few spices I haven't been able to find in the grocery stores. I'm sure I'll be visiting them again; very cool place. I bought a book from a witchcraft shop. What I read resonated with me. For once, purchasing the book made me feel relieved. I usually feel stressed & guilty for buying things.

how fucking stilted. how fucking boring.

Live music. Ended with a shitty cafe; the packaging on the muffin should have been a warning. However, I was hungry and needed food. At least it was cheap. I'm going home now. I still need to cook and knock out schoolwork. I'm so close to the end. Oh, and Facetiming family tonight.

---

There is a scar on my right wrist. I think it's from the fryers—probably hit myself while swinging over the basket, or while dumping fries into a container. The placement is unfortunate. I'm worried about someone seeing it and thinking it's there for another reason.

0729

I am perfecting conversations that will never happen. I am fine-tuning responses to questions that have not been asked. I am engineering witty retorts. I hit play, do my imaginary work, rewind, and refine. I do not mean to do this. I hear the voices of people I'm having not-conversations with. I adjust the pace and flow; I fiddle with the mood, location, and atmosphere. I recall. I rewrite. I wash, rinse, and repeat as I form false memories.

I say I want to change. That requires doing things differently. I am tired, and so I will close my eyes and try to sleep. Night.

---

The stuffed grape leaves, which I had yesterday, were lemon-y and sweet. I also ran into one of the owners; we chatted for a few minutes. He had a few suggestions for my lack-of-transportation problem. I don't feel like it's a problem. I'll think differently in the winter. The curry I made was <3; gonna offload a container of it to someone, because his eating habits concern/bother me.

My feet are sore. My legs are sore. My arms are sore. I need to do yoga. I need to go nowhere. I need to give my body a god-damn break. I don't want a break. I want to leave the house. I made a dumb mistake in my project proposal. I don't want to spend today in silence. I am alone, so I will not have anyone to talk to. Housebound for the day. I need it. I hate it.

Cleaned up my tabs. I saw fish tofu at the store yesterday. I wish I had someone to cook for/with. I check an email few people have used. I want to update neocities, but what for? What's there to say? I've read little to nothing, done nothing of substance, and I know this won't interest people. Funny—I've gone from craving updates to feeling neutral. Classes will be out soon; maybe this will change something. I'll have time and boredom. Maybe I'll have things to write about. You're falling asleep as you read this.

The failures. Hon, you're the failure.

I sold my soul & all I got was a half-assed eating disorder.

I want to binge.

Am I even trying to do better? The more I write, the more I depress myself. I am turning into a meaningless blob of nothing. I am becoming forgettable and normal. How am I normal?—b/c thinking about work and coworkers. Hah, being employed makes me normal! Even then, I speak and am abnormal. I'm overthinking what I'm writing. What could I give you, dear reader? Remnants of a conversation on environmentalism? I understand their intentions; the road to hell is paved with good intentions. People using guilt to get other people to do things. How shitty. The reason should be a reason supported, not contradicted, by evidence. Provide concrete reasons for veganism, and do not focus on guilting people into not eating animal products. Of course, if you provide concrete reasons, your argument starts to fall apart. Avoiding animal products is not healthy. Only eating plants is not better for the environment. Animals die; we might as well make good use of them. (Didn't a Bob's Burgers episode include this argument? I watched a few episodes of the first season; not my cup of tea. Too much of a sitcom. Not enough of a plot for me).

I am tired. I slept for 7hr; why am I still so tired.

There was a lady at the park who reminded me of myself. She wore a moderate light blue shirt and tan kakis. Her hair was in a low ponytail. There was a small tan bag swung over her shoulder. She stood still for a good thirty minutes. She didn't fidget. She wasn't shifting in place. She only stood there.

I might be able to go buy coconut flour today. Round trip is 3-4miles. There are no good sales. I've made so much food for my coworkers; I feel pressured to keep up the pace. I dunno, I might be visiting my parents this weekend. I can grab it from their grocery store for a nice price. I need to pay rent today. Wow, how the time flies. I'll put half of my next paycheck in savings, and split the rest between loans and next semester. It ain't much, but I do want to pay off one of my loans. I was reading an article about what Project 2025 plans to do to the DoE. Trying to privatize all loans bothers me—think about the interest rates. Fuuuuuuck me. I'll check on my loans when the next payment goes through. I wonder if I can push myself to be debt-free by graduation? Picking up a second job becomes more tempting every moment.

---

“So let’s review all the ways the Dorito Effect appears to be turning us into nutritional idiots:” “Dilution. As real food becomes bland and loses its capacity to please us, we are less inclined to eat it and very often enhance it in ways that further blunt its nutrition.

• Nutritional decapitation. When we take flavors from nature, we capture the experience of food but leave the nutrition—the fiber, the vitamins, the minerals, the antioxidants, the plant secondary compounds—behind. In nature, flavor compounds always appear in a nutritional context.

• False variety. We naturally crave variety in food—it’s one of nature’s ways of making sure we get a diverse diet. Fake flavors make foods that are nutritionally” “very similar seem more different than they actually are.

• Cognitive deception. Fake flavors fool the conscious mind. A mother enticed by a Dannon Strawberry Blitz Smoothie as an after-school snack for her eight-year-old child will taste it and reasonably believe the product contains strawberries, even though it contains none.

• Emotional deception. Flavor technology manipulates the part of the mind that experiences feelings. Fake flavors take a previously established liking for a real food and apply it, like a sticker, to something else—usually large doses of calories—creating a heightened and nutritionally undeserved level of pleasure.”

“Flavor-nutrient confusion. By hijacking flavor-nutrient relationships, fake flavors, by their very nature, set a false expectation. A major aspect of obesity is an outsized desire for food, one that very often cannot be extinguished by food itself. By imposing flavors on foods without the corresponding nutrients, are we creating foods that are incapable of satiating the people who eat them? So many of the foods we overconsume—refined carbs, high-fructose corn syrup, sugar, added fat—would not be palatable without synthetic flavor. We gorge on them because they taste like something they are not.”

---

I bought boxed coconut cream (I usually by canned). The brand was already higher quality than store brand, so I'd need to compare canned and boxed of the same brand to accurately taste the difference. However. This was so rich and creamy and coconut-y. Satiating, too. I had a bit left over from the curry, so I decided to use some to make grits. This is the most satiating bowl of grits I've ever eaten. I can't finish it. The cream separated in the microwave, and I was able to stir it back in. This is rich and flavorful. Damn. Just—damn.

---

My roommate just got home. He poured himself a bowl of cereal. I can hear the sounds of whatever video he's listening to; screaming and swords clashing. I can't deduce what he's watching on a regular basis. Sometimes it sounds like he's watching the news. Other times, math tutorials. Other times—like now—there are sounds of war. I want him to turn the volume down. I want him to use headphones. Instead, I put in earplugs. He isn't that loud. I miss the silence. The downstairs neighbors are back too; talking, or listening to podcasts/shows?, already. The noise from them rarely stops. I wake up in the morning and hear their noise. My sleep is interrupted by their noise. My day is interrupted by their noise. All 24hr contain their noise. How? What is it? The chatter is not in English.

I cannot understand the appeal of a constant stream of sounds. I crave the silence; a space to focus my thoughts/energy. If I do crave noise, I crave the background noise of a cafe—chit-chat and forgettable music. Pop music has degraded. Dunkin was playing some 2000s/early 2010s pop on Saturday (or was that Friday?), and followed it up with contemporary pop. There was a stark contrast. Past pop had definite beats, catchiness, and enunciation. Contemporary pop had less nuance; the sound was rounder and vaguer; more of a mutter—that Billie Eilish album, you know the one, but bad. The lyrics are forgettable. They lack plot. They lack sentences. Compare the opening of Call Me Maybe (I threw a wish in the well/Don't ask me I'll never tell) to Miles On It (New truck, big lift / Old roads, we've been) (slightly unfair; Miles On It is what I can recall, because I've forgotten everything else I've heard. Miles On It sounds like a summer pop hit. It'll be forgotten soon enough).

Compare the music videos for the two songs. Miles On It is a statement. Call Me Maybe is a story. Miles on it feels like a haphazard collection of clips from three 'events.' Call Me Maybe reminded me of some early kpop groups—mostly Gee, by Girls' Generation.

---

I draw open the curtains—let there be light!—and pull the window open. There's the tell-tale thwack! of a skateboard hitting the pavement. My roommate is learning to skateboard. I close the window. I close the curtain.

---

I opened my front door to find a vaguely Hispanic looking guy holding a plastic bag. The plastic bag said THANK YOU several times in red. He was scrolling through his phone. We said "hi" and immediately parted ways. As I left, the people upstairs were fighting. There was the sound of things hitting the floor. People were yelling. These people alternate between fucking and fighting. It sounds like it's some sort of polygamous situation. I'm hit with deja vu—did I already write this?

I am a broken record. I rifle through the same handful of websites on Neocities; I reread what each person has written. There was information, once, but now it's only comfort. My eyes glaze over. Comfort is an exaggeration. Familiarity? I click on unfamiliar websites and find ghost towns. The framework for content is there—a page for a blog, diary, writings, books, other logs—yet there is nothing. At best, there's lorem ipsum.

It is 19:04. I haven't spoken to anyone since yesterday. I thought about stopping by my workplace (other people do this, so it wouldn't be weird). I still could. Unsurprisingly I am lonely. This happens every time I am away from people. What are these people giving me that I can't give myself? A conversation? Information about themselves? I should know better than to be emotionally invested in other people. I create illusions of people and am disappointed when they don't live up to my expectations. I want them to be people they're not. I want them to be interested in me for who I am, and not solely because of what information I can give them. I want people to be interested in my opinions. I want people who I can talk to. I want people who are interested in people—call it gossip, but people-watching is fun. People's behaviors are inherently interesting.

I'm waiting to receive a permission number. I need my proposal to be approved. Then I can start modifying my class schedule. Fifteen credits & full-time?

---

One of my coworkers saw me walking by. We caught up for a few minutes. This wasn't enough. I still feel like crap. I want to binge. I can't figure out if I'm hungry.

If I binge, I need to go out and buy food. This wastes my time and money. Is this the best use of my time? I stress out about how to use my money. I can use my money on better things. I have better things to do with my time. I don't need to do things to make myself feel worse; isn't that equivalent to punishing myself for feeling bad? That's counterproductive. Stop behaving like an idiot. Just—stop it. *bashes head against wall*

0730

Shit, gotta remember to pay rent.

---

I have a bizarre obsession with creating a blank slate for myself. I want to erase myself, and remold myself into a perfect person.

0801

August. I am not okay with this.

Had I not been able to find a job, August is the month I would have run out of money. I found a job. I've got ~5 months of savings to my name (after August, b/c I already paid rent). Funny how that doesn't translate to making a significant dent in student loans. I'm working on it, though.

I swear, groceries were easier when I kept a tighter budget. Maybe it was because I focused on core ingredients (meat, eggs) instead of letting myself buy flavorings? I spent $5 on lime leaves, and the same amount on coconut cream. I already used up the entire box (a quart?) of coconut cream. Some of what I bought will last a while, but there are other things I'll buy next week which will also last a while. I need more white peppercorns. I'm trying to find green peppercorns, but I've failed.

I bought two pints of blueberries and two oranges—a total of $6. One pint and an orange on Sunday, which I ate in one sitting, and another pint and an orange on Wednesday, which suffered the same fate. They were not filling. I still crave more oranges. At least having a tomato killed my craving for tomatoes. The nutrition is there, but the satiety ain't. My money feels wasted. My fridge is running low on food. I'm defrosting a pig heart for tomorrow (the recipe is more Khmer (pronounced Khmy!) than Cambodian, though it could also be filed under Cambodian beer food—feels like I'm misremembering late-night conversations). I left dumplings at work; those will be lunch. Breakfast is trash salad. There's Thai basil and tofu and other things. 50/50 I go buy some food. I need to call my parents tonight to work out the weekend plans.

The dumplings were a hit. Feedback: I need to add more fat to offset the dryness; breadcrumbs would also work. I'll make them again in two weeks. I'm told the flavor is on-point, but I was guesstimating. The first set of dumplings were "firecrackers" (coriander, Thai chili, white pepper, scallions), and the second set were with taco seasoning and Mexican-blend cheese. Meat was ground beef. Getting to use actual fryers was exciting. I cooked them for four minutes, but five might have been better. I also need to do a better job at sealing them. The air bubbles were obvious.

I need to get up and eat my crap breakfast. Then get dressed. Then figure out what the fuck I'm doing. I'm on at 11. It is 8:48. Okay, self. Get the fuck up.

---

Reading. I did finish my grocery list last night. I need to buy more shelf-stable foods. One of my coworkers was talking about having a pantry full of noodles. I understand the appeal. Both of us have very little space for perishable goods. I'm going to make beef jerky next week! This excites me.

One of my coworkers said that everybody loves me. I think it's because of the food. Oddly enough, this is also the coworker who we're having problems with. She has an attitude problem. She's unprofessional. A different coworker and I were talking about whether or not we should say something to our boss; another incident is why. I hate talking about her behind her back. She would rather us say things to her face, but she takes everything personally. We make factual statements. She gets defensive and interprets them as attacks.

0802

A lot happened at work yesterday. We were busy for ~2hr. I was stressed as fuck—long tickets kill me—but things were almost running smoothly. It was almost fun. Alas, things were not great. Two of my coworkers were yelling at each other. I was close to yelling at them. I was told that I was probably the only person who wasn't holding people back. I made mistakes (but didn't screw up). Was told "good job" regardless. That was my first time running fryers at that kind of pace. I want to do it again. With the right people, it'd be fun. With the wrong people...fuck me. Two of my coworkers can't handle that. When we're busy enough to need four people in the kitchen (fryer, line, expo, jump-in), people need to stay on top of things. These two have been here for longer than I have. ARGH.

"You're the best." I'm really not.

How do I describe shelling peanuts. You roast 'em for ~1hr, until they're oily. You move them around the entire damn time. To shell them: Stick your hands into the bowl and grab at them. It's like you're pinching at shells by the fistful. Then hold bowl by back. Move bowl up (at elbows, not wrists!) and down to get shells out. Continue doing this until all the shells are gone. I was struggling with the last step—I lost so many peanuts. Seeing the shells fly out of the bowl is really cool though.

One of my coworkers brought me a Japanese curry. She used chuck roast, mushrooms, and carrots. Very earthy and flavorful. Seriously, shit made my day. Another coworker left some chicken out; I took some home. Then there were the Thai chilis someone picked for me. This week has been good. I'll be baking more next week. I wonder if I can make a curd out of pandan? I think I want to do another chocolate-pandan cake. The two flavors work well together. Add a cream cheese icing, and it'll be super-fucking-great. Thirty minutes of looking at recipes later, and I'm thinking I'll do pandan cheesecake. Yummy.

---

I went to a mochi donut place yesterday, and I bought an ube donut. The flavor was okay; slightly earthy, slightly sweet. I enjoy the chewiness of the dough the most. I think I might try to make some at home. I could use the fryers at work. I could do mochi donut holes and fill some with jam.

I need to modify my grocery list so I don't end up doing a midweek grocery run. I'm buying yogurt, so a bag of frozen fruit would work. Damnit, I need to know what's on sale...I have a can of coconut cream. I think I need another. I made a note to buy three snacks.

---

I was excused from my calc 3 final!

0803

In twelve hours, I'll be at my parents' place. Then I can pig out on food. I want a coffee cake muffin so much. Rein it in. I'll eat the rest of the pig heart. I don't want to reheat eggs for lunch, or have canned tuna, or do anything with the canned beans. This means no lunch. I'll manage.

I got to make spicy pig heart with fresh(!) Thai chilis (thank you, —!). Despite their small size (most of them were ~1/2 inch), they really pack a punch. I had to stop eating and enjoy the sensation of my mouth being on fire.

Yesterday was something. There was shit with a coworker that brought me from annoyed with her to worried. I hope she's fine.

0804

Yesterday was also something. I was scheduled to work 11-7. Instead, a coworker didn't show up for his shift, so I worked 11-9. The next time I see him, I am going to have a hard time being civil to him. This is the second time this problem has occurred. This is the second time he's screwed over a certain coworker. I am aware that the circumstance is out of his control. On the other hand, we are counting on him to be here. His absence was inconvenient. Fuck him. As in, I want to slap him. I know I cannot take my anger out on people, and I am going to have a hard time controlling myself. Argh.

I appreciate how my boss made it clear that he wasn't fine with me staying late. He told people that I was clocking out at 9 and not a minute later (I clocked out at 8:56, if I'm being exact). He spoke to me about how this was not fine, yada yada my brain has summarized it as hard-working reliable people are paying for others' problems/errors/etc. I am tired and was not prepared to do ten hours. We had several rushes. I manned the fryers for most of them? Yeah. Second time I've been given a heads-up about Christmas. Okay. I won't commit to anything for that day. (I joked that he was being nice; he said he really wasn't).

Day crew was experienced old people and me; night people was a variety. The contrast was clear as night and day. I've been aware of the contrast, but seeing it back-to-back was eye-opening. There is a blatant difference between people who do their jobs and people who don't.

Someone asked me to drop break food in the middle of a rush. I wanted to yell at her.

the rest of august?

Because I feel like trying to turn over a new leaf. Again.

It's on a separate page.

Oh how the tides keep turning.

I am Time itself
I slow to let you play
I steal the hours and turn the night into day
The Horror and the Wild

Sometimes I fall to pieces
Just to see what parts of me don't fit
The Old Witch Sleep and the Good Man Grace - The Amazing Devil

refusing to move on

I'm lost in emotions; instead of doing, I waste my time feeling sorry for myself. I could solve problems. I choose to obsess over not solving them. Even as I write this, I'm making a choice I don't want to make. I'd like to write this in a 3rd person POV; I'd like this to be an academic essay where I talk about people feeling sorry for themselves. I'd like to cite examples; I'd like to pull up characters from books who demonstrate this. I'd like to include things that aren't myself. I'd like to talk about the problem without talking about myself---a nod to my issue, but with a path forward. There is a way out and I am not taking it.

Someone told me I'm making excuses and feeling sorry for myself. I know I am. I know I should stop. I do so anyways. Surely, some psychologist has an answer to this---surely there's a book with a character in a similar situation who decides to be active. Yet I find passive characters. These characters make the same choices I'd make. They allow their emotions to get the best of them; they allow life to happen to them.

Maybe in Another Life, by Taylor Jenkins Reid, features a directionless woman who has bounced from city to city to city. She hasn't set up home anywhere. She's worked as a waitress. She has no clear path for her future. She breaks up with a married man (whom she was having an affair with) and moves to LA. She meets some friends and an ex-boyfriend. Once she's in LA, the book explores two timelines---one where she goes to a party and leaves with the ex-boyfriend, and one where she goes to a party and leaves with her friends. In both timelines, she refrains from seeking out opportunities. She is lucky enough to have people who offer her opportunities (which she does take!), but that's just it---luck. Hmm. I may be dismissing some of her choices. In one timeline, she makes a list of things to do---figure out housing, find a job, find a car---and other people resolve two of the three issues. In another timeline, she's in a hospital, and her path forward is decided for her: she must work towards recovery. I'm as directionless as this paragraph is. Perhaps jealous. She doesn't have a clear path forward in life, but life gives her one anyways. Her plans are vague. Career? She figures things out by the end of the book, but how she ends up there is vague and by chance.

Chance.

Chance.

Chance.

Maybe I'm being dismissive. She doesn't work towards a better future in a typical way, so the ways she does improve don't matter to me.

The narrator of An Academy for Liars, by Alexis Henderson, has life happen to her. She sees her fiance fucking another woman. She goes to kill herself, gets a phone call, ends up at some school and lives the life of a struggling chosen one. I hate her. I don't want to be her. Life happens. Her existence is impermanent---by which I mean her connections with other have no substance. What does she want? What are her motivations? These don't exist. She just is. I'm not trying to form a coherent argument. I'm lashing out at fictional characters. I could move onto City of Girls, by Elisabeth Gilbert. The narrator has something she's good at. Life gives her opportunities, and she knows she has to take them. She takes the opportunities and makes a life for herself. No matter what happens, she knows her way around a piece of fabric and a needle. Where's my piece of fabric and needle? What can I do? I've cultivated nothing. No, worse than nothing:

"I spent a whole decade cultivating rage. I laboured to disappoint. I infected the people I knew with bitterness. I pulled them in close and betrayed them. I felt no remorse, just pity. I left the tiny battlefields of my relationships scorched and full of smoking corpses. I walked over the bodies without examination." - A Preparation for Death - Greg Baxter

That is who I could be, more or less. A shitty future. People think I'm worth more than that, and I wish I believed them, and I wish I weren't so invested in proving them wrong. I want them to know I'm shit. Isn't that a reflection of my true self? I am nothing, I am worth nothing, I do not deserve life. Yet the others deny this. They're lying to themselves, I think. I'm lying to myself, they think. I'm too busy wasting time to exist. So it goes, she says, allowing resignation to infect her thoughts, refusing alternatives. How pitiful, is what she thinks, is what she wants others to think, is what she refuses to think anything but.

20241105

I'm not surprised, but I am disappointed. How do fascists end up in office---because we put them there. How do people who propose an authoritarian rule end up in office---because we put them there. I'll respect democracy, and understand that my opinions do not represent the majority. This is what the people want.

I do think Democrats bungled the election. They shouldn't have been counting on Biden in the first place. Harris (why is she more well-known by her first name, Kamala?) was an easy pick for the candidate. A last-minute replacement. Could I argue that Democrats were optimistic about who people would vote for, and a bit complacent? I'm not sure. I think Trump ran a stronger platform than Biden did---or Trump's policies are extreme enough to catch more attention. But---rhetorical rambling---why must he make mass deportation a priority. Surely there are better things to focus on? I feel like illegal immigration has turned into a bigger issue than it actually is. I'm not well-informed enough to start spouting my own opinions. All I do is haphazardly read the news.

Something about labor is brewing. How much should people expect to be paid for their work? Who are minimum wage jobs for? Is being able to earn enough to have a family a privilege or a right? In the most basic sense, reproduction is essential to the survival of the human race. Unless overpopulation is a legitimate problem, people should be able to reproduce and raise their children. They shouldn't need to worry about food or housing.

ARGH. Something's itching. I can't put my finger on it. Something about free (see: covered by taxes) childcare to support people who are raising children. People shouldn't be punished for having kids, and those kids shouldn't (by proxy) be punished for existing. Something about childfree people being rude to people who do have children. Lord, how some childfree people can be selfish and immature. Raising kids is a major responsibility. I'm sure there are scenarios that are legitimately similar (in terms of effort, stress, ...) (no, having a dog doesn't count), but, on average, you don't understand the responsibility of being a responsible parent until you have to be one.

I don't know where I'm going with this.

I'm thinking about differences between people who think they owe their families something and people who think they owe their families nothing. From my perspective: if my parents ask me to babysit, I babysit. My youngest brother is, at times, my responsibility. He's my sibling. My parents are my parents. I owe it to them to help them by watching my brother. Someone else would say I owe my parents nothing. Someone else would say my parents should pay me for babysitting; why should me being a family member be any different from asking a stranger to babysit? By asking me, these hypothetical strangers say, my parents are taking advantage of free labor.

I think this is a cynical perspective. Sure, one can reduce the situation to the basics and say that my parents are using me (for free) when they could a) find someone else to babysit or b) not make plans that require a babysitter. But there's nuance, she whines.

I didn't ask for my parents to give me food, clothes, a place to live; I didn't ask for them to raise me. Yet I must still be grateful---they didn't have to do that, but they did. I don't have to help them, but I will. We're family. It's just what we do. Simplifying life into a series of transactions is ignorant of the nuances of reality.

really, I'm reaching for "what we owe each other" / "how do we treat each other" / "what do we owe to our parents." This is a difficult topic because we can cherry-pick cases that refute our points. "But what about"s abound. What I owe my parents may not match what (you) owe your parents. The easy note is about child abuse---if you were abused by your parents, do you still owe them something? What?

I'm not here to account for trauma and edge-cases.

I don't want to sit down and put together a clear view of reality. I can't account for everything. What I can think about are guidelines---a map for my life/perspectives. Starting points won't account for everything, but they will be a place to start from.

I'm losing the plot.

You'll move and you'll feel better and you'll graduate. I laugh at the simplicity. Just do a, b, and c, and then go back to school and graduate. It sounds so easy. It isn't. I'm looking at other places. I'm messaging people. Why? I don't like my place, but is it that bad?---why don't you think you deserve better? Can you afford better?---the location is useful, though. This place isn't good. It isn't too bad either. It just is.

to a book

AKA: some half-hearted thoughts on Constructing a Life Philosophy, by David Bender.

Life Has No Purpose - Richard Robinson. Death makes us permanently insecure. Could say that death gives our lives meaning---memento mori, so what must you do while you're still alive. What can you do. We need something to hold on to; we need something more concrete than knowing we will die. An emotional response to our limitation (death) is illogical / pointless. Okay, you're alive and will die. Get on with it. The sensible reaction is to find a way to go about life. This is how we cope with insecurity---what if we weren't insecure? Well, if you're not thinking about life, then you're taking your life for granted. "An unexamined life is not worth living." An over-examined life isn't worth living either.

Courage---a way to create meaning in spite of our insecurity. Find the problem and solve it. Boldly move forward. All of us face this problem (even if we're unaware of it), so we can / should / owe it to each other to find a solution. He proposes we "create symbols and ceremonies." These are a way to "confirm our intentions." What are our intentions?---he leaves this question unanswered.

Different people want different things out of life. Is there a "mass intention"---that is, a vague, over-arching theme to what we want. How do we state this without being judgemental---no "what should we want." We exist together, so we can support one another. We exist, we think about things---we patch holes in our collective knowledge. (Can't patch all the holes). Basic functions---continue existing and continue to use our heads. Hmmmmmm. Where's the hole. What if people don't want to support one another---well, then there is no "mass intention." Either people work as a group, or not at all. Political parties are a form of mass intention. Their rituals---affirming their beliefs. Rallies. Hah, rallies as churches.

Am I just restating my views on life? Am I twisting the author's words to support my beliefs? Am I falling asleep in a tunnel while I avoid using the bathroom (because I'm comfortable!!!!).

Jesus Christ Gives Life Purpose - Billy Graham. Could we say sin is a result of selfishness? Immature ideals, a lack of ideals? Well, we could. Immature ideals are ideals that are selfish, as maturity requires thinking of people other than yourself. One's ideals must consider other people because the existence of others is an immutable fact of our existence. What others do can change, but their nature---existing---only changes when they die. We live and die (facts).

Someone is stumbling and burping. I hear two people. Are they going to continue forward and see me? Are they going to turn and take an exit? Some mysteries will soon be solved. Some mysteries are solved. Why sit in a corner when there are people to be around. I need to take a piss---fucking coffee.

misc.

She pulls the phone number down from the poster, though she's already copied it into her phone. She'll hit "call" the moment she reaches a quiet spot. She'll duck into a gray alley. It's covered in trash, some of which could have overflowed from the dumpster near the end of it. There are windows. She can't blame people for leaving them closed.

Ring.

"Hi, this is Katie. I'm calling about a research study on tarot decks?" She sucks her breath in through her teeth. "I, ah, saw a flyer asking for participants? I don't know how old it is."

Static.

"Yes, this is the Quant Psychology Center. I'm forwarding you to someone who's arranging the study. Please hold."

She holds down the power button as piano music errupts from the phone's speakers. What is it with holding music being so loud? No, it's the phone calls that are too quiet. Someone needs to work out the audio balance. It's worse than a DVD.

///

What a lie, Alice thinks. What a sorry excuse. Why was she going to bother with this again? Because Icarus was her pet project? Sunk cost fallacy. She could promise him she'll do better. She could cut him loose while he could still go. She could---what.

///

As I was walking round the corner, I glimpsed---turned around and ducked into the bathroom. The one light is flickering. Someone's pissing in one of the two stalls. The faucet is dripping. There's no way to lock the door, not that there should be; it's a multi-stall public bathroom.

The toilet flushes; I dip into the other stall and jostle the lock into place. It probably won't slip open.

There's a protection spell, but that won't be enough to get by her. I don't have the materials for a good shield. Blood magic isn't an option. Even if it were, the location complicates things. I'm not going to take my chances with whatever grime is on these walls. A glamour? I'd need to look in a mirror. Once the other woman leaves---why is she spending so much time washing her hands?---I could hold the door in place for a moment. Then again, expending any magical energy would attract Renee's attention. I need something quick.

I don't need to go to the meeting. I do, but---well, I have an hour. I could stay in place. Transportation would be rough, but I can afford to expend some energy. Renee's here, though. She'll be around. She can travel distances, but I shouldn't take the chance. There's a stone in my pocket---for emergencies. Emergencies. This isn't an emergency. But if I wait too long to use it, the energy will go to waste. This isn't an emergency.

"Are you alright in there?"

"I---yes, I'm fine."

"You've just been in there for a while. Period woes? I've got pads, if you need."

"That'd be great, thanks. You know how toilet paper is."

She slides the pad under the stall door, and I go through the motions of putting it on. Flush the toilet.

/* It's oddly heavy. Lumpy. I pull open the plastic---fuck.

"Oh, honey," and the door falls open, knocking me to the floor. She's right there. There's a stone in my pocket, and I can't grab it, I'm on the floor without feeling the impact; she's right there. Her voice deepens. "Did you really think you could escape me?"

DRAMATIC TRANSITION---nah, fade to a Very Normal Scene ^TM

"Do you think we need to be worried?" Vale looks around the table, sees the relaxed faces. Terrence is doodling. Helen is staring out the window, moving her finger in time with a bird. Is she making it move, or---it doesn't matter. "I know Lana's flaky, but..."

"Are you surprised? Just because she's fixated on her ex---well, we all know how she is," says Terrence. He continues to drag his pen across a paper. "Put it this way. How many times has she shown up on Wednesday night? She always promises she'll come, that this time she'll bring brownies." He frowns. "I want her brownies."

"You talkin' about Lana or Renee? 'Cause they fueled each other. Lana flakes because of Renee. Always draggin' her off with some emergency or other." Helen puts her finger down, watches the bird land on the ground. "We sight her recently or nah?"

"As of this morning, she hasn't crossed territory borders," replies Vale. "That doesn't mean she couldn't have crossed since then."

"We're in the heart---she can't get that far?" says Terrence. "I'm just saying, I think this is Lana being normal Lana. Not Renee and Lana. Because she was flaky before Renee got involved."

"You'd think she'd want to catch up, though. She needs to hear what's happened more than most of us." Vale glances at Terrence. "...maybe we start our work? That'd give her another ten minutes. Start, pause before we'd plug in."

1112

Would you like to listen to me describe myself? How my back hurts, the insides of my elbows are sore, the middle of my back is experiencing parasthesia, my legs are straight and my ass hurts because I'm sitting on concrete. I fold my legs. My back is still in pain, but this position is easier to hold. Then I reach one leg out and cross the other leg over, creating a perch for my computer to sit on. A hot drink would be nice right now. I'd like caffeine, but I must sequester my energy for tomorrow. Opening crew will come in early to do a catering order. The first half hour, at most, will be fun, and then it'll turn tedious. There's no game to it. Everything is set up; all we have to do is turn the fryers on and get to work.

I read a Substack article on "girl hobby." (Hopefully, I remember to provide a link. I am not on wifi right now). "Girl hobby" describes a set of internet-related activities that women who spend time online partake in---some spend their time creating shopping carts of clothes they will never buy, scrolling through TikTok, partaking in a "little treat," rotting in bed, curating Pinterest boards, creating lists, and so on. Is writing this equivalent to partaking in girl hobby, I wonder. Is this navel-gazing girl hobby. This is low effort, well it requires effort, and what am I getting out of it? I am clearing my head.

For fucks sake. In my desperation to prove that journaling is not girl hobby---I am not like the other girls---I begin to overthink what I do here. This was established long ago. I am clearing my head; I am using the internet to do so. Why post. Fuck it, am I tired of justifying this. There is no need to justify this. I'm not updating my Neocities, I'm struggling to be interested in responding to emails. These words are my lorum ipsum; they are the interior of a structure I've designed. Yet I'm no CSS princess. I don't spend hours tweaking a web page. I have no grand visions for my design. I march forward. This is a way to record my thoughts. This is a plea for existence. Please, witness me; please, let me last. This is a barrier against death, a desperate bid for immortality. See me. See my day. See my thoughts and emotions. Know I was here.

We've actually been walking for five fucking minutes, and we haven't even crossed the street yet.

I know, it's weird how I was just thinking about that.

Lowkey, what is there if you go straight?

They must have glimpsed me; their voices fall and they make the turn. Yes, I want to say, there is a person here. You were not the only curious person to stroll through these tunnels. I must give them credit for strolling---for deciding to do something the other students overlook.

I like inhabiting corners other people don't think about. Sitting at the very top of a stairwell, right before the gate that blocks the entrance to the roof, is sexy. Reading a book there. Being mysterious---the allure: will someone see me, will I watch people without them knowing I'm there. The unexpected.

Hunching makes my back hurt less.

---

Erin leans over to open the door beside the passenger seat. "Get in," he calls out.

Clara rests her arm over the roof of the car and peers in. "You say that as if I don't have a choice." She's grinning.

"Maybe you don't."

"But I want to have a choice."

"Come with me if you want to not die?" A laugh escapes him; he wanted to say the line with a straight face, but it's too good.

She rolls her eyes. "Okay, Erin. I guess," she stretches out the word, "I'll get in."

---

My eyelids feel heavy. Sleep is invading them. A coworker suggested I go to trade school---culinary school, she recommended. You could be a chef, she tells me. I think about something someone else told me. How women don't make it---why we don't see female chefs, that is---because it is physically demanding work. This work is not pretty. The nitty-gritty is not pretty. You have to be willing to get your hands dirty. Is it that women don't, or that they can't? It isn't sexist to state that men have a greater capacity for physical labor than women do.

I don't know where to go with this.

---

Male space---tangible markers of achievement---represent a commitment (something they followed through; shooting an animal, taxidermy, journal publications)---proving worth to each other (sign of competition)---social space around a shared interest (tangible topic).

Female space---thought to appearance and comfort (how people feel when they enter the room)---the start of something (a place where people can talk to each other. Implicit achievement via exchange of ideas, supporting each other in intangible ways)---intangible, need to be part of it to understand---exclusive---blank slate---may show the taste of the person designing the space---space has a goal (intangible)---proving worth based on qualities of people (intangible)---social space based on the people who inhabit it (intangible)

Men---tangible, concrete; Women---intangible, abstract. Women are more able to understand men than men are able to understand women. (idea)---operate in different spheres because of the sharp contrast in their values. Men---need to systematize things to understand them; Women---more able to understand that some things cannot be explained.

(AKA my thoughts on some words in The Naturalist Society, by Carrie Vaughn.)

I am sitting in the morning
At the diner on the corner

I can't remember the name of the song, but I can remember the lyrics. The boys from before have circled the tunnels thrice now; once again, they glimpse me and refrain from coming forward.

Why does my right eye keep watering? This is a recurring problem---the eye grows watery at seemingly random times. My left eye does not; if my left eye is watering, there is a clear reason (ex: cutting onions), while I am sitting in a tunnel and my right eye is watering while my left eye is not.

She does not interest me. I am lonely; is my lack of interest in certain people more apparent because of it? That is, I'm all too aware when someone shows an interest in me that I do not reciprocate. I barely register mutual interest---they could not possibly be interested in me, I believe, even as they show signs of thinking of me and as they bother to answer my questions to them.

Where I come from is where I'm going
And I am lost inbetween
I might go up to that phone booth
And leave a veiled invitation on your machine
Shy - Ani DiFranco

I imagine inviting someone into my house, letting my phone play songs with obvious sexual themes, laughing it off when they notice---ah, y'know how autoplay is---wondering if they see my intention, wondering if they reciprocate; the tension as I wait to find out if they want what I want. Do they desire what I desire, do they realize that this is an option, do they find themselves wanting something they didn't think they wanted, do they refrain, is there an awkward tension all evening as they refute my gestures, do they pick up on the subtext, are they ignorant, is the awkwardness one-sided or two.

I can imagine.

Sleep paralysis, if that's what it was, is oddly visceral. I could feel someone touching my face and throat. I wanted to move; when I could, they were gone, and my door was locked and there was no reason to think any stranger had entered my house, much less my room.

I wish I could feel them again. Where else would their hands have gone, I wonder, if I continued to feel them?

I think I'm enshrining my emotions. I am not moving forward by writing. I'm acknowledging something and will continue to acknowledge it.

Why do I.

I'd like to wander back to work as a customer; to be slightly annoying; to get in one last word before tomorrow. Every week, everybody sees me. Many of my coworkers blur together. I repeat things I say to others, who knows what? Who knows what indeed. --- is telling me to go back to college. --- doesn't know I dropped out. --- just found out I dropped out. I swapped one problem for another. Why hasn't my payment gone through? My bank account said I worked full-time, and the money's being thrown at my debt. I don't want to whine about how everything hurts. What can I do to move past this pain. I'd like to set aside a day to recover. Centuries ago, when there weren't cars / horses / non-foot means of transportation, people didn't have a time off. They had adapted. How much can I adapt? I haven't lived this life for long; I'll figure it out in time.

Fatigue is eating me. I think it's time to go home and rest. Au revoir,

voters

Not making a choice is a choice. "What if I make the wrong choice," you say. An uninformed choice is an erroneous choice. "I do not care to inform myself." Then what are you doing? There are issues to be voted on. You are a citizen; your duty is to vote.

Why bother? I've nothing to say that hasn't already been said. Raise your hand if you live in the US and aren't stressed out by the election. Fuck! There are no hands raised. Or there are; I'm not looking closely. We shouldn't waste time being stressed out. Do what you can and accept that what will be, will be.

---

Single-issue voters refuse to look at the big picture. They think: can't vote for A because they take STANCE on ISSUE, must vote for B because they don't take STANCE on ISSUE. What about everything else the candidates believe in? The positions these people hold do a helluva lotta things.

Has the internet led to increased numbers of single-issue voters? I doubt it (she says, without a lick of data). Polarization. Stronger language is used to describe an issue. Taking an example from a comment section...here's inflammatory language about a single issue. Another comment uses the phrase "child mutilation." Because this is more important than voting for a candidate who doesn't have plans for authoritarian rule.

loss

You don't understand what you've lost because you didn't let yourself have anything to lose.

Life can't be overthought. Move forward; thinking too much leads to stagnation. Thoughts without actions are worthless. Denying yourself opportunities. Whining about not having opportunities. You trap yourself in a self-pitying cycle. Stagnation as self-pity; you blame yourself for being stagnant, but you do nothing useful about it. Fixating on your problems makes your problems worse. The solution is to spend time on something other than fixating on problems, but that would require effort. You'd have to exit the cycle, and you don't want to do that, do you?

---

"I don't want to hurt her," you tell him. "I want to talk to her. I want to be around her. But—well." You shrug. "Every time someone says it'll be different, well, they get to know me, and the ending's the same. Everything falls apart. We're both hurt. I end up alone. The ending doesn't change. We promise ourselves this is different. Yet I haven't changed. I'm the problem. I don't understand what I'm doing wrong, but I keep doing wrong. They keep telling me I ruin everything. I mis-interpret too many things. I don't get it, I don't understand what there is to get, I don't know how to get it.

"People try to fix me, but then I find a way to ruin that. Like, there was this guy who got me to watch movies. Something about culture, y'know? A common thread. A way to communicate with others. So I watched the movies. I even kept this journal where I listed the movies I was told to watch, and my thoughts on them, and where I'd seen them referenced. Yet I found a way to watch movies wrong. I wasn't interested in most of them, so I sped them up. So then I didn't understand them. I don't know what it was I wasn't understanding. Keep in mind, this was coming from a guy who kept changing the speed of the movies he was watching. We'd be watching a movie together, on our own computers, and he'd be watching it at a different speed than I was. He'd say something about the movie, and then I'd change my playback speed to try to match his, and to try to catch up to him. But that always ruined things. He said he wanted to watch movies together, but we never really did that. I'd be partway through a movie, only to find out he'd already moved on to a different movie. I'd switch, but no matter what I did, I found a way to ruin it. I just—there was something hypocritical, to me, about the way he changed the playback speed while criticizing me for doing the same."

She glances to her right, surprised he's still there. "I know it's a bit circular. I ruin everything, I can't fix this, and the solution is to remove myself from the situation. That way I'm always right. I can speedrun getting hurt and I don't give people a chance to prove me wrong. But when I do give people a chance, they still prove me right. They don't mean to. So what am I supposed to do? I can't get people to explain what I'm doing wrong. I can't figure it out myself. Trust me, I see the self-pity spiral, the taking comfort in it. But what—is luck my only way out? Keep taking chances—would it even be worth it?

"I just want someone I can do things with. Like, walk places. Try food and drinks. I like cooking for people. Reading books and talking about them. It'd be fun to create something together—bouncing ideas, pooling our skills. And as weird as the wording sounds, I crave physical contact. It just feels nice, well, all of these things do. I can do most of these things with myself, but I like sharing them with others. I don't feel like I'm asking for much? But I am. I don't get these things. I don't get to have these things. I haven't earned them, and I don't know how. Just take a chance? I'm tired. Fat chance.

"Why are you listening?"

He taps his fingers against the table. "You sicken me. This isn't a conversation. I shouldn't entertain a response; you've a refutation for all of them. And you'll enjoy it. Everything I say feeds your views.

"I hope," and she can feel his eyes on her, "you'll have a chance to grow past your immaturity. You're right to isolate yourself," and the way he says it leaves a sharp pain in her ribs, "because you can't see your life any other way."

"How can I?"

"There are countless opportunities around you." He hesitates, finds her eyes, stares. She looks down as he moves closer; his breath hits her forehead. She looks to the left, right, everywhere is him, she can't avoid glancing into his eyes. "Be open to them. For me."

work / women / relationships

Coworkers frustrate me. They aren't doing inventory correctly. They're prepping way too early—if we use their new batch this week, we'll be lucky. They aren't paying attention to what we have and don't have. Aaaaaarrrrrggghhhh. I literally spoke to one of them about this last night, and they're still making the same mistakes. Another coworker was talking about how he takes his frustration out on video games. He has the right idea.

Some thoughts on an article about the internet & dating: the internet makes attractive women (see: those hotties you'd be lucky to catch a glimpse of IRL) seem attainable. They gather more attention on social media, which makes them seem more common than they actually are. This creates a dissonance between the internet and IRL: what we see online, what the average of what we see online is, does not correlate to what is average IRL.

Substack keeps pointing me to articles by women who are talking about dating. One claimed that men don't get how women need those little bits of contact (ex. good morning and goodnight)—funny. I had a male acquaintance who'd get upset if I didn't send him good morning & good night & many other emails in-between. Is this what emotional neediness is? Demanding constant stimulus from others? Who has the time to satisfy an emotionally needy person? (Who even has the time to be needy? No wonder these women struggle to find boyfriends. The boyfriend can always find someone who is less work. But then again, some of these women talk about how they are able to find boyfriends who aren't emotionally unavailable. Others would have me believe that the ideal relationship involves constant interaction, intelligent conversations, and sex. People are so idealistic. I'd just like time and energy to hang out with someone once a week. And, also, a person to hang out with. Then again, where's the energy. I don't care enough to solve the problem, so there isn't actually a problem. I think I feel lonely, but I'm not actually lonely. If my problems were real, I would try to solve them. I don't. I'm just trying to cling onto something to prove I'm a real person with real desires. I'm not. I'm an alien who can't even play at trying to blend in with humans. I can't change. I'm not human. I don't get to be.

When — left me, I thought we'd speak in the future. He said we would. It's been, what, six or seven months of silence? Not an email sent. I thought there'd be payoff. That everything he put me through would be worth it; I'd, we'd, be rewarded for our efforts. For what, a better future...? Yet nothing has happened to make everything seem worth it. I'd like to speak again, but, well, what's there to say? To someone who doesn't want to talk, to someone I couldn't give enough time to when school & family were the only things eating away at my time, to someone who was never quite interested in speaking to me in the first place, to someone who can't say he missed me the way I missed him—and aye, there's the rub. He meant more to me than I did to him. No matter how much he shat on my interests, called me names, spoke to me in a derogatory tone, shamed me, ignored me, ...well, I'd come crawling back until he told me things were over. Funny how if I tried to end things, he'd say no, yet if he did—

Thinking of January, when he said we were taking a break, meant it as a joke, I didn't take it as a joke, I came back a few days later and he just wanted me to leave. Why do I listen. Why did I think we'd talk again. These are rhetorical questions. I should've known better than to take him seriously, to believe him. Well, what did you do wrong to him? Hah. I'm too retarded to understand that one. Too retarded to understand how retarded I am, too stupid to understand my errors, too dumb to just figure it out already. Who wants to be around someone who can't get it, let alone know what it is, or...ungrateful bitch, can't even understand what there was to be grateful for, how stupid, how idiotic...

Whoop-de-fucking-do.

complaints

My cuts are infected, my left ear is inflamed, my neck is sore, I worked a double on Saturday and am scheduled for 48hr this week. I worked 52.65hr last week. why why whyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. Next week is Thanksgiving; two consecutive days off. Yay.

demographics online

When you see someone in real life, you notice their demographics. You don't know exactly, but you guesstimate their age, gender, and race. They're a way to describe a person without saying much about a particular person. Their demographics are identifiers which help you pick them out in a crowd.

People include their demographics in their social media profiles. What started as age/sex/location has evolved into lists of descriptors: age range, gender, sexuality, mental illness, disability, and so on. However, these demographics have become part of people's identities. The importance of each label has been elevated. No longer are these demographics a mere way to describe someone's appearance; they are defining characteristics.

Demographics don't tell us much about a person. They don't tell us about someone's values, or their behaviors, or how they spend their time. They're demographics. Yet, by virtue of the internet, they've become the most important thing about a person. People create groups for demographics, not for people with shared interests. People are encouraged to socialize within their demographic.

I think this has contributed to the decline in a coherent culture, a valueless society, and internet pseudo-hobbies. People socialize around their descriptors, and not their hobbies, so hobbies are deprioritized. Hobbies require time and effort, while being part of a demographic doesn't. Dedicating free time to a hobby is being devalued; after all, we're just tired people who want, no, deserve, to binge Netflix at the end of a long day. Doing otherwise is discouraged. We're helpless victims of a capitalist society; we're caught in a trap of constant productivity; this is what capitalism demands, so we must rebel by doing nothing worthwhile.

> laziness is valued; society prizes the sin of sloth; exacerbates divide between haves and have-nots

> more content creators means more content, are people encouraged to be creators OR (not and) consumers?

> exacerbate competitive tendencies; followers (people) as markers of achievement

> masturbatory nature of the internet

---

I'm allowing myself to fall victim to this. It's been a long day. I'm not happy with my job. I'm an overpaid dishwasher. I pray we're busy tomorrow; pray I get to do more than wash dishes. Business is slow. We are seeing less traffic than usual, mostly because the customers have seen enough mistakes for them to not be coming back. Can't blame 'em. Still, peeling sticky garlic for 5hr is enough to put anyone in a bad mood. I'm going to do more next week, and then we should be set until next year???

Oh well. Suck it up.

Does the internet exacerbate life malaise? As in, I am dissatisfied with my life. If I go to the internet, I can find cheap dopamine hits. They feel like a way to ignore my problems, but they're an addiction. That's a second problem which claimed to be the solution to my first problem. The second problem is an addiction; if the first problem is solved, the second problem remains. If the second problem resolves, the first problem remains, but it's less serious. No, that's not it. The solution to the first problem is to make the problem worth it. What makes a shitty life worthwhile? I'm thinking of How to Live On 24hr a Day, by Arnold Bennett. There is time outside of work. I can choose to use it well. I don't have to let thinking about work consume my life. Thinking about work accomplishes nothing. What else can I do. This navel-gazing accomplishes:

i am so tired of myself.

###

How has the internet changed what and how we share about our lives? Online journals and vlogs make our private lives public; sharing every detail of one's private life becomes its own hobby. By this metric, internet users become their own hobby.

space and baggage

A place's context can be baggage. When I sit in my room at my house, I'm thinking about how the downstairs neighbors are always talking (or playing a podcast?), how I can feel the music another neighbor is playing, how my roommate's girlfriend's laugh is annoying, how an upstair neighbor is always stomping, how another upstairs neighbor tends to leave the front door open, how, on Saturday nights, the people who live across the street throw a party loud enough that earplugs can't cover up the noise. This is baggage.

The school library has less baggage. Or, its baggage is transient---someone has the volume on their phone turned up so that you can hear the music bleeding out of their headphones, some people are talking in a quiet area, someone is eating. So I relocate to a quieter place. A quieter place always exists, even if I have to walk a few minutes to find it. I can always find peace. Furthermore, I do not expect the library to be perfect; I do not care if I have to have my headphones on, in fact I expect to have my headphones on.

When I'm at home, I'd like to have peace. I'd like to be able to always find peace when I put in earplugs or put on headphones, yet I can't. I'd like to have moments when I don't need to tune out the world around me. These are few. When they happen, I bask in them; I take a break from what I'm doing and enjoy the undersong of cars and animals. There are even times when I can enjoy silence. These are hard to come by, in day and night. I am happier at the library than I am in my own home.

Every time I come to the library, I wonder why I avoid it. Is the short walk that bad?---no. Is the effort not worth it?---no. The effort is worthwhile. I keep telling myself I'll start coming to the library before work; I'll get up in the morning and spend 1.5hr there, reading and writing and drawing and enjoying a peaceful existence, and then I'll go to work. What's stopping me? I tell myself I'll come home from work, eat dinner, and then go to the library. On the days I do, I feel well. Going to the library recharges me. I feel less disgruntled, less annoyed by existence, and am less prone to melancholy (for the day).

Maybe I'll make this week different.

Maybe.

response to an excerpt from Plato's Euthydemus

Excerpt featured in Sophists, Socratics, and Cynics, by H. D. Rankin. Pages 16-18.

Q: which of two sets of human beings learns, the wise or the ignorant?

The question proposes that humans can be divided into the wise and the ignorant. I ask---what do we mean by wise and ignorant? Aren't all humans capable of learning? Are these categories definite, or can a wise person become an ignorant person (and vice versa)?

The excerpt proves one can twist definitions to argue for either case. A person who is not wise is ignorant, so they can learn and become wise. A person who is wise learns, while a person who is ignorant refuses to learn. This is useless. Why are we deciding who does and doesn't learn? Why can't someone temporarily be ignorant?

Who doesn't learn?---someone who is incapable of learning (rhetorical). What makes someone incapable of learning?---a dead person cannot learn. To learn, one must be able to think and absorb new information.

This question is annoying and I am no longer interested in discussing it. I don't see a way to get something out of answering the question; dividing people into "A" and "B" and assigning the groups opposite qualities doesn't work here. People are momentarily in either category, but someone is not stuck to one category. These qualities can be transient. Well, someone can, on average, fit into one category, but the transient nature of these categories makes them irrelevant...? I lack a strong argument.

20241125

Work was good today. Steady stream of customers; more customers by the time I left than we usually see on a Monday. Thought Thanksgiving would mean this week would be even slower. Maybe not? I'm glad. It was a good day.

20241129

Thinking about how relationships have changed over time. Media says romantic relationships are everywhere, always have been and always will be. Person1 finds meaning in Person2; the piece of media portrays this. Is this because it's easy to create a plot based on romance, or is this because these relationships are so commonplace? Characters meeting each other. I don't know where I'm going with this. I'd read something---why can't I remember where?---about how most people meet through dating apps, though encountering IRL is still 'superior.'

Emotions are dramatic. Romantic relationships are based on emotion, so of course there's drama. The stakes are high.

I wasn't going anywhere with this, was I.

---

My parents are playing movies from TCM; black-and-white things. When the characters aren't talking, they linger in silence; there might be sounds of what they're doing, but there's no soundtrack. This feels human. Our lives are filled with an undersong composed of the noises made while doing something. Were I trying to lockpick a pair of handcuffs, there'd be no dramatic background music to highlight the tension; just the gentle noise of fiddling with something.

The film doesn't look like it's trying to get my attention. It's quietly confident, certain that the audience is interested in witnessing these characters and their plot. I look up, return to my computer, look up a minute later---the camera's still in the same place. This makes me feel like I'm a third-party, another witness to the events taking place.

The black-and-white screen is easier on my eyes. Would I be interested if it were in full color? Grayscale signifies this isn't real; it's just a movie. Color makes it something that tries to be real. This isn't it. I can't put my finger on it. The question---why aren't you interested in movies, what's wrong with you---festers, a wound that's been open for more than a year. How the time vanishes. Will you stop, he says. How, I reply. Get your fingers off of me.

I can't. They're stuck.

Then cut them off.

I don't want to.

You do. You've said so yourself.

I'm afraid.

There's nothing to be afraid of.

I find comfort in familiar arguments.

No, you don't.

You're right; I don't.

You're still doing it.

I don't know how to stop.

You do. You deliberately choose not to.

I want closure.

It isn't real, he says as if he's speaking to a child. It's as imaginary as this conversation is. All of this is imaginary.

Alright, then. I'll do something else.

I hope you're telling the truth.

footnote on chronic pain

If I mention being in pain, I am not looking for (you) to feel sorry for me. I am not looking for you to assess the validity of my pain, and I am not implicitly asking you for solutions. I mention my pain when it is interfering with something I'm doing. I mention it as an explanation---hey, I'm in a lot of pain right now, this is normal (implication: don't worry); I'm gonna go (insert a solution / bandage) and come back when it's manageable.

(A brief annoyance---well, a scab to pick at with something someone once said. Someone who didn't get the point, fixated on the wrong thing, and found a way to turn this into a judgement of how shitty of a person I am. Ffs, people. Can't just say "I'm not feeling well; will be back in a few." Must provide an explanation for them to nitpick the validity of).

on play

Playing is a way to connect with other people under the veneer of doing something else. It's a way to keep people together---they're doing something together, now they have something to talk about.

Livestreaming video games makes sense. Why play on your own?---for the game itself, okay. Why stream?---to connect with others. Here's a thing, let's talk about it. Story of the human race.

Is this being lost. How has the way people play changed over time. I'm spitballing here, me and my non-researching self---how we spent time before the internet became the monolith it is today. I don't think everybody got home from work, did housework, and then read a book / newspaper / etc. People had social groups around their interests. People did things together. Thinking of knitting circles---typically women who knit and talk to each other. Knitting is a vehicle for connection.

Other offline hobbies. Has the internet changed the way we engage in offline hobbies? If I'm struggling with knitting, I don't need to go and find a real-life person who can help me. I go to the internet. If I spoke to a real-life person, I might be able to talk to them again; we might strike up a loose connection, maybe a close connection, but the connection is there (shared experience). Looking up a knitting tutorial offers no connection. There's an inherent disconnect---the same surface-level goal is accomplished (show someone how to do something), and that's all there is to it. This is noncommittal. This is convenient.

Then---why speak to people in real-life when we can just look it up online? The internet becomes the default, and the offline is cast away. This creates false comfort. Talking to people in real life means admitting failure, making mistakes, dealing with real people and missteps. Going to the internet offers no missteps. There is no risk. No risk (or stakes, no matter how low)-->not serious.

-->interacting with other people introduces stakes. There is something to gain or lose, a small something but that something matters. Don't overthink this. Don't avoid stakes.

20241201

Some links from this week.

• The Power of Irritation - thoughts on a videogame inspired by the myth of Sisyphus. Addresses the game and how the game reflects the myth's meaning.
• What has creating a personal website done for me? - Chaosgoat

  What having a personal site has done for me is to give me the ability to short circuit that "I'm just too damn tired to do anything" by giving me something I can endlessly fiddle, tinker, tweak, and experiment with. A lot of what I do actually doesn't make it on to this website, but that's not really the point.

• The Creative Independent - interviews with assorted artists.
• the internet used to be* fun // to read.
• diary - nymphblood - reads like telling a story to someone.

story

—I can hear you walking behind me, but this street goes to many places, and you're going to one of them. I've followed people incidentally. I thought you lived in a different direction, since Yolanda sometimes gives you a ride home and she lives opposite the direction we're walking. I won't look back. I can't ruin this. Are you following me, or am I imagining this? I think I feel your eyes on me; are you watching me?; what do you see?

The sky is clear, and there's a full moon watching us walk. Our footsteps are out of synch. I try to pause, skip a step, but it's no use; your pace is always faster than mine.

When I turn onto the street my house is on, our eyes meet. I could nod. I could smile and wave. I could say bye. I move forward. Your gaze is still on me. I pinch my fingers together and feel the ridges of my keys. I can't look back.

The steps creak. One day, the wood will give out. Will I still be living here? Will I need to text the landlord: hey, steps broke? Why do they creak again, when there's nobody there, except a warm wind hits my shoulder and you're standing there. Why are you standing there. Why do you have a hand on my hip, why is your breath on my neck, why can't I move, the lock isn't budging and the keys won't move and my knife is in my pocket and I have mace and you've moved your hand, wrapping your arm around me. Your hand on top of mine, turning my hand, turning the key, door falling open and you're bringing me inside.

disconnect / suffocation

Environment: I can't work on the things I wanted to work on. This isn't the time for what I was going to do. There's someone in my periphery; shouldn't I be speaking, isn't this awkward, am I creating problems, I'm ruining something. This isn't right. What I do---lie, and I don't even know I'm lying, because I'm too stupid to understand. I can't change. The pot will always be black. That's it's nature. The best thing for it to do is crack. It should do so on its own, but it doesn't get it, so it won't. Instead it sits there and wastes space. Why is there still a pot here, someone asks. We feel bad for it, someone replies. We didn't notice it was still here. We're not sure what to do with it. It isn't useful. We should get rid of it, but we feel bad for it, we don't think to get rid of it. Besides, what if we need it? Might as well keep it around, just in case---easier than finding a new one.

Festering. Suffocating. Feeling stifled. All of these are just emotions. I feel scared and I'm starting to sink / and I only sink deeper the deeper I think. Identifying with songs instead of explaining myself. Feeling like there's no point. Meandering because---well, what can I do. Meandering. Getting nowhere. Not wanting to get anywhere, not seeing the point---turning against myself and suffocating myself. I can't breathe. All of this is wrong. I shouldn't be here. I don't belong here. They don't need me here. I don't add things; I take up space. I waste time and space.

Oh, what's the point.

a few bad days

Okay. I shall take a page out of my own book and write about what went wrong. Then I might stop ruminating.

Saturday. I ask a coworker to help with something. She says she needs to restock; we bicker; I point out that her helping with line is more urgent. She starts restocking. I tell her we're falling behind; ignore that and come help. She says she's already restocking and might as well finish. I ask her to come help when she's done; she doesn't respond. She's done and goes to work on the dishes. I tell her to come help us with line because we're falling behind. I ask her repeatedly; after asking her a few times, she groans and continues to work on the dishes. I stop working on new tickets and go help out on expo. After a couple minutes, we are less behind and I'm able to resume dropping tickets. I ask the coworker to come help us again; while she doesn't respond, she does go and do what I asked her to do. So...in the span of twenty minutes, I asked her for help at least four times. AAAARRRRGGGHHH.

She has no respect for me. Usually, this isn't obvious. Usually, one of the cooks who has been here longer than her is able to be an intermediary; they'll intervene when she isn't listening, and repeat what I say to her. She won't always verbally respond to them, but she'll follow through with what they tell her. That night, it was her, I, and the newest cook. Newest cook is already more trustworthy than she is. He listens, he's willing to learn, if he disagrees we can talk about it, he's willing to put forth his own suggestions. Proactive. Great. He's new, so he can't tell her what to do or ask her for help---well, he can, but he doesn't (in her eyes, and in our sort-of-hierarchy) have the authority to. I'm in that weird spot where I've 'earned' that authority, but she's been here longer than I have, so she doesn't respect that.

'Authority' is a weird way to put it. There are nights where they have no choice but to have me run fryers. It feels less like I've earned it and more like they have no other option. At the same time, I've spent enough time running fryers to have a handle on keeping up with what's going on. I do need to work on keeping an eye on the entire kitchen, but I think I've gotten better at that. At night, I'm more comfortable saying "hey, I need someone to do X" than I used to be. Things run smoother when I pull everyone into place. With the exception of that one cook, they do listen to me. I can disagree with some other coworker and we can talk it out; they'll listen, and we'll figure out the sensible thing to do. Sometimes one of us knows something the other person doesn't---sure, THING isn't currently low, but we've gone through more than usual in the first half of the day, so we should be prepared for the second half. Weird how there can be a menu item attracting more attention on a particular day. Oh, it's a so-and-so day. God, I hate ITEM1 days. Hey, today was an ITEM2 day! When was the last time that happened? (There are menu items I root for).

Where was I going with this. My boss came by at the end of the night and I told him about my issue with the coworker. He pointed out that there was a front-of-house person around who she would have seen as a figure of authority. So now I know I can grab him next time, when I have no other options. I'm annoyed that I need other people to handle her---both in a personal and practical sense. Practical: if I'm working with her, I need someone else to help me handle her. If there's no one else around (which can and does happen), we're a bit screwed. Personal: her not listening to me feels like a personal failure. What am I doing wrong?---nothing, she just doesn't feel like I have the authority to ask/tell her to do things.

Monday. Cooks screwed up during the day. I didn't know what was going on. I took responsibility for what I still think was another cook's failure---he didn't tell me what was going on, I didn't know, we ran out of something we should not have ran out of. I think I need to spend more time standing around line during the day, even when that means I'm ignoring non-urgent tasks (aka dishes). I know it's slow enough that the other cook can handle the kitchen on his own (and he's good enough). But sometimes he misses things, and then issues that wouldn't have happened happen. Just because the pace is slow enough for him to not 'need' me there doesn't mean I shouldn't be there. Aaaarrgghh I hate it being slow, makes learning difficult when we only need to do THING once a week. Other issues that I chalk up to pace...and lack of communication. Maybe we're both difficult to work with? I feel like I have to read his mind. But---well, when I write it out, there's a mix of "I don't feel like I can ask him questions; I think I'm bothering him" and "he doesn't always tell me what he's planning on doing, so we're not on the same page about what needs to be done." Us not being on the same page is a problem. Hmmm...yeah, I need to spend more time talking to/with him and less time on dishes. Dishes can wait. Other things can't.

There we go. Productive solutions that don't involve suicide. Lovely. Welp, time to go to work. I've been reading Old School, by Tobias Wolff---I read one of his memoirs for a high school class, aaahhh he's a good writer. Nice prose. Well-developed characters. Bye!!!!

another day

Work went well. Managed to sort-of learn how to do a soup. If I were to do it again, I'd need to double-check...but I did cut + cook + portion it. Exciting. Sounds sarcastic. Coworker was oddly paranoid about prep today. I'd be saying it could wait until tomorrow (or the day after), while he'd be saying we might as well do it today. This is a strange reversal of our usual back-and-forth---usually, I'd be offering to cook [X], he'd say it can wait, etc. Instead I'm the one pointing out it can wait, and he's the one saying I can cook it. Telling me how to make the seasoning was oddly lax of him. He can be too trusting at times. Or his headache was talking...I dunno.

i am so worried i did the seasoning wrong. too straightforward. it looked like what it usually looks like...but wrong seasoning would be a new low. genuine problem since---yeah.

If you held a gun to my head, I'd say ten, but otherwise I don't remember.

Needing to remind people to not overprep!

What else happened today---good sandwich. Cut most of my hair off. Not very hungry. Should drink more water. Spacing out---paralyzed by indecision, or is it lack of energy? I had a coffee this morning. Not much water. Fragments of thoughts pass through my head; I don't consider following through. There are many places I could go. There are many things I could do. I think of going home, of eating, of dealing with the presence of the roommate. I think of running into people I know as I walk home. I think of going downtown; it's too late. I think of how things would be different if I lived downtown. I'm tied to my lease. I'm in the last month of my lease. God, I need food, real food and not the temptation to wander to Starbucks. Or I do need the temptation. Something easy that I don't need to think about. A supplement to a meal. What's money for, if not for spending? I think of visiting another place, but their menu doesn't entice me. I could go to a fast food place. Where's the interest. I want something with cranberries, something with orange. 'Tis the season.

The more I think, the more I realize I must relocate. Sitting in this tunnel does me no good. The heat is long gone. I want things that I need wifi to do. Above all else, I need food. If I eat, I can read more of Old School, and I can read more of a collection of Greek poetry. Ancient Greek poetry is different. First, I'm reminded of how the Greek deities are exactly that---a real religion, a real system of beliefs, not just something that has appeared in literature. I like these firsthand encounters. I want to keep reading Theogony; how interesting, to see a primary source! The things I could do, and I'm zoning out. Okay. What options do I want to take. My hunger beckons. When I get home, I'll eat a bowl of soup and some yogurt. This won't be enough. I'll grab a snack---actually I will step inside starbucks and see if any of their food options appeal. They'll be cheap. I'll be sure to drink two water bottles (large) before the end of the day. If more water passes through my veins, I'll be more able to function. Yes. A plan is taking shape. To home!

~cue music~

weather

How cold is it outside, he asks. His hand is on the door. He'll push it open in a moment, why ask?

It's noticably cold, I say, and gesture at my ensemble of garments (hat, scarf, face mask, coat), but not too cold.

Hmm. He steps outside; the door thuds shut. I check the time---19:28---and pull on my gloves. I should have bought something thicker, more built for cold weather, but these thin acrylic things will do.

You were right, he says after the door closes behind me. He's vaping.

I often am.

He snorts at that, as if he's never heard it before. Do you have a name?

Sometimes. Do you?

Jared.

Alice.

How's the cat doing? That Cheshire of yours.

He's right behind me, isn't he.

No, but there was a twinkle of something.

Hmm. What do you read?

Bold of you to presume I do.

We're at the library. (Insert sweeping gesture).

Maybe I'm here for the video games.

Nobody thinks to do that.

No. They don't. He shoves his (what's a vape thing called) in his pocket. A bit of everything.

Nobody who says that means that. I say that, and I don't mean that. Genres? Themes? Kinds of characters?

I like the self-obsessed delusional ones. The ones who don't tell the truth and don't realize they're lying.

Hmm. Have you read Despair?

No.

It's by Nabokov.

Fancy.

Very. The narrator is obsessed with himself. He's unreliable. It's funny. He treats the reader like an idiot, too, beating us in the head with a stick.

I might have to read it. Do you look for unreliable narrators?

I like character studies. Unreliable narrators are par for course. Have you read House of Leaves?

There's a buzzing sound. I check my phone; not mine. He inhales. God, what a book. Just a moment, I need to say something to someone.

Sure.

The cold breeze hits my face. My mask is damp; I pull it down, can't help but cough. The air hurts my throat, or lungs, I'm not sure which.

I---fuck, I wouldn't know where to start. He slips is phone back into a pocket. The album informs the story.

They're companion pieces, what do you mean?

I mean---like, Hey Pretty, it's about Johnny, isn't it? And then Dear Johnny; the house is Pelafina's.

I'm not sure I follow. Umm, I need to be heading home---late night and all. Do---and I get if this is a no---you want to swap emails, or phone numbers? We could continue this later.

When are you free?

Sunday. I tend to run errands in the morning, but I can be flexible.

Hmm. Have you gone to the Rabbit Hole?

They make the best danishes.

I'll be working in the morning, but I can meet you after my shift. Two-ish?

I---sure. I'll put it on my calendar. I pull out my phone, dramatically display the event. See you?

See ya.

psychology

I was diagnosed with autism a few years ago. For the most part, I think the reasons why I fit certain criteria can be explained away. My so-called "misophonia" (extreme sensitivities to sound) seemed to be a reaction to issues with my environment. I was on edge, I didn't feel safe, and that extra bit of discomfort could have been the nail in the coffin. This isn't a significant issue anymore. When I'm home, I put in earplugs or headphones---mostly earplugs---and that gives me the break I need. Ffs, I work in a kitchen. Talk about a loud environment! If I had legitimate sensory issues, I wouldn't be able to stand the constant barrage of noise. But I can.

I feel like I live in the aftermath of stress. I am---was---so used to a constant barrage of stress and insecurity that I don't know how to function without it. I try to recreate it, and then I fetishize it, but I can't relive it. I don't know how to return to that level of functioning without that level of---of what? This is my life now. It is better than it used to be. I don't know how to live with that.

Social difficulties---there's a twofold issue here. I'm not very interested in other people. Sometimes people come along and they do pique my interest. These people are rare. I don't think this is rare. I do think I was unlucky; I drew a bad hand and the people who were around me didn't share my interests. So I didn't have a social life, and children will be children, so the people around me took notice and bullied me for being different. I've encountered enough people to know that 'my people' exist. I just wasn't around them when I needed to be around them. Maybe my social skills are stunted because I wasn't social.

I've had people try to teach me how to hold conversations. Now that I'm in ~le real world~, I can see how wrong these 'templates' and 'guidelines' for conversation were. You can't hold a conversation with someone who doesn't want to converse. You can't force a conversation. Sometimes people just talk! And conversations don't have to be perfect, nor do they need to aim to be. Sometimes I have good conversations with my coworkers, and sometimes I have forgettable conversations. That's fine. We're people who are around each other, so we talk to each other. The amount of socialization in my workplace could be abnormal...idk. Don't have anything to compare it to. I've lost the point. My point is that I can have conversations with people when I want to. I'm not the friendliest person, but my tendencies aren't abnormal.

I do avoid eye contact, so it's not a surprise that I'm bad (see: below average) at reading other people's facial expressions. I'm not sure if I struggle more than an average person does at figuring out other people's emotional states? There's no rules to it, too many exceptions, and I don't enjoy guessing at other people. When you've spent so much time having other people criticize you and hate you, you start to assume everybody does. Everybody's the enemy, because you haven't met any exceptions, and you end up on guard because every time you let your guard down, there are problems.

Sidenote: why don't people use headphones (or earbuds) in public? Why is playing audio on one's phone the norm? It's like people forget they exist in a public place. The other people around (you) do not want to hear the people on your phone talk to each other. We have our own things. This is different from the undersong of existence. I can't put the problem into words. This is like when people put their private matters in a public space. Maybe I am some asshole assuming everything is supposed to cater to me. GOD CAN YOU PLEASE TURN THE VOLUME DOWN??? PUT IN EARPLUGS. NOBODY NEEDS TO HEAR THIS.

What about---what about---oh, you're ableist! You're classist! This is discrimination! Merlin, don't you just love the arguments people will rely on to justify being rude?

fucking hell i just want to sit in a coffee shop. i just want to be free from the noise in my house. see, this ambient noise---of the workers talking to each other, of the other customers chit-chatting, of the sounds of people doing their job---doesn't bother me. there's traffic. there's plenty of other noise. the phone is the problem. put your damn phone away.

I've relocated. Where I was going with this was that I think my 'symptoms' of autism are better aligned with schizoid personality disorder. Autism is characterized by inflexible habits, stunted social skills, and sensory issues. (I am stubborn, but my ability to fall in and out of interest with something doesn't seem 'inflexible' in the way an autistic person's interests seem to be). Meanwhile, schizoid personality disorder is characterized by disinterest in relationships, anhedonia, and a rich internal fantasy world. (I'm borrowing from wikipedia). This solitude, emotional detachment, and disinterest fits me more than autism does. I think this could also explain why I want to want to fix some of my problems. I wish I were more interested in others, I understand that social relationships benefit people's emotional states, yet I feel no desire to seek out social relationships. Even when the thought occurs to me, I have no desire to do so.

Of course, it's a personality disorder, so there's no cure. I just want to find a way to adjust my tendencies so I can live a better life. This life I'm living doesn't work, and my behaviors don't benefit me. I'm tired of this. I think I could be better off if I spent more time socializing, but I'm disinterested. I'd be working against myself and harming others in the process.

---

Stealing some quotes from the internet.

Anyone successfully cured/slowly improving?

A schizoid is someone who does not want to be in a relationship. This is normally seen as a problem of ability. Mainly, a schizoid is someone who can't be in a relationship because ... you name it. They are lethargic, they have anxiety, they live too much inside of a fantasy world. But the exact opposite is true. A schizoid is lethargic, anxious, or withdrawn because they do not want to be in a relationship.

also do things on the notion of the tiniest whim that you might want something. If your like me you don't really want anything so why not use that to your advantage. You can do things but your never going to feel that motivation to do it. Fuck motivation you don't need it. Do things on a whim. Thats my advice and I've never been diagnosed so do what you think.

I've been reading up on object relations theory and "schizoid core" or "empty core". I had thought that if someone with schizoid ever recovered they would have to complete the developmental stages and probably go through some intense emotions and separation/individuation. I think the clingyness arose due to trying to attach to a material object. They simply didn't understand and were developmentally at odds. Your account confirmed what a suspected but perhaps it's a one off. I think SE therapy, object transference, or a therapist that specializes in developmental psychology might help. Some SPDs on here have reported long lasting or complete remission after trying ayahuasca. However, if you're content without the emotions then that's fine too.

Linked to this.

misdiagnosed with BPD (and later schizotypal) but turns out I have delusional disorder

It was there for as long as I can remember, like 5 or earlier. I would read a book, and right after, I'd "become" the author in my head and pretend to be writing my thoughts out in the author's book. However, I could only perceive my thoughts when I was "being" the author. I couldn't be me whilst viewing my thoughts - I had to be someone else. I had preferences for certain authors to do this with, though I'm not sure why or what my criteria was based on. I'd spend hours a day reading certain book series over and over again in order to internalize the "perspective" of the author, as to refine my delusion.

This transferred to other things, like Internet forums. I'd spend hours on a particular internet forum, literally doing nothing but refreshing the homepage, and then manically replying when there was a new post. I'd "absorb" the perspective of the other users, and then I'd pretend like my thoughts were written on a forum post and that I was collectively the other users "viewing" the post that contained my thoughts. I again couldn't think my own thoughts while being me. I'd feel like I gained self-understanding by understanding myself through the perspective of these other people, whom I believed I was in some capacity, and whose mind I believed I had secret assess to. It was like my own mind, it's contents and qualities, in some way depended on this internet forum and its users.

Then when I was twelve this transferred to a real life person, a teacher specifically. It happened all of a sudden and against my will. I believed I was psychically fused to this person, I would speak my thoughts in my head or think about certain things while "being" him in my head. I would experience myself as truly being him, with his perspective and his own thoughts about me, though usually abstract or vague. I immediately became terrified of the person in real life. I thought he controlled my mind, and that he somehow "knew" what was happening or might be able to know if he sees me in real life - and I'd "glitch" when I was around him in person. I had no idea this was a delusion of persecution, as I experienced it as euphoric so long as I didn't have to be around him in person. I again spent all my time dissociating while in this mental state, repetitively going over thoughts, images, and self-narratives whilst "being" this teacher.

It never occurred to me to tell anyone. This continued to happen with various teachers and people, at times two people at once. I was actually terrified but repressed it, and many years later I figured out that I believed these people would somehow "find out" if I tried to tell someone about it - which I took to be life-threatening, since I thought they controlled me, and I think I thought they were evil without realizing it (and possibly that others were also evil and I'd "awaken" them too, I'm not sure). Lack of insight is huge in delusional disorder, worse than in schizophrenia. I also experienced my mind as controlled by others in general, but it was only with select people that I experienced the extreme, consuming fusion with.

This was perpetuated onwards until I ended up so delusional at twenty-seven that I spilled the beans to a psychologist, though I was talking about the fusion like it were fact. I was terrified, which greatly confused me. I was convinced the person I thought I was fused to was somehow listening to the conversation. I had to check my phone as I thought maybe somehow it called him. The psychologist eventually told me it was a delusion, and that was that.

Isolation is not independence

I am a keeper of incredibly boring secrets.

Nobody should know my birthday. Nobody should know where I came from. Nobody should know where I had lunch. Nobody should know my name. Nobody should know what I'm planning to do next!

I strongly relate to the attitude you describe. Where does this ridiculous need for secrecy come from in us? Nothing I do is of any particular interest to anyone, I harbor no dark secrets. Yet I guard what I perceive as my private life with the determination of a Soviet spy. So weird.

self-sabotage

You could fix your sleep schedule. You understand why you should. A consistent sleep schedule would help you get enough sleep, and your sleep would be higher quality. You would feel better. You'd have some structure in your life. How many things would this improve? How much would this benefit you? Imagine how well-rested you'd feel. Imagine how you'd be more able to function. You wouldn't be thinking about how tired you were. You wouldn't be downing caffeine in hopes of being more alert. You wouldn't...you wouldn't...you wouldn't.

Sleeping for eight hours a night would detract from the rest of your day. You'd lose time. How are you supposed to keep up with everything else if you don't have the time to? You think this as if you spend every single moment of time on what you mean to spend it on. You think this as if your behaviors treat time like the valuable resource it is. How much time do you spend daydreaming? How many hours in your day do you waste on laying around and thinking about what you could be doing? You claim your time is valuable, yet you don't act like it.

You're quite insistent on finding ways to lower your quality of life. You're refusing to improve your life. You'd rather abscond responsibility. It's easier to blame your actions on people who aren't you. You're refusing to just do it.

scream, scream, scream.

whine, whine, whine.

You don't care. You fetishize your problems---oh, the wounded artist---but you create nothing. You could, you promise yourself, if only...

You are alarmingly accustomed to creating excuses. You used to be better than this. Where did that habit go---it doesn't matter. How will you reclaim it. How will you overcome yourself. That doesn't matter. There's no deeper reason. Either you will choose to hold yourself accountable, or you won't. Stop stopping yourself. You resist the most basic tasks---drinking water---in favor of what? A daydream?

Merlin. Daydreams. Your perfect little internal world where everything is fine. But you don't want anything, and you don't care that that internal world isn't the same as reality. You don't treat these as the same. They coexist. You're good at multitasking like that. You can live in the real world while perfecting your internal world.

i tried

On a whim, I invited — to hang out downtown. I'm not sure how I feel about this. I thought we would have fun. Instead...oh, how did it go. She was a neutral addition to my afternoon. She didn't enhance or ruin anything; things would have been the same with or without her. I started to wish she weren't there. Then I could have gone to (another place she didn't want to go to). But I don't actually care either way. Now I think...devil. I'm tired. I'd like to be somewhere where I were on wifi. I should grab water and eat something. My legs hurt. I don't want to go home and I don't want to be here. I'm thinking about making pig heart, but it'll only be worth it if — wants some. I'm thinking about playing with thai tea in baking, but I don't care enough to figure it out. The effort. It won't take long. I just don't want to put in effort. I'm thinking about how I'd like to do some reading at the library once I'm awake enough to. As if sitting in this corner will do anything!

Something is breaking.

New plan: go home, EAT. Have a bottle of water. Go back to the library. Start steeping thai tea. Remember, you only need 15min to assemble a cake. Baking is the time consuming part. Bake it in the morning, while making pig heart. There are a few things you want to do. Stop preventing yourself from doing them.

self

I love my internal world too much. Doing real things doesn't occur to me. I have everything I want. What's more to have?

fiction

"In other words, you don't need me here. All of you have made that clear. God, I know I'm shooting myself in the foot by saying this, but I'm looking forward to the day when I'm not bound to this job. I'd like to work in a kitchen where I'm more than a dishwasher. Like---this is so self-obsessed, but this feels like a waste of my abilities," says Vera.

"We do need you here, though."

"You're the only person who thinks that. Fuck knows you only let me be here because you feel bad for me."

"That's not it," retorts Amanda, her voice sharp. "Stop pitying yourself." What to do, but she can't figure it out right now. Hadn't Vera been doing---no, that was Bertrand, Vera was...working on dishes. She's always working on dishes. I never realized I only see her doing dishes---surely...fuck. She asks if they need help. She's constantly volunteering. I thought...they always say no, though. Fuck.

Vera bites her lip. She could keep digging herself in a hole. Isn't that what she's doing? If she were just---but she's had this argument with herself before. Why bother. "There's not enough work to justify having me here. That's why I stay in the back, and he stays up front. It's the only way to turn one person's job into two people's."

"He's not above doing the dishes. He's faster than you; if he kept up, then you could get more done."

"It's not like I can say that to him." The "or you" goes unsaid---Bertrand's the backbone of the kitchen. They need him too much to criticize him.

"But still."

Vera raises an eyebrow and snorts. Amanda can see the pieces falling into place. Here's the problem, she sees, and here's why it won't change. Except now Amanda has her mind on it. Amanda's not responsible, yet she's already adopting responsibility. That's what she does. Vera can feel a bit of tension evaporate from her body. They're on the same page.

/

He doesn't think much of it at first. She's very careful about touching him---he's struggling to move the knife correctly, so her hand is over his as she guides him in gutting a fish. He's struggling with waving a bowl to get the peanut skins out, so her hand (and, to some extent, arm) covers his as she helps him get the height and angle correct. And it feels good, getting these things done right, and he's moving the right way so he'll remember. He doesn't think twice about the way she starts elbowing him---a friendly greeting, a way to get his attention---or the way she puts her hand on his shoulder mid-conversation. She introduces him to other people, and her arm is wrapped around his waist; he should find it odd, and he sees how people start jumping to conclusions. Oh, we're not... he says. And they laugh. She starts greeting him with a hug, and he freezes but says nothing, eventually responding with a light tap on her back, relaxing until her hand is on his ass and what's he supposed to say? They see and they laugh. They say, get a room. They say, keep it in your pants. They see and they say and they laugh, and what's he supposed to say? She asks if he wants to go out to dinner tonight, where, and she asks in front of all of them, and she asks in a tone that implies this is what they usually do. They've never gone out to dinner. She escorts him to her car---shouldn't he shove her off, it's rude, and he's watching himself climb into her car, watching himself join the conversation, watching himself pretend to enjoy dinner, watching himself as he walks into her house and fucks her as if it's what he wants. Because he does want this, doesn't he? He's not the most attractive guy---too average, more flab than muscle---and she's young and shouldn't he appreciate her more, what she's done for him? She's helping him, she says, she's giving him an opportunity, she says, a present just for him.

sharing diaries online is weird, actually

Diaries are private; without the internet, their contents would only be shared with friends under certain circumstances. (As in, explicitly talking about the same things with other people. Communication is direct. There's no 'indirect audience' like there is online. The internet is full of indirect audiences for our personal thoughts. I share this with a general 'you' instead of a specific 'you.' This is an informal conversation, but it's not conversation, just a stream of information from one party to some unspecified second party. I do not know the people I'm sharing this with, yet they 'know' me.)

tbh this is going nowhere!

The way we use the internet has made our personal lives more public? De-emphasize what we do with our lives, emphasize emotions. Has the way we share information online---well, what information we're willing to share online---impacted the way we share information in real life? I'm thinking about trauma dumping. The internet has normalized oversharing with strangers. People vent to (insert site here, i'm sorry tumblr, but you're my first thought); the audiences consume, and then the thought of venting occurs to them. If other people do this, why don't I?

I'm thinking about how I have actively used an eating disorder forum to hurt myself. The internet is another tool. It makes it easier to find people who share interests and tendencies, for better and for worse. People can use communities to hurt themselves (any pro-ana thing can be an example of this. The problem feeds itself).

idea: the internet feeding into / creating? emphasizing self-perpetuating problems. Cycles and the internet. Easy access.

Criticisms about the internet are long overdone.