spooktober
go home

Where did the time go. Why. I'm a broken record—get up, go to work, go home, sleep, repeat. I read a book. I went to — for the first time; their peanut butter acai bowl was nice, even if I could make it at home for less. Their peanut butter smoothie was filling. Yes, I went twice this week—gimmee a break. Please.

I watched a video where someone talked about getting back into her hobbies. She didn't find the time for everything she wanted to do, but she found the time for one hobby. Keep something for yourself. What do I have? I don't have the time, I can't convince myself to find the time. Being alive is work. I need to keep my house clean, myself fed—always a time-consuming task. I think I'm going to buy a bag of potatoes. Life is expensive. I want to get to go out, so I must cut back on groceries. This is fine. I will live.

I asked for six days. My employers ran an idea by me already—more prep, essentially, but there's an issue. If something can get worked out, though, it'd be interesting. IDK. I think — was offended by my not talking to him before I dropped out. I don't want to offend people.

///

She's sitting on the floor of her tiny bathroom, back of her head resting against the wall, eyes closed until a single thought conquers her mind: what if...? and she grabs the rim of the sink, careful not to touch mirror shards, hoisting herself up. She stares at the remains of her cracked reflection. "What if," and she dreams out loud.

///

Turning each person over, seeing each as a candidate for sexcapades which will never happen.

///

Deprivation.

///

The allure of normal. Say there is no normal. Whisper about deviants. There is normal. There is comfort in not being not like the other girls; there is comfort in similarity. What's wrong with wanting this comfort?—falling victim to conformity. Saying conformity ignores how people can share the same opinions. Assuming people are who we want them to be. Finding fault in them when they aren't.

///

Seeing paths; futures. What happens if—? What would it be like, to—? Coworkers mention boyfriends, girlfriends. What is having a relationship like? Do they think of futures together—marriage, children (how stereotypical), why are they in a relationship instead of not? Serious, long-term relationships. I envy their commitment. I envy them for taking a risk, for having some idea of what they want—risking something. Envious of an opportunity? Another coworker says he has no desire to be married. Do I feel the same because I do, or is it because I hear his lack of interest in marriage and take his opinion on his life as my opinion on my life?

On my mind. Feeling alone. I will not write about this. The more I write, the more I enshrine the feeling: I make the loneliness permanent. If I do something else, I can distract myself, and the emotion moves to the background.

I want to eat feta.

I am curled up in a chair. A soft blanket is draped over my legs. I feel warm. I adjust my hat; my hair must remain covered. My eyes droop. I must be tired.

///

I tell my parents: I'm taking the semester off. Once I can go back, once I've finished paying my loans, I will finish my degree. Am I telling the truth? I talk to my sister: I'll have a PhD and still work in the kitchen.

I'm standing at a crossroads. I pick up books on Hekate—crossroads, crossroads, crossroads. What are these crossroads? I do not know. I will make choices that define the next (n) years, not knowing what these choices are, not understanding their consequences. I can listen to the people who are older than me. — says: see it to completion. You owe it to your mother. You're a good girl who deserves good things. You can earn a math degree and then write a book, but earn a degree (does he even know that I used to write? He pulled it out of thin air). A degree gives you credibility. — said to —: I wish she talked to me first. My mom asks: why didn't you say something to me, why didn't you switch to part-time? I wonder if I betrayed people's trust. I brush everything off: I'll be fine, here's the plan, things might be rough, I'll be fine. I wonder if I will.

Last year: dropped out of college, restarted college, changed major, tried to talk to someone.

This year: continued college (spring & summer semester), moved out, got a job, dropped out (again), gave up on talking to someone, met some new people, wandered around new places.

I wasn't okay last year. I read a lot, yet little seems significant. Most things are insignificant; that's the only way things can be significant.

What's the point, I hear someone yell.

I want to write. I want to complete Nanowrimo. I want—no, need to create. Even if I've forgotten how or why. There are no books left in me, I exclaim, yet I write to solve my problems and I have problems to solve. Usually I write a solution: death, suicide, genocide, xenocide, eradication. These are solutions I know by heart. What do I say when these aren't options? How can I give my character a neutral, if not happy, ending?

The main character is me. She's always me. What are her stakes—she's struggling to pay off debt, and desperate times call for desperate measures. She makes a dumb financial mistake: a timeline, she needs to renew her lease, she has nowhere she can go. She cuts people off. She attacks herself. She forces herself into the corner she felt like she's in. The timeline. She needs money, now. She finds her way into—what could someone who had rejected all connections do? An ad on a telephone pole, a flyer with a few pieces of information (asking for research volunteers), promising enough money, promising it now. If she had options, she would raise an eyebrow and move on. She doesn't have options. She does the thing (what thing?), and the money's in her hands (at what cost?). Are the consequences immediate, or is there a delay? Do they impact the people around her? Her coworkers, what does she do (she's a line cook, of course she is), does she have a roommate (of course she does).

It's a start.

Why wait to write?

///

He wraps his hands around her shoulders, pushing his thumbs against her body. She freezes, relaxes, tries to think about her todo list. "Your hands feel good," she murmurs, and he guffaws for everyone to hear.

///

I ate a large slice of feta.

///

SCHOLARSHIP RECIPIENT NOTICE, and I laugh. It's too late.

///

Someone who has a body, who I can hear, can see, can touch. Not only words on a screen; not only sounds I hear; a flesh-and-blood person who I can put my hands on.

I'm tired. Managed to leave work on-time-ish today. Would've been on-time if not for (reasons). Was finishing prep, got called over to cover fryers, held a steady rush, needed to finish prep. Did not over-prep (I think). Good night.

///

The wind bites at the tips of her ears. She pulls the blanket closer to her, tucks her feet against the side of the building. If she pushed, she thinks, she would fall. She'd tumble through smog for how many minutes, five, six?, until she'd hit the sea with a SPLAT. Would she survive the fall, would she survive what she meets in the water?

October 9

It's nice to know that someone wants me to leave on time. If only that someone was a coworker, and not my boss. My coworkers seem to think I'll always be willing & happy to help cover their asses. I'm tired of staying late to cover their asses. They rely on me too much, in ways they don't even know. I'm tired of them assuming I'll do whatever is needed. I feel like some of them are taking advantage of my sense of duty—I need to keep things running for them, I don't want to risk fucking over customers just because I didn't do enough. My shift ends and I don't leave; I finally leave, and I can't turn off my brain. I want peace.

I went out for dinner. Had a nice peanut butter acai bowl.

I'm tired.

///sat morn

It is 2:07AM. I am struggling to relax, so I am struggling to fall asleep. I've been in bed for three hours. Initially, I gave up on sleep and finished playing The Room 2. This is a puzzle game with alchemy-related themes. The player enters the room, clicks around, solves some puzzles, and the door to the next room appears. Rinse and repeat. There's letters in each room which provide context for what's happening. Something about the Null element; hints of reanimation and stopping death. Being trapped in a series of rooms where time isn't real; existing without the passage of time.

I'd like to take the time to learn about alchemy, or do more occult-related reading. Where to begin is beyond me.

I write the same things again. I'm becoming a broken record. Here is what it is like to be a lost 20-something, I say. This becomes my personality. Interests fade---what is there to say about tarot? Is there anything I spend my time on? The workweek starts, and I fade to black.

I come home from work. I read---fanfiction, stop judging me, the barrier to entry is low and I need that---but now I start a new book.

A response to a series of prompts.

What are three key areas of your life you’d like to focus on this autumn? Reflect on why they’re important to you right now.

One: separating work from the rest of my life. I leave work and stress out about what I didn't get done; what needs to be done tomorrow; etc. I wake up, look at charts/inventory, and start to think about what needs to be done that day. I begin to catastrophize: what if...? All of this needs to stop. This does nothing more than waste time and create unnecessary stress.

Two: spending time on my hobbies. I'd like to focus on tarot; spend time really getting to know the decks I own. I bought a book on tarot reversals which I'm excited to use. This will help me have a life outside of work, thus supporting my first goal.

Three: being in tune with the seasons. What the hell does that mean? Cooking with seasonal ingredients. I'm learning to use squash. I brought home a list of the different squashes I saw at the store; gonna look for more recipes to try. I want to figure out if there's any nature I can go see---any place I can walk to/through where there are groups of trees? I'm not even asking for a forest. The closest place I know of is occupied by homeless people; most of them are harmless, or just a little weird, but I'd appreciate some peace and safety. The second place I know of is a park that isn't safe. Similar to this goal is to keep reading about the wheel of the year.

What’s one habit you let go of, and one about you want to make space for this season?

Let go of: refusing to take melatonin. If it's 2AM, I need to get to sleep.

Make space for: an evening routine. Maybe this will help improve my sleep schedule? I need to work on my insomnia; it's fucking with my life.

How would you like to feel once the season ends? What steps can you take towards that feeling?

I want to feel at ease and prepared for winter. I think I need to ask around and find out if there's a coworker who can drive me home from the grocery store. Winter is coming, and walking everywhere in sub-zero temperatures will not be fun.

I might need to stock up on things I might want during the winter. Canned coconut meat. Books on witchcraft (I mark them up, so buying them is a good choice). More candles. I need to get the light fixed...this week, I promise. That'll help me feel at ease.

I need to work on establishing routines. I know my routine will differ if I'm closing / opening / mid-day / not working; still, I can have a base routine and variations. Something I can rely on and keep moving through.

I think working on a project and completing a project would help me feel more at ease. There was that novel I wrote about last week. All I can think about is how good it would feel to do Nanowrimo. I'm struggling to sit down and work on short stories, though. I could start using tarot cards as prompts. Doing so would help me get to know my decks. Two-for-one deal.

What lessons did you learn from summer, and how will you apply them moving forward?

Every second counts. Use downtime when you have it, and get things done now---you won't have time to do them in the future.

There are times when you can slack off. Sometimes, putting in the extra effort to bring something from 90% to 100% is not worth it.

I will try to keep thinking about how I'm using my time. What are the things I can take care of now? How can I simplify things to make the future easier? Where am I making things more difficult than they need to be?

• Atomic Shrimp - started watching some of his limited budget cooking videos. He imposes a set of restrictions on himself, and then tries to create meals from that. There's humor in there. Vast library of videos which I want to watch through.
• Whippoorwill Holler - Southern cooking. Came here from a butternut squash pie video; would like to go back through her other videos.
• Ivy The Occultist - some of her titles seem a bit clickbait-y, but there seems to be some information hidden in there.

Did he say "we're not going to be able to give you six days" or "you're going to be doing something called six days"? In the kitchen's noise, phrases sound like other phrases; in reality they sound nothing like each other. I should have asked him to repeat himself. He walked away before I could ask him. He said something to a different coworker about me coming for —'s Monday shift. I see this week's schedule: 5 days, but it's a wonky week. I'm working on Monday, which is abnormal, and I'm closing, which is more abnormal, but there's only one cook during the day, which is somewhat abnormal. I'm off Wednesday. I envy newboy---why does he get my shift? Why does he get to have five days, he's been at four, and I don't get six? No, I should stop whining, maybe he needs the money more than I do. I still find myself catastrophizing. There was an error in my loan payments, so I had to make a dent in my emergency fund. I won't be able to replenish that for another year. I can't help but catastrophize: what if I can't get the money I need, what if I can't find a second job, what if I can't handle two jobs, what if I can't pay the bills, what if I can't make rent, what if I---? and I find myself starting: first, I'd try to sell the ocarina, clarinet, and old computer; I could cover half of rent, maybe, hopefully. My phone is four years old and has a cracked screen; maybe it could cover the rest of rent. What happens then. Technically, if I just don't make loan payments, I still have time before they go into deferrment. I could change the school payment plan. Let's face it, though, if I take 18 months to pay it off, I can't go back to school until that's paid off, that'll be past the time to easily readmit, I'd have to reapply. Would I reapply. In this state of mind, where I am now, I can't imagine myself. These loans, this debt, it scrapes away at my future. There's too much. I wanted my life to be easier. Life dwindles. I want this burden gone. I can't get rid of it. This is my problem. I can't afford to move back in with my parents---I'd still need to get a job, online work barely glanced at someone who was working on a math degree and they won't look at someone without a college degree, I'd have to find something in person, I'd be walking 4-6miles a day, if I was lucky. In the winter. When the weather is so cold I can pack on the layers and still feel like a popsicle in five minutes, limbs covered yet still changing color. What if I'm evicted, I wonder. Would I be able to swallow my pride and ask if anybody has a corner I can sleep in, not even a couch just a place, yet I can imagine myself refusing to ask for help and refusing help out of pride. Of all the sins, pride is most likely to---literally---kill me. Anxiety creeps down my throat, invades my chest, stomach; my bank account, the number which once comforted me---look at what I've saved, six months!---has dwindled, four months and next month, the walls are closing in, sitting in the trash compacter except there's no button that can be pressed. I'm trapped. I'm fine for now. I'm trapped.

Link. Includes:

• The Old Witch Sleep and The Good Man Grace - The Amazing Devil

Rose flips over the top card of the deck. The Three of Cups. She slides it across the table, knowing it shouldn't be that bad, knowing she doesn't have a choice, and waits. The concrete walls of her cell blur; she should be used to this by now, but she tries to keep her eyes open.

"Here, you can work on the spreadsheets," says Nina. "Abby already organized the data, so you just need to run whatever formulae we need. I'll do the write up when you're done."

Rose feels her head nod. Her body moves without her will, letting the memory play out. Some group project from high school, she thinks, something from the statistics class. A group project where everybody contributed. Nina kept everybody on track, but all three of them did their fair share. She imagines smiling at the thought. They worked as a team. How rare.

She blinks. Her classmates become blurry and are replaced by the walls of the cell. There's a pencil and paper on the table. Three of cups, she scrawls, and dutifully writes down the contents of her memory. The memory and card align with each other, she writes, knowing the researchers will ignore the sentence and decide for themselves. The last time she drew this card, she witnessed a memory of reviewing her grade on a multiple-choice science test. There was a matching vocab section. She drew a line connecting the correct word and definition; next to the definition, she wrote a letter corresponding to the wrong word. While tarot cards were left up to interpretation, the relation was too loose.

She scratches her arm, careful to not jostle the needle. Is she about to receive new instructions, or are they going to let her go now? She glances around the room, wishing, not for the first time, that there was a clock. She tried to take a watch in, once, but she was told to remove it.

///

I'm waiting for my roommate to leave the kitchen. I need to wash dishes and put food away, but he's in the kitchen. I left out some dumplings. I took them out of the oven. I'll need to reheat them. I'd like to take a piss, but the bathroom is attached to the kitchen my roommate is in. He's washing dishes. He won't care. Better to do so before he hogs the bathroom for three hours.

When I leave the bathroom, he's struggling to turn the burners on. Why is he using the front right burner, I wonder, when all of the other burners work better?

There's a fly in my empty yogurt bowl. I move the dirty dish. One at a time, I tell myself. I must reset for the week. I'll update my spending log (I know there's a word for this, what is it). I cashed my check yesterday. I need to count my cash and update my wallet.

///

I try to think: what do I want to remember? How do I want to mark the passage of time?

I should have goals outside of work. I; no, I'm not aiming to structure my free time. What is it. I want something concrete to show for my life. I want more than memories; I want to say this is what I've done. That's why I want to do Nanowrimo. If I could complete it, I'd have something to show for my year. A concrete thing I made. Not a transient dish, not a skill, but something tangible. Something that lasts beyond memory. I wonder: will I be able to get up and write? I miss the fervent dedication to a goal; the competition with myself; those 50-headed hydras; the challenge. Volume over perfection. Take a story and take it somewhere; it doesn't matter where. Just write.

I think I miss the days when writing wasn't held down by baggage. When it was just a thing I did without putting too much thought into why I was doing it, how could I improve my ability to do it, did what I was doing make sense, comparing my abilities to others, worrying about being good. I'm a storyteller. That's all there is to it. Even that's overthinking it. I want to write. Fuck finding some mature, deep, intelligent, or adult explanation about the purpose of my writing. I was a better writer when I wasn't thinking about purpose. Writing is a way for me to compete with myself. I like it. Fuck whoever. Shortcut. I do not care to elaborate.

Future me may find a thread of immaturity here. She may have another view. She may find contradictions which I didn't see. But future!Nobody is not current!Nobody. Eh. She'll live.

I am not a career writer. I once thought I wanted to be. Maybe the goal posts moved. Writing things and showing them to nobody wasn't real enough, so I wanted to be published. I liked the challenge, discomfort, and anticipation of querying. Would I get a response? Would I get a boilerplate response, or a personalized one? There's something exciting about sending your work into the void. Countless possibilities. You've done what you can; fate will handle the rest.

///

She imagines herself charging down the stairs. She'd be holding a fork—not a proper weapon, so she can say it's out of desperation, a mental disturbance, lashing out—and she'd plunge it through his left eye. Or his right eye. It made no difference.

///

She imagines stepping over the counter. She'd walk around the corner and shake the employee. Do you want to have customers, she'd yell, where would you be without us? And he'd sit there, unresponsive, digging through his phone, ignoring the bakery's only customer.

///

There's a bag of chocolates on her desk. She imagines unwrapping one of them, eating it, savoring the treat, and getting back to work. She imagines unwrapping one after another after another, shoving them into her mouth before she can finish what is in her mouth, emptying the bag, eating the orange slices, the cake, a burrito, meat, congee; her stomach begging her to stop; going to the Asian place and ordering three entrees, her home a minute away yet she's eating them before she's exited the tiny restaurant, falling into a food coma when she enters her bedroom. She imagines telling herself she'll never do that again. She imagines how good it would feel to do that; how it would affirm her worst fears.

Cooking

• Spaghetti squash with mozzarella, tomato sauce, garlic, and onion.
• Acorn squash soup with turkey, onion, corn, New Mexico chilis, and other ingredients I don't remember. Threw it in with chicken broth. Pureed the squash.
• Roasted squash seeds with oyster sauce and palm sugar.

Watching

• Man Made has published three videos, 50min, 90min, and 70min long. These videos feature him making something (including an office under the stairs, a waterfall table, and workship) while reflecting on his life. Interesting stuff; looking forward to seeing what he does next.

Listening

• Mood Room - sound is soft, quiet, atmospheric, chill-ish.
• Luca Stricagnoli - acoustic covers. I'm digging them.
• Eldest Daughter of an Eldest Daughter - another soft sound, electronic, haven't pulled together my thoughts on it yet. I was looping "Strange Premonition" when it was released; her staccato lyrics are catchy. "I had a strange premonition / you visit me in a vision / hands on my thighs with your eyes on the prize"---listen to it and you'll hear how it can get stuck in your head. Short and pointed. Music video gives 1980s teen summer camp vibes. Love it. Also: it's sinister! "a sweet little man / couldn't guess at my plans / and the darkness to which they elude." She's good at giving ruthless lesbian witch vibes. Fuck do I love the aesthetic.

Faust, Midas, and Myself

• FAntAZit - seems like a look into this character's possible futures. I love the way the main character runs in search of something else---she's literally running away from the golden future and back to her non-golden life. She's wandering in the dark and seeing other versions of herself, and one version passes the baton back to her.
• CopperGoblin - so you get sinister-looking rich dude in a suit offering a guy in a hoodie the life of his dreams. The golden life is mostly portrayed in shades of yellow. Faces turn into skulls---how dead they are in the golden reality. Guy punches a hole through reality and chooses a new direction. Faces are narrow. This ends with an implication that the rich dude is making the same offer to another guy.
• sketchandpen (The Magnus Archives) - artstyle reminds me of watercolors. There's the same soft edges. The transition from Sasha to The Stranger is smooth and sudden. The animator chose to include John's scars, which isn't something I see in many animatics. John runs after Martin, only for Martin to disappear, which transitions to "what direction"---this seems to represent all of the fears John has encountered. Seeing John and Martin hug is bittersweet. I want John and Martin to have a perfect ending, but Elias is still watching over them.
• In The News Productions - posted to a school's youtube channel. Again: more people playing with lighting to tell the story. I love the liquid (gold) spilling out of the golden girl's mouth. It's a chilling detail; she's too good to be true.
• The Agape Mime Team - this stands out because they look like they're pounding against glass.
• Danielle Hart - love the use of a graveyard and local scenery. They put thought into where they were recording. I think not having other people in the background helped (well, they do mention filiming in an abandoned city square). The girl's too-pink outfit is perfectly creepy. I love how he throws his jacket off, showing how he's shedding that reality.
• ARadar92 - I love the exaggerated, comical movements. The "old man" is over-the-top. Including them jamming out was an interesting choice. The video effects reek of iMovie, certainly feels like 2007 (the year it was published).
• WasabiAlchemist - I have no context for this. A video game? The clips fit the song's story. The clips sync to the music.
• Cambacca17 - someone's just having fun. This is what I look like when I'm acting out my ideas for music videos.

Gravity Falls---looks like the latest material led to a new wave of animatics!

• You'll Be Back - featuring Bill and Stanford. I love how the last scene features Bill at the Theraprism.
• Confrontation - first time I heard this song. It's from the musical Jekyll and Hyde---what a fitting song for Bill and Stanford. My eyes popped out at the details in some of the frames. The animator drew some detailed hands.
• Achilles Come Down - the coloring in some frames is akin to using different lightings. The ending hit me right in the feels...oh, stanley and stanford.
• Confrontation---watch. this. Look at how smooth the animation is! Damn, damn, damn.
• Shine a Light (reprise) - would not have thought to pair this song (from Heathers) with Fiddleford, but here it is. And the plot/context of the song works well with Fiddleford's memory gun abuse.
• Mama's Boy - emotional. Bill Cipher's past is odd. I don't know what to think about it.

The Magnus Archives

• Everybody Wants to Rule The World - very fitting song. There are multiple animators involved. The opening is gorgeous; the lighting adds that extra splash of flavor to the scene.

I'm people-watching at Dunkin. Car-watching would be the more accurate term, I decide while gazing out the window. There are cars stopped at the intersection. I can see a young woman with blond hair and a white sweater; she's replaced by a young man in a blue hoodie, then a car full of young people, a short lady with gray hair, a man and his dog. The lights change from green, to yellow, to red. There's a black-haired man in a blue car. He's biting his thumb. His windows are tinted, which makes it difficult to figure out if he has dark skin.

I blink.

He's looking at me. I can see the raised eyebrows, his hand frozen mid-air, the slight "oh" in his mouth. My face mirrors his as I realize who I'm looking at. I blink again. Surely not—

As his car turns right, his license plate is visible.

I was right.

Why repeat a well-worn argument?

I run the numbers again. Where's the money for that bill, I wonder. It's in my emergency fund. Where's the money for groceries. It's in the money for the bills. Can I afford to not visit the food pantry. Yes, but at what cost. All of these carbs are getting to my heart. I'm tired. My chest hurts. I'm tired of complaining. Does venting help. For a moment. Where are my solutions. Is there a solution that doesn't involve money. Is the problem my mindset. Am I the problem. What can I do to fix this. There were people who said LCHF was cheap. I forgot about eating broccoli and cauliflower LOL. I used to think avocados were expensive. Season one and you've got a meal for $1.50. Cooking with squash requires effort, which I'm struggling to put in. I'll finish cleaning out my fridge this week. Currently defrosting meats. The plastic covering the pig heart was pierced; I hope it's still safe to eat. It smells fine. I'd like to make jerky out of it. I'll defrost it, marinate it, and stick it in the oven. I need to marinate the pork before I leave for work. Tomorrow's breakfast will be odds and ends: some beans, two chicken wings, the remnants of an orange, my last two eggs. I'm saving the orange peels and candying them. I'm making plans, which makes me feel better. I'll make curry and mashed potatoes and then I'll have good food. Maybe I can make the curry paste tomorrow morning. That'll make it easier to cook it when I get home from work. I'll save mashed potatoes for Tuesday or Wednesday. Plan in hand, I do feel slightly better. There are squash seeds to toast, that's easy enough, and maybe I'll fry dumpling wrappers. I need to roast the peanuts and cook the lotus seeds. And there's the acorn squash dish. Every bit of food requires work. Tomorrow morning: curry, squash seeds, lotus seeds. Only one of these is active. Oh, and cooking the eggs. See? Plan.

A wave of fear hits me. The sweater's collar bites my throat. I imagine it strangling me. Could I die in my sleep, I wonder. Could my sweater kill me.

I've been thinking about writing an essay about burnout and feeling lost. I'm feeling directionless; I don't want for much more than money to pay the bills. I tell myself I can't think about other futures until my debt is taken care of---until I can think of something more than the money I owe each month. I tell myself I have to keep reliving my day until a particular loan is paid off. Once that loan is gone, I tell myself, I can think about my future. Once that loan is gone, I tell myself, I can make new decisions. The loan is an excuse.

Gravity Falls is a kid's TV show which takes place the summer before the two main characters, Dipper and Mabel, turn 13. By the end of the summer, Mabel feels like the future is coming too fast. She wants the summer to last forever. She makes a deal with a demon and is trapped in a reality bubble where summer lasts forever. (I'm abbreviating, k?). Summer, for her, is a limbo where she can avoid the future. After some arguments with Dipper, she realizes what matters to her and is ready to move on. She's still scared of the future, but she's ready to face it.

By putting off my future, I'm trapping myself in an eternal summer. Maybe I like this limbo. Maybe I'm scared of the future and don't want to admit it. My analogy has fallen apart, hasn't it. I see a parallel between her and myself, and I'm too lazy to explain it. Or I'm holding onto something that doesn't work. Oh, self-doubt, how I didn't miss you.

I'm learning how to properly cut onions. I kept missing the center—mis-identifying the center. This sounds silly. My boss kept trying to explain it to me, and I felt stupid. I'm cutting the butt in half, but the onion isn't cut in half. It's off-center. Again. Again. Again. I was cutting onions today and they weren't consistently cut through the center. Argh. There's something other people are seeing that I'm not seeing. Symmetry. It's the center the damn center i'm an idiot for not being able to cut through the god-damn center.

He went over the names of different cuts for onions (one, two, big two). I'm supposed to be cutting a big two, but then I'd get stressed and cut a two. When I feel stressed, my cuts get smaller and smaller and more inconsistent. I'm overthinking things, so cubes turn into rectangles and trapezoids and rhombi. Someone asks me a question and I start squeezing my arms, shoulders, neck; my anxiety is visible, I know it and I don't feel like I can stop it.