notes from another side

20251217

Here we go again---instinctual disillusionment. I think about why I'm here again. I thought about a paper diary; the pages piling up, the used notebooks---the satisfying results, but only half-satisfaction. There is no exhibition. I have exposed myself to no-one. There are no potential voyeurs; there are no ceaseless watchers; there is only myself and my void. How plain. How boring. How unexciting.

At first, I wondered if M--- had ruined the text editor for me. How easily influenced. But that's not right. When he commented on the text editor, I was not convinced to change. I was emboldened. Yes, I shall mis-use the text editor. I shall create .txt and .html files with reckless abandon. I can make a website by hand---even if invalidated, I will enjoy it more than the inconveniences of a website builder. I refuse to use drag-and-drop. It bores and annoyes me.

So why the lack of writing. I have the rare, inconsistent diary entries on paper and screen. They don't satisfy me. I think I need to publish them---a loose use of the word---to go through with them. I look for thrill. Maybe this is why H--- wasn't enough. My writing had to be limited. I had to restrict myself to the topic; I had to deny my tangents and my soul to fit the topic. Here I can let loose. Here I can be exposed, and thus be myself.

The timer will go off soon. Then I will need to check a recipe and turn on the oven. I am making earl gray caneles. The batter has rested since Monday night. It is Wednesday, mid-morning. I'd thought about making marshmallows. I'd contemplated testing part of the yule log recipe---testing the matcha moss and the meringue. I have not made meringue before. My spelling looks incorrect. This is a drawback of a text editor---lacking in spell-check and auto correct. I have written too much on my phone. I long to transform. My writing will transcend myself, or it will be a true reflection of myself. These words are not mine, but they feel more true than most of my writing.

As of late, my writing has felt stilted and censored. Even when I admit my desires to myself do I feel like I'm lying. Perhaps the medium affects this. I try to admit to myself that I lust after T---, but that's a lie. I try to say that I project onto him because he's the closest guy who treats me like a person. He treats me like a person, but the rest is a lie. I like him as a person, but I'd rather not spend any more time around him. I think of a saying: do you want to be (with) her?. I'd like to steal some of his traits and make them my own. I envy his hard-earned, well-used body. I want his arms, his hands, his strength. He knows himself and is fine being alone. He is himself. I am not myself. I hate myself. I want to be at home in myself. I want to be me. I am no-one, much less someone else, much less my self. Do you follow? Do you understand? I am the rejection of myself. I have denied myself. I have killed my self without remaking her. I have attempted to substitute my reincarnation with someone else's, yet I've never given my own reincarnation a chance. I've rejected myself for being myself---a pure self-hatred.

In recognizing what I've done, I find hope. I have failed to become these personas because they are not mine. I have latched onto falsehoods without trying to know myself. I have failed at my goals because they aren't mine. Yes. This is the truth. My goals are rarely mine. I have begun to discover my goals---are they goals or values. What I care about above all else; what I will do no matter. I notice how I bake. I am tired, but I said I'd bake, so I bake. I do not want to leave my bed, yet I need to finish assembling this, so I get out of bed earlier than ever. While I hesitate, I see that the hesitation is false. It does not get the best of me. I did not want to eat dinner, but I realized I could make baked oatmeal, and so I did and ate dinner. I conquered my challenge effortlessly.

I am trying to value my body. It is hard, when it does not feel like mine. I don't look at myself in the mirror. When I do, I think: I look like that? I've become fine with my face. I started using---was it retinol?---earlier this year, and have seen a significant improvement in discolorations I thought were permanent. I love my short hair. I want to buzz it off again, but I'm telling myself to wait for warmer weather. I don't hate my hair. I don't hate my face. The rest of my body feels lacking. My legs are fine. When I shower, I notice how firm my calves feel. I notice how my arms aren't flabby, but they have too much give to them. I don't look at my back in the mirror either. I want the muscular back that I see on fitness women on Youtube. I think I'll have it once I can do a pull-up. I still can't do a pull-up. I can hang, I can move myself an inch; my negatives are uncontrolled and unforgivable. I need more.

I'm getting better at valuing my environment. I notice how I want things to be clean. I sweep the floor. I woke up and cleaned off the blanket and took care of the dishes. I notice how little I hesitate. I care for my surroundings, but not for my body. I can see this in how I eat, or rather, how I don't eat. I am not eating enough. I count the calories---even when I eat 'too many' carbs, I am not eating enough. I take protein powder but not enough. It's not enough. I do not care about myself and I struggle to figure out how. This is my body, but I am not using it. I am rejecting it.

20251219

Making another batch of caneles. Same recipe. Melted butter with milk. No earl gray. 10g imitation vanilla extract; sub rum with equal amount of port. Plan is to do same bake time but fill mold more (closer to 90% than 75%).

Yesterday really fucking sucked. I spent most of my shift doing the dishes. There weren't that many dishes. I also peeled garlic and shredded 42.5lb of cheese. 8hr of that shit, all while asking "do you guys need help with anything?" and being met with "no, just keep doing what you're doing." I was going to ask boss1 if I could leave early. I was wasting time, I knew it, and if he looked at what was going on he would have seen it too. Barista coworker saw I was waiting to talk to him and asked why. Then he told me there was no reason for boss1 to let me leave early, so I might as well go scrub the basement. I didn't have a response to this. I swept the basement and cried. How the fuck am I so useless. They don't want me to work the tickets. They don't want me to do prep. They want me to stay out of the kitchen. At least boss1 was surprised to hear about how bad it was. He was trying to talk to me at the end of the shift---I heard you guys had a busy lunch rush---and didn't seem like he expected to hear me say that they kept telling me they didn't need/want my help, and that I spent most of my shift doing the dishes. I think he pointed out how helpful me doing the cheese was to try to make me feel better. Usually that's not something I get any appreciation for.

I'm looking at the clock and dreading going to work. Three of the guys are there. I'll probably end up doing dishes or finishing the garlic. Maybe I'll get to work on peanuts. Maybe coworker1 will get to leave early---he did last week. But there's so many of us working tonight. The boys + new girl will take over the kitchen. Grunt boy might be on expo, which will at least mean I get to do dishes. If he isn't on expo then I won't have anything to do until 7, when the rest of opening has left. That's five hours into my shift...what am I doing here?

20251221

My computer screen feels too bright, but it's on the lowest setting. I pretend that tapping the button will make it go lower, and then I close my eyes. My socks itch; I slide them off. The music starts to feel too loud. I miss the button to decrease the volume, and then I do hit it. I notice a certain kind of headache in the back of my neck.

Today, ---- took us to ice-skating and hotpot. And a bakery. This was interesting. I appreciated the time and food. formerCoworker was there too. I don't have much to say. It was uneventful, but in a good way.

The caneles came out okay. I used port in place of rum. The caramelization was excellent. My prose feels stilted. My mind is elsewhere. I want to turn off the computer and lay down. I want to strip; feel the cold air against my skin. I want a balance between listening to music with noise-cancelling headphones, which is slightly uncomfortable, and wearing earplugs, which block out all noise but are less uncomfortable. I need to remove the excess noise. I need to remove the excess sensation and be one with myself. I place the blanket oover my head to further destroy the light from my computer. e I adjust, remove another layer,, and notice how I desire the ideal balance between warm and cold. Courtesy of my layers, I've become uncomfortably warm.I wonder if this is because my head is now under a blanket. I decide to dismiss it. Writing with my eyes closed is strangely challenging. I worry that I've clicked out of tht ext editor without noticing. The door downstairs slams. I My headphones are on; I turn up the volume to hide from the burst of noise. Anxiety creeps over me. I need the silence. I say: if I hear more noise, I will add white noise, but in my paranoia I find noise. I don't know if it's there, if I can tune it out, or if I'll---my sentence has vanished. I need the white noise. I open my eyes and am annoyed by the glare. After a brief ssearch, the gentle thrum of white noise brown noise fills in the cracks in the sound. I reach down to scratch an itch. I let my hand drift further, below the top of my pajama pants. I touch myself over my underwear for a moment, wondering what it would feel like if my hands were someone else's. I notice my timid scratches, the brief strokes and teasing, the thrumming desire to shove the massage gun between my legs and let it do the work. I wonder how someone else would feel. How would they treat me. How would I treat them? And then the fantasy's gone. I know nothing of others, much less pleasing others; the situations I desire sound like a nightmare for reality, where neither my fictional partner or myself enjoy the encounter. I think i want a man to hold me, but I'm content to be alone. Or am I. I crave touch. Yes, that's it. I think of how much I want to hugsomeone and be hugged by someone. I crave the warmth of someone else in a way that can't be satisfied by accidental physical contact. I want something deliberate and lasting. Yes, that's it. I want to be held, or I want to hold someone, or both. I want some fictional other who will state their desires and hear mine; where our wants suit each other and we fulfill each other.

Still, I'm alone. I want to know what it's like to not be alone. I want to know what I'm missing out on, yet I'm not desperate enough to download a dating app. I need to do IRL things and meet IRL people. I'd just like to not be alone. I'm tired of exhausting loneliness. Where are the lifelong friendships? My coworkers have them, yet I don't. Am I fated to be alone?

20251222

Still thinking about how much S--- bothered me on Thursday. I wanted to leave early because we had too many people here. I was killing time, and anybody who saw what I was doing would know it. boss1 would've recognized this; anytime he has, he's let me leave early. Yet S had to go ahead and say there was no reason for him to let me leave early, so I should go clean the basement. Scrub the basement floor is what he actually said. He'd never do that. He boasts about how he's glad he doesn't have to do certain things, all of which are things I have to do. I'm glad I don't work Saturdays okay well I do. You guys are fucked yes, because you're being lazy and screwing us over. I don't mind doing the dishes but if anybody asks you to do the dishes, you ignore them, or say you'll find someone else to do them, and then you go back to scrolling through your phone. I don't want to be here then don't??? Find a new job??? Well, I've heard he's paid well. And boss1 likes him. Asshole recognize asshole, I guess. Both of them blame me for their own mistakes. If you just told me I did tell you. Repeatedly. You're a terrible listener.

Did I mention that the caneles caramelized really well? The outside is like toffee, and the inside is custard-y. I want to look for more canele flavors to try. Matcha doesn't sound appealing. I want something that accentuates the richness of the dessert. I want to look at flavor essences more---maybe they have the answer. Butterscotch?

I cover my face, hands, and computer. There's a temporary anxiety---what if the text editor doesn't recognize me? I tried, I tried, to run and hide. I even tried to run away. By typing some lyrics, I miss the rest. I'm listening to the soundtrack for Only Lovers Left Alive. I haven't seen the movie. Is this weird? To w loop the soundtrack for a movie I have no interest in watching? I believe in my own weirdness. I wonder if I'm comfortable. My arm itches slightly. I remove the sweater, engage in some scratching, and wonder if this is a gin sign that I'm falling asleep. I am awake and thirsty and I need to blow my nose again. How annoying. I am tired of this body's sensations. It is distracted by the little things--the way a particular seem feels against my leg, the wy the fuzzy socks bump against my feet, the way the fabric creases in my armpit, the way the underwear bites into my ass . Pause. Adjust. Tug. My fingertips find their way back to the soft bumps on the keyboard, of f and j. Their familiarity. They are my constant companions, even as my itchy ear gathers all of my attention. My dry lips. Do I want to listen to music? I like the atmosphere it sets for myself. I am not center stage, so I may write. If I were to be center stage, to be in my silence---what would there be?

I'm trying to think about what it means for me to take care of my body and respect it. I showered in the morning---not because I wanted to shower, but because I thought it would be the habit of someone who cared about her body. I go to work and stand by the fryer; I become covered in countless scents and material things. My shirt contains cheese and jicama. The onions and garlic seep into my skin. I have lost my train---oh, on self-respect. . I do not think: do I want to engage in basic hygiene. I think: I will engage in basic hygiene because it means I respect my body. This is working for me. I knoow I must do the things. I must elevate my body and recognize its value. I think ahead: when will this turn to makeup and exercise? When will I see exercize as something I owe to myself to do? When will I fall in love with makeup, the way so many women do? I think about the coquette style, that particular slightly trashy makeup look. Where the girl has the cheapest lip gloss, mascara, and eyeshadow she could find. I think of the Lana Del Ray album. You know the one. I want a sort of androgynous beauty. I do not see myself in femininity; I will write feminintiy for myself. I think of looking cute. I have no interest in hiding my acne; i will not wear the mask that others succumb to. However...I will think about accenting what exists. I think of lip gloss and mascara. Bring out the lips and lashes. Would that make a difference? Some women paint their faces on. I cannot imagine myself engaging in the painstaking transformation. That is not how I want to spend my day, I think. I will not wear another's face.

My iftness goals are a string of constant failure. I tell myself that I will start by eating three meals a day. I will not count calories; I will not verify nutrients; I will eat three times a day and I will not avoid it.

20251225

Do I need to write? I rambled about goals and made haphazard plans. I tell myself I'll complete 75 hard, and that I'll do all the other things I keep telling myself I'll set out to do. Look, I say. I have a bullet journal. I'm making the plans. I will follow through. I downloaded a book. I make a mental note of my workouts. I say: I will focus on doing a pullup. I say: I will do a pullup by the end of February. I say: I will work on my splits too. I say: I will max out the grip-strength trainer. I say I say I say. I like having my goals written out. My stomach feels slightly ill.

Tomorrow, I will go to work. Someone will ask what I did yesterday. Not much, I'll say, I don't really celebrate Christmas (why the really). I've no-one to celebrate with. boss2 told me to hang out with coworker1 (why???) and P---, who I've never met. I hope he doesn't interrogate me about my lack of doing anything. I hope we don't see him this weekend. I'll probably hear more annoyances. Look at how much fun everyone else is having.

I looked around, thought about going into Boston, realized I'm too late for free holiday markets. Still, I could go in and go to that tea place. But just that? Hmm...yeah, the things I want to do don't justify the trip. I'll go to the tea place when I go see the movie. I need to buy tickets.

20251226

I so want to read into ---'s joke about using protection and pretend that there's a reason why he waited until the other guys weren't a part of the conversation. In reality, there is nothing to read into. I want to have had a better response---good boy---than to have only made a comment about taking care of everything else so he can focus on handling sausages. I am glad that we have finished eating the sausages--- --- was the only one who could make good jokes. The other two were just moaning. Only at work are dirty jokes and inappropriate noises par for course.

Still, I can't shake the notice of how much I want an excuse to call --- a good boy.

Anywho. I spent time outlining my goals yesterday, yet I'm already prepared to discard some of them. Notice. Notice. Notice. What am I not questioning---my desire to do pull-ups, to work on back/upper body, grip strength; what am I questioning---subscribing to a particular challenge (75 hard). I set my rules and I play by my rules. Over time, I've developed some understanding of what works for me. I need to recognize that understanding instead of listening to someone else tell me what to do. I got slightly farther into my pull-up. It's not much progress, but I did notice that I was now able to bend my arm slightly more than usual. That used to be---or feel?---impossible. Now, I have the slightest bit more mobility. I go to the pull-up bar to test it out; it's still there. I'm a fraction of a centimeter closer. I hold onto this. I tell myself: with determined, focused training, I will be able to do a pull-up by the end of February. It's a secret goal (she says, to the internet). I do not mention it to people IRL. It's for me. I will fucking do it.

The raise hasn't happened. I wonder if I'll see any sort of end-of-year bonus, like I did last year. I've made a mental note: I'll ask about it in February. December was the wrong time, January would work, if not for management's vacation, but February could work. There's one hiccup. The due-date gives me hope. I have two more mental notes. If it doesn't happen by July, I can look to move to bigCity with public transport. My lease expires in August. I'd like to wait another year before moving, though. I like my current place. I'd be fine with living here until I can afford a studio apartment. But that'd require me to nearly double my current income. I watched videos of graphic design side-hustles and wondered if I could do that. I think of the trackers I designed last year---printables I nearly uploaded to etsy before realizing there was a fee attached to them. Mental note: maybe that could be worthwhile. Devote time to it every day for a month, bite the bullet and upload, see what happens. I could do that. It sounds manageable enough.

A car sounds like freedom. I feel trapped, so I crave the freedom, so I crave the car.

I fantasize and lose shape; attempt to catalogue my distractions. My apprenticeship, in progress, a copycat or a path I'll make my own. New booklists and remembering how to track reading. Finding new books; knowing this is the book. Remembering. Grocery lists and groceries. It is midnight. I must wake within seven hours; I have work at eleven. I leave for the grocery store around 8 and return by 9. I leave for work at 10:30 and return around 19:30. I fantasize about leaving work early, forgetting that New Years' is just around the corner (one of the busiest days of the year). New pages---photos, groceries.

Hey. Today wasn't that bad. It was slow enough to give me the chance to tackle some cleaning I don't typically get the chance to take care of. Closing irritated me. S--- looks bored and unresponsive; he's not trying to do anything. He stands there, arms crossed, daring us to give him a task, looking for ways out of work he doesn't want to do. Convincing him to do things is irritating. I understand the boredom, but we're not being paid to stand around. Cleaning matters just as much as everything else. A--- fidgets. She's responsive. She lacks initiative, but when given a task, she follows through. I grew tired of pointing out things that need to be done. Can't they look around? At least C--- finished up his tasks and was able to take over working with them. I took the opportunity to make sure the back was clean to my standard. I'm glad that it's less cluttered. I need to go through the fridges tomorrow, though.

Do people need to be taught to clean? I wonder. Must I spell it out for them: this is dirty, this is dirty, this is dirty. Yet someone barely notice that they've spilled something on their station---if they can't notice their station is dirty, how the hell are they supposed to recognize other parts of the kitchen are dirty? I learned to clean the kitchen by looking around, noticing what was dirty, and trying to clean it. If one thing didn't work, I'd try another, and if that didn't work, I'd move onto something else. Some stains became permanent, but more can be tidied than the others realize. At least I'm satisfied with what I could clean today. I saw the difference.

I'm at peace. I made significant progress in the diamond gem painting. Easy part is all set; try to knock out the hard part within the next few days. I want to be done with it. Honestly, I want to spend Sunday on it. I could knock it out. I concentrate on the satisfaction: I started it last month; I would experience the joy of it being done. I could see it on my wall. I'd not feel guilty for buying a new craft kit.

20251228

I start by reviewing the day. I laid in bed for a few hours and finished reading Ultramarine, by Mariette Navarro. I made the batter for the first batch of caneles (used "iced lemon loaf tea" by TAZO). I looked at recipes for using up egg whites and vowed to make coconut macaroons. I left for Walgreens, to deposit cash, and then for Target, to pick up some hygiene products. I purchased hand soap, toothbrushes, pads, an energy drink, boxed mac 'n cheese, tea, and a planner. The planner was an impulse buy. I will use it, though, as my bullet journal attempts continue to fail me. I do not need a customizable bullet journal. I need something where every week has already been designed; where I can flip ahead and make plans multiple weeks in advance. I want my life laid out for me in an organized manner. This is the vessel which I have chosen. I nearly bought string lights for my room---Christmas decor which had gone on sale. I put them back when I contemplated logistics. Where would I put them? Did I want them taped up year round? I want another light source in my room, or so I thought, and then I think maybe not. I couldn't find shredded coconut. I couldn't find inexpensive bar soap either---all they sold was large packs of Dove. Strange that my small grocery store has more options for a better price. Then again, people seem to prefer body wash to a soap bar. I'm just built differently...

I looked for a face mask. All of the glow up ladies on Youtube use them. They use them to make themselves look/feel better. They seem so happy about it. I wondered if a face mask could evoke the same emotions. I couldn't find them. I found acne patches, but no sign of face masks. I looked for lip gloss and mascara, too, thinking these might help me look nice. Their cheapest lip gloss only had one color available; the pink was too bright. I made a mental note of the brand and found it on Amazon in a more suitable color. Maybe I'll buy it next time. The mascara options overwhelmed me---so many different products promising so many different things. Do I want what they're selling? I want to look pretty. I wonder if I could look pretty. I wonder if I could be desirable; wha would being desired feel llike? I can't imagine a guy vying for my attention. That's not something that happens to me anyways.

I returned home. Dinner became brussels sprouts, chicken, and mac 'n cheese. This was the first time I'd had brussels sprouts. I tasted them raw; they reminded me of broccoli. I baked/roasted them alongside the chicken, which imparted a lovely flavor. I like them. I made the batter for two more batches of caneles. One was with pandan leaves; the milk will expire in two days, so I wanted to use it up. The third batch was made with some smokey vanilla tea (I'm blanking on the name) and nonfat milk. I have 2lb of powdered nonfat milk and wanted to compare the difference in results. My instinct is to think that I'll need to increase the amount of butter to make up for the lack of fat, but I need to wait to experiment. I think about how I'll spend a little over three hours baking tomorrow night. I hope it's worth it.

Afterwords, I watched Dogma. This movie was about two angels who were cast out of Heaven and may have found a loophole to get back into Heaven. However, their actions would have consequences. Most of the movie is ponderings on religion, how humans have misconstrued religion, and so on. Many references to Catholic theology and the Bible. The humor was enjoyable; the dirty jokes add a bit of levity that distracts from the seriousness of the situation. The man who lives downstairs just exclaimed something. It is nearly midnight. Please stay quiet.

I thought I might have more to say. I think about work grudges and poorly constructed to-do lists. I think about a new hire. I think about the way my head itches; I need to cut my hair again. I feel my brain disconnecting from my fingers. My eyes are closed and my fingers march of their own accord. What will they say? How will they say it? I notice the onset fatigue which dissassembles my body. Shall I lay down? I start to discover I have no choice. I am laying down, have been for a while now. I'm nearly flat. My head is proppedup on a pillow, the compouter just South of my stomach, and my body flat against the blanket on the floor. I am slightly cold. I want to hide under the blanket.

Instead, I push myself to think about sex and desire. I think I want sex, and then I wonder if I'm only lonely. I should stop writing there. I think: I am so pathetically, desperately single that I'd fuck anything that comes my way, as long as it's a gentleman, bonus points if its ---. I must go now.

20251230

It is morning. Nearly 10:30. I think that if I had more things I wanted to do, more desires at the top of my head, I'd have an easier time getting out of bed. I woke up and thought about things I dreaded: dealing with the third batch of damned caneles. I could've finished a movie by now. I am struggling to structure my time. I struggle to keep track of the things I want to do and the things I meant to do. The important tidbits---baking, usually---is stuck at the top of my head, but the rest has floated to the bottom of the abyss. What would it be like, I wonder, to want to get out of bed in the morning. I remember the upper body workout I was going to do.

In my desire to blame something else for my problems, I contemplate blocking Youtube for a month. Ahh, but workout videos! okay, so you download the few videos you use and move on with your life. Problem solved. People have been posting their glow up and new years and life changing videos---I wanted what it is they're selling, except I don't. They sell a life for their fellow glow-up creators. At this point, do I gain anything from watching them? I am not here for advice, I realize, I am here for entertainment. Even now, as I type, I long to open up Youtube and turn on a video----tell me how to glow up, tell me how to live my life, tell me how to be happy. I notice: as I write, I don't want to stop writing. Last night, I wanted to write before sleeping, but I fell asleep. When I turned off the lights, I didn't think: time for evening part two, phone edition; I thought I'd write on my phone, but as I laid on my side, I knew I'd sleep; it was morning in an instant. Did I remember my dreams? I may've known them when I woke up 3hr ago, but not now.

I think writing improves my sleep. No matter the time or energy, I can write until my eyes signal fatigue. This is a useful realization. Last night, I was working on the dot-gem painting. I am on the most annoying section. There aren't many patches of a particular color. That is to say, the colors are constantly changing. Tonight, I say, I'll rip off the plastic covering the final section. I'll pick a lettercolor and complete all of it. I'm eager to have it up on my wall. A piece of decor. My floor re-gained. I'll do watercolor again. My "desk" will be free again. Hoo-ray.

I was frustrated with work yesterday. When am I not. If not for the whole "both coworkers are trying to go on break at the same time" problem, I could've left half an hour early. The problem continued. Actually, I'm annoyed at how many obligations I feel like I have to my coworkers. It's dead. We're wasting time. Cleaning has already occurred, all prep is caught up, what's left to do but try to get rid of permanent stains. We've got nothing. I dread tonight; that two-hour window where there will be five of us vs. a complete and utter lack of tickets. Have I ever mentioned how much I hate being overstaffed? My time is wasted.

I don't like the concept of morning person and night person. My sluggishness is erratic. I think: I want coffee. Bring on the bad habits. I tell myself I'll caffeinate before work. I think about the protein powder that I've been forgetting about. I have so few obligations to myself; how do I keep forgetting them? I want a paper on the wall. No. This won't do. I bought a planner on Sunday. I am trying to remind myself of its existence. It has been two days. Before I started to write, I told myself: write down three things you want to do today. I wrote down four---caneles, journal, workout, and read 10% of Omensetter's Luck, by William H. Gass. I wonder if I'll like the book. I read The Tunnel three or four times when I was younger. I can't remember why---something related to House of Leaves, though perhaps that was only because they are similarly dense. The Tunnel is depression in a nearly 700 page book. A mediocre man, obsessed with his history of Nazi Germany; procrastinating and revisiting his life exploits. How can a book with so many words have left such little an impression on me? Life in a chair. A very long character study. Mayhaps that's why I liked it. A very long character study.

I leave the window to look at reviews of The Tunnel. Why do we read difficult books? I think: these books are for the writer more than they are for the reader. It's not just a story---it's an expression, an idea. I play with words and contemplate what I could mean. Literature with a capital L has a different approach to itself than a plain book does. It's the professional vs the hobbyist vs the casual hobbyist. I think: these are different things, despite being in the same medium. Their audience is vastly different. Who is here to think about how they write, who is here to spend ten days reading a thoughtpiece and then think about it? A book designed for thinking vs one designed for reading; different levels of engagement. Different levels of commitment. Painting from your mind vs. following a tutorial. These things are not the same.

I've abandoned The Girls, by Emma Cline. I've reached a point where our oh-so-forgettable narrator was taken to the camp, the cult, wherever you may call it. She was aboard the bus. There was a mention of her being the sacrifice. I've lost interest. Her milquetoast life---is that the right word?---there is nothing to her, so she craves a something, except this something bores me. Her something will be a substitute for meaning. I am disinterested. A girl falls victim to a cult. I've read this before. Not this exact story, but close enough. I wanted to read; why am I bored? The Valley of Dolls bored me too. Watch their uninspired, selfish descents. Watch them pop pills to cope with life. I wonder if it's a novel that makes more sense as a movie. I think of them popping pills, Requiem of a Dream style, but they're not high, just knocked out. They're avoiding their lives and being a bit immature. I guess that could be what happens to big names. The alarm is about to go off. I do not want to get up. I don't want to clean the pan, to bake another batch, yet another experiment. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'll take more coffee. I think: I need something stronger. My something stronger---glow up, more food, it is a lifestyle thing and not a caffeine thing. I hear the wind knock over the trash barrels. What energizes me? This writing---the alarm is going off---is low-level, low-effort, a sort of stream of consciousness where I feel at one with myself. My thoughts are my words are my actions. There is no two-play here. I am not listening to a show while doing something. The music is slightly faster than the alarm's buzzing. Buzz--it's taking me over---buzz---beat beat---it's taking me over---buzz buzz. Saxophone. Now playing: Back In My Life, Chuck Love with Fourfeet. I need to get up and wash the pan and turn on the oven and get this out of the way. While it bakes, I'll exercise, then do dishes; mayhaps I'll write or work on the diamond gem painting. I've grown ill of it. I think about which section I'll upll off. I'm procrastinating. Time to move on.

20251231

An hour ago, I thought I was about to fall asleep. I was yawning. My eyes weren't staying open. I thought: hey, I'm going to go to sleep at a reasonable time. A desirable time, even. 9:43pm sounds like a good time to fall asleep. I turned of the lights and lay under the blankets; I felt as if I couldn't get to bed quickly enough. Yet, after a few minutes, I noticed that I was still awake. I look at the time now---did I nap? It's a genuine possibility. I wonder if I spent the past 1.25hr fading in and out of consciousness. I know what an hour of doomthinking feels like; that was not it. I'm alert, too. Strange.

NYE shift was frustrating. Everything went smoothly until 6pm. We close at 7pm, but we didn't finish all of the tickets until 7:20pm, which says enough. Same mistake happened twice in the past hour. I really wanted to scream. I could see something was wrong, I checked with --- and he said no; I thought I'd just lost track. Surely, he's right. I could've been more thorough. Then again, he made the same ticket-switching mistake TWICE in the span of one hour. Thrice in 1.5hr, but I caught it once. Argh. Argh. Argh. We have one system in place, it's designed for a reason, yet our own IDIOCY prevents it from working. We're so confident that what we have works until it doesn't, at which point we think it can't go wrong, and when it does, taking the time to figure out what went wrong is a challenging, time consuming necessity. ARGH. ARGH. ARGH. WHY DID THAT FUCKING HAPPEN. There was a miscommunication, there is a pattern in where the mistake happened. Except the solution is to not make the mistake. The process was fine. Just don't make the fucking mistake.

*breathe* on the other hand, we've had worse problems---and more food waste---on poorly handled Friday nights. The difference was the volume of tickets / the degree to which the mistake put a stop to our operations. 80 orders in an hour is a completely different beast; takes more time to recover from than a 15-20 ticket hour, that's for sure. That was a lot of tickets...I wonder if we should've pushed for a slightly later (ex. 7:15) pickup time, just to give ourselves leeway. I hope they stick to <15 per quarter hour in the future---all this "we can technically" do it is bullshit. Even with no mistakes, it's just not possible. Six fryer baskets = six order per five min = 18 order per 15min. I'm removing most of the information. Point is, we can't fit 25 orders in 15min without doubling up, but yadayadayadayadayada.

FoH needs to stop marking up BoH tickets. Said this last week, definitely didn't get the point across. This wasn't a problem last year. One of them also kept taking our copy of the ticket when he didn't need to. boss1 ran into this and was a little aggressive about it---the rest of us saying something didn't get through to him, so maybe that'll do the trick. For whenever next time is.

Fatigue creeps over me again. Did I just need to write out my frustrations? It's a likely solution. Write it out. Write it allllll out.

My brain runs in eight directions. What do I want to focus on this month? Pull-up. Watercolors. Pick a goal for each area, is that it? For health/fitness, my goal is to continue working on my ability to do a pull-up by a) spending time on the pull-up bar every day and b) doing back workouts at least 4x/wk. For hobbies, my goal is to continue doing watercolor until I run out of paint/paper (whichever happens first). I will continue to paint watercolor birds; once bored, I may sign up for skillshare and try a watercolor class. After that, I'll move onto whittling or embroidery, whichever seems more interesting at the time. I'd like to try r/52weeksofbaking. I will also keep playing with caneles. Oh, and keep reading. For finances, I want to be on-track to pay off loanservicer in March. What other areas of life exist. Career? Keep doing more prep. Mental health? Keep writing (more). Relationships? ( have none).

I did manage to finish the diamond gem painting this morning. Hooray. I feel no satisfaction. I'm glad it's over. I'm glad I can move onto something else. I'm hoping to do a watercolor chickadee tomorrow. Oh, and keep reading Omensetter's Luck. I need to do a batch of canele with double-butter and modified cooktime. Maybe that'll wait until next week. I do still want to make marshmallows. Maybe I'll do that tomorrow. I could do a proper long workout. I could stare at my planner and pretend it'll make me happy. I want to plan to go into Boston sometime this month. There's a tea place I want to visit. I also want to try some Southern or Cajun food---or Italian, or something else that's interesting that coworker1 recommends. Maybe there's an interesting museum or thing I can go to.

20260101

Damn. 'Tis a new year. After writing that sentence, I opened up Canva and created a vision board. This was mostly because my computer's wallpaper annoyed me. I figured: why not listen to the Youtube girlies and make a vision board? I spent time looking through pinterest, which was very annoying. Many photos looked AI-generated or outright said that there was AI usage. I was looking for photos of women with the physique I want, so finding unrealistic, unobtainable photos of AI ladies is not useful. I want to see a body I can have, not some nice-looking impossibility. After I found two ascceptable photos of muscular women, I found photos of healthy meals. Then I added a picture of a bookshelf, for good measure. As I write this, I thin about how much more detailed I could have made my vision board. I could've included something financial---something referencing a lack of debt or an abundance of money. Something that referenced a different hobby I want to try. I slap my wrist, so to speak. My goal was to have a computer background that didn't irritate me. I have fixed that. I do not need a perfect vision board. I only need a reminder of my current goals. I neeed to remember to buy painkillers. I've been strapped by a headache all afternoon, now evening, and it's not helping. I'm tuning it out as best I can, but I'm just laying in bed at this point. I read a bit and cooked dinner and kept my room tidy. Now, I'm typing. There isn't much else to say. Damn you, shoulder/neck pain in the left side of my head. Could you please just go away? THat plus alll of the head pain is aggravating. I wish that, if I pressed down on my eyebrows hard enough, the pain would disappear. It doesn't. I must carry on until I'm tired and can sleep away the headache. I wonder how long it will take. I like to delude myself into thinking that I just need to stretch and exercise a little bit more, and then the headache will vanish. Life doesn not work this way. I obercve my hands feeling colder. I am typing with my head under a blanket. I am not looking at my screen at all. Another slight discomfort distracts me. I give up. I just want to sleep.

20260103

Did I fail to write yesterday? How shameful. What I did after work---mild grocery shopping, reading, binging on a show, dishes. Can it be called a binge if I only watched three episodes? I wonder. No, I spent more time trying to sleep. I thought I wrote. Perhaps I only did so in audio. Five minutes before I need to leave---very well.

I think I want --- to slap me, to bite me, to hurt me (but not, must add, in a weird way). I want to be hurt. There is nobody inflicting violence, physical or mental, on me. I think I crave the pain. Please give me pain. Please hurt me. My brain is broken. Well... it's okay, ---. You can call me weird. I won't be offended. Fuck, I don't want to go to work. I want to grab a coffee beforehand. No, down the cold brew good girl. How easy it can be to part with money. You're so cute. Such a gentleman. Say it. Say I'm weird. Tell me the things we're both thinking---that you imply but I dare say. Cross a line. I dare you.

Tssk tssk tssk. Maybe I enjoy walking this line---there's nothing there, but I can play this one-sided game. I wonder if I'm wearing a mask. Am I playing a character? I hide my non-intentions and entertain ourselves. Maybe the playfulness masks a true longing, a proper need; I want something from you that I can't have, that neither of us want in a sense, so we'll play at having it. A one-sided game. WEll, there's the alarm. I must run to work. Two alarms. How funny.

later. Now what's left to say. The day was boring. boss1 emphasized how I need to get comfortable with training people. This is the goal, he says. I think of how I've been criticized: everybody knows what they're doing, a hands-off approach is best, just watch them and trust them. You don't need to say anything. You don't need to make any corrections. I think this is changing. Am I allowed to tell someone something is wrong? Am I allowed to point out a better way of doing something? I'll let someone know if they do something drastically wrong now---nobody will get upset if I tell them they mixed up fish sauce and soy sauce. Heh, the kitchen is now mentally stable...people have room to improve and can improve without mental breakdowns being a problem. I want to live some sort of life. I think about going out tomorrow so that I live. Perhaps I'll visit the bookstore and the coffeeshop. I think of visiting the city, then I think about the additional costs. I think of other things I want to spend my money on. Very well. I don't know how to live a life. I believe transportation plays into this---I think that if I had a car, I'd go places. Would I? Or would I be calculating the gas bill, the expenses, paying all the fees for having a car but never using the car because all I earn is minwage?

I took out the trash and recycling and am airing out the kitchen. Is sitting in the corner of a coffee shop actually living life? Is looking at the prices of books and putting them back on the shelf living? What a quaint definition. What do the kids my age do---socialize. They have friends. They study with their friends, get food with their friends, and go clubbing with their friends. I have none of this.

I don't want to keep writing. I'm ready to wrap myself up in daydreams. I'm lonely and I want to hold someone. I want a physical presence, something to stabilize me, to remind me I'm real and not crazy. I game for a bit, but it's a distraction. I get nowhere. I find frustration. I spent so much time on this game two months ago, but I think I've exhausted the good bits. I see another game on sale, contemplate buying it, and know I won't. Peaceful delusions. Maybe it's time to make this public. I think I want to be seen, or be exposed. Maybe you understand the difference.

I bother myself. I think I want to lose shape. I'm laying on the floor and wavering. I'm always on the floor. If I bought a desk, would I use it? I rotate to my side. I'm not tired. I remove my headphones and close my eyes. The thrum of noise---echo of a stereo---bothers me, so I insert my earplugs. What will I do tomorrow. I painted some today and it felt good. A voice in my head says I should write fiction. There is no story to tell. I thought of calling a guy I once knew. I ghosted him. A part of me thought it was the right choice, a part of me was scared of someone knowing me, a part of me was scared by our relationship. What was our relationship? There were moments when I thought he might be a friend. There were moments when I thought I might've been attracted to him. There were moments where I was overcome with fear, ready for him to behave like another man I once knew; how I was waiting for him to threaten me, to choose to hurt me, to lash out and block me and cut me off, to call me a whore and a cunt and demand I do things I didn't want to do. Maybe I was embarrassed to speak to someone so in-contact with reality; I can't expose my descent into unreality, my desire for this strange storytelling and nothingness. See, other people have academic pursuits. Other people can talk about common---shared---facts. What have I? My life, my lack of life.

I am unreal. I've dissociated from reality so thoroughly. Little of consequence passes through me. I tlh I think of myself. Do I want to be hurt, or do I not understand how to exist in a dynamic where I'm not being hurt? I want --- to hit me so I can feel like myself. Without pain, I have no concrete thing to escape from. I'm not running from someone else. The only thing I'm running from is my life. Yet someone else can devour anime after tv show after game and seem so full of life. I vow to play the game, to purchase it, if only to enter into another commmon, here l meaning shared, experience. My fingers jitter. What to do, what to do. Who to be. I thiln I think I'll read. I'm not proofreading this; my eyes are closed as I type; I wonder what's here that's not meant to be here. Noise reverberates from downstairs and I am annoyed. Why can't you go home over break, like everybody else?

I don't understand why I want to speak to him. We've nothing in common. My reading habit would disappoint him. I'm making my way through Anaïs Nin's diaries at a snail's pace. Worse, I've nothing profound to say, no insights. What is there to say? Here's some nice quotes? I open up the app—I'm now typing on my phone—and pick from my selection.

he does not write with love but with anger, he writes to attack, to ridicule, to destroy. He is always against something.

This passage is about Henry Miller. I remember what little I read of Tropic of Cancer and think it apt. What else did I read of his—Quiet Days in Clichy, was it? I'm not opening up a browser, not risking the loss of train of thought. Perhaps the man I'm thinking of would turn this into commentary on male and female writing. He might argue anger as an expression of truth; a female's lack of anger being why she lies. Women don't understand what it means to care about something, he might say. No, that's not it. But he did rely on arguments comparing women to men, and explaining why men were superior to women. It's quite tiring. If he made fun of women, my refutations were met with him saying it was a joke; when I made fun of men, he'd criticize me for making generalizations, for painting the world in black and white; if I dared point out I was joking, I'd be further criticized. Right. Men see the world factually, and all women are whores. Men are creeps, but since women are too, men can't be criticized.

I remember an offhand comment I'd made about men's tendency to objectify women; he met it with saying women objectified men, so I am wrong for criticizing men for objectifying women. A general statement about men is met with not all men, but general statements about women are the truth. Stereotypes exist for a reason. And you, sir, are no different. Another depressed neet with a superiority complex. Thriving on malicious intent, hatred for the world, and self-fulfilling prophecies. "There's no way out" because you decided there wasn't one.

I'm sick of being reminded of you, sick of the way your habits still infiltrate my mind, sick of my own strange desire to speak to you. You said you were better off without me; I'd like proof of it. There were those coding things, that, what was it, pathfinder implementation; how you said you had stories to write. Did you do any of that? All of that? Your sparse updates to the Internet leave much up for interpretation. There was a moment where I thought that you'd killed yourself; it was my fault for not saving you.

I shouldn't email. I won't. There's nothing to say, after all, other than to utter my selfish interest in what's happened to your life. I have nothing to offer. No worthwhile book recommendation, no useful information, and it's not like you ever wanted to speak to me anyways. Why did you string me along for so long? You made it clear that you were the one in control. I wish, no I don't. Fuck off. Please. This isn't healthy. I'm about to be harassed by the memories, but I brought that upon myself by writing about you.

I'd had a notebook where I listed every movie you mentioned. When I watched them, I wrote about them in that notebook. I kept track of the books you mentioned. I'd a file full of them. Every time we broke things off, I'd go back to that file and make it a mission to go through as many references as possible. I thought: if I just filled in the blanks, he'd like me. I didn't enjoy the process. My time felt wasted. I was disinterested in many of the films I tried watching and the books I tried reading.

I still don't like movies, by the way. The funny thing is that I occasionally watch movies which are mentioned by one of my coworkers. We don't have the same taste, but I look into the things he mentions because I want to know what he's talking about. It's funny how natural that filling in of blanks feels. I watch the thing, not as a homework assignment, but because I want to. He doesn't know this, because my lack of knowledge isn't a point of contention. I'm not being interrogated. Hell, I don't feel like I'm a bad person for not knowing the things he knows. You turned being cultured into a point of moral superiority, and my lack into a problem that needed to be addressed, a sign of my inferiority. Yet here, in my real life, I can look up things that people mention and fill in blanks if I so desire. Nobody is shitting on me for not knowing.

I want closure. I waited for you to email, like you said you would, but you never did. You would boast about how much better you were than me, so I'm left to wonder why you even entertained our relationship in the first place. If you're so high and mighty, so knowledgeable of all outcomes, why string along a teenage girl who's a decade younger than you? That's not painting you in a good light, I know, but the entire situation was bad to begin with. I shouldn't have engaged with you. But you'd boast about your maturity, your knowledge, your superiority—why did you still entertain a bad decision? If you genuinely knew better, how could you do what you did?

I hate how much I miss it. I always thought that if I just did enough, if I read the right things and said the right words and responded to everything quickly enough, that I'd be enough for you. Trying to be good enough gave my life a sort of fucked up purpose. Now what do I have.

20260104

Feels like I'm on vacation. I love not closing on Saturdays. Peace is mine. Whatever hint of an illness I had has passed---maybe drinking all that cranberry juice was effective. Or irrelevant. Either way, the soreness in my throat has vanished. How did I spend today. I found a piece of wood in the basement which was a good size for a small desk. I re-arranged the boxes to make temporary legs. I'm surprised the desk is level. I'll collect a few more boxes from work so that I can make the desk my preferred height. Still, I'm happy. I have the desk I was craving and I didn't have to spend a dollar. Even better, it's easy to disassemble, so it won't be a problem for moving. I liked eating dinner at it. I'm going to show coworker1 a picture of it and gauge his reaction. Genius or depressing?

After sitting at my desk for a few hours, sitting on the floor feels relaxing. I can stretch out my legs. Oh, what is there to say. I did manage to drag myself out of the house and to the coffeeshop. I can't remember the last time I sat in a coffeeshop for an extended period of time---five or six months, I realize. Peaceful house. I enjoyed sampling the atmosphere and eyeing the flyers for local goings-on. Not much in the winter, but still a reminder for things I can look into. I think my brain appreciated being in a different environment. The brief change in scenery is refreshing. I journalled and read for a bit, then headed home. The sidewalks weren't too icy today. There's a new weirdo stationed outside a convenience store I usually walk by. Gotta remember to stay off his side of the street when heading out.

I feel empty, or satisfied. I don't see a difference. I created the new Neoshitties account. I'm reluctant to upload. Who'll see? Will anyone see? Inevitable: how long until I ghost the internet again? I don't want to be dragged into explaining myself to others. Yes, my actions appear irrational. I am subject to whim. Read or ignore; don't like don't read. Argh. I hate this burst of reality. Let me drag myself out.

Pitter patter pitter patter / goes the rhythm / of the falling rain. I like the sight of a small kitten crawling on his arm, even onto his shoulder, nuzzling him. So cute. I want to shove --- into the broth at hotpot. Oh, what a satisfying mental image, consequences be damned! My room feels tidy and peaceful. What do I want from this week? Constant creativity. I must write more. I must return to fiction. One line a day was abandoned. There is still a demon I've failed to exorcise. And yet---anxiety. I know where it came from. To conquer it, the demon must be excised---they're tied to each other, and to me, but I will make it happen. Tomorrow. How to start---in the middle, the end, the beginning doesn't matter. Write how you used to, even though as a different person. Recall who you were and why. If you've done it before, you can do it again.

I don't believe my words. I feel as if I must write 'til I'm tired, but I want to read. I'm ready to close the computer and put in earplugs and curl up (literal) with a book (via phone). Oh dear. Well, farewell for now.

To feel alienated in my own space---is there anything more me? My life feels marked by this out-of-place-ness. Write later, read now.

20260106

The 7th, but the 6th in spirit. I must write for a moment. I've maintained the audio diary, but I know not if I'll show it. I wrote a bit of fiction. An idle thought crossed my mind---my own nanowrimo, 50k starting today---and I didn't resist the urge to write 1667 words for the first day. I wonder if I'll continue. I put it into tomorrow's todo list. Will I prioritize it the same way I would for a real nano? I delude myself: I will reach the end of the draft of this novel. I am inspired by A Novel Obsession, by Caitlin B....I think there was a ch somewhere in there. Look it up by I'm too tired. My eyes fill in skipped letters. I need to stop. The day was boring and satisfying. I want a mark on my life, something I haven't accomplished. I have no brag worthy accomplishments.

tomorrow: games? embroidery? do the fucking marshmallows, keep writing, do the workout stuff. time to sleep.

20260107

So far, I have written (hit wordcount for nano day2; only took 45min). I did a back workout and danced some. I watched an episode of Fullmetal Alchemist and I made brownies. Go ahead and add that to the baking log. Have I really only been up for 3hr? I only have 2hr left before work, not even; with how bad the sidewalks are, I'm going to have to allocate 40min for walking. My only other to-do list items are to read and do yoga.

I looked up shadow work prompts, for shits and giggles. A common first prompt seemed to be: what parts of yourself are you hiding from others, and why? My instinct---am I hiding much from others? If I'm unaware, it could be because I'm hiding this from myself. I think I may be the wrong person to answer this question. I have nothing to hide, and I'm rarely---if ever---in conversations where I need to hide something. I could say I hide how lonely I am, but I don't hide the fact that I'm alone. Even then, desperate invitations, attempts to make get-togethers happen to reveal how lonely I am, and rejections even moreso. I'd say I hide my attraction to others, but that mild flirting---a take it seriously or take it as a joke kind---says enough. What am I hiding?

If queried, I don't try to hide how unsatisfied I am with my life. I admit my problems, but I don't hand them off to other people. I am surrounded by strangers who would rather be strangers. I keep to myself---is that hiding? I...I don't say everything I want to say, but that's an expression of boundaries. There are things I want to do that I don't, because I know they're crossing a line. I don't. I don't think I'm hiding anything. I train myself to be honest because I'm not interested in lying, I have nothing to hide. I wonder if I'd be entirely honest to someone who is close to me. What would that be like, to be close to someone? I think, briefly, I want to find someone who is okay with hurting me, who could respect me while doing so. Can you do this to me, I'd say, are you fine with it. Is this something I actually want or something I think I want---see how reality aligns with the fantasy, if at all. I want to bite someone and use them as a chew toy. I want someone to slap my face.

Can I pinpoint why I want to be hurt? I like some amount of pain, I think, physical or otherwise. Is it wise to say this online. Would someone understand if I said I want this in a more platonic way? I'm not much interested in romance, in the finality of it. I think I just want friends. Of course, I'm too old to worm my way into someone else's friend group; I'm the outsider, the alien, the invader. I'm not welcome here. I've accepted that.

Well, now that's depressing. Time to do a bit of yoga and then fuck around. I'll save reading for after work. I downloaded a piece of fiction, but I think I want a memoir more.

20260108

I'm looping Blossoms, by The Amazing Devil. The beginning has an unsettling sound to it---all guitar, but something about the pitches implies something (bad) is going to happen. The first verse begins to draw me in. Here comes the singer. Oh, he's telling a story. He implies he got a text that has a negative impact on him. He reads the text and the phone feels heavy in his hand. It falls to the floor while he thinks about what he wished he had said.

What happened? Who texted him? The next verse dictates his reaction---the "timelessness/Endless furore"---and then we're given the text: "I'm so sorry, I've done it again." What the hell happened to inspire this somber tone? What has our non-narrator done? To me, "I've done it again" implies a relapse. The non-narrator has done something again, and the narrator has taken it upon himself to help the non-narrator.

In the next two verses, the narrator prepares for "the journey to come." He gathers a candle and jangles the chimes. Both of these actions could show him creating a signal to call out to the non-narrator. A candle can light the way, and can be seen from the distance. The candle helps the narrator and non-narrator find each other. Chimes are an audio signal---a way to let the non-narrator know that the narrator is on his way. I'm not sure what the phrase "mop up what is left of my lungs" means. To me, this implies he may have been crying and gasping, thus explaining why his lungs are mentioned. To mop up could by synonymous with clean up; if one has been crying and gasping, one may have produced tears and mucus, which would need to be cleaned up. This could symbolize him cleaning himself up, which is part of preparing to help the non-narrator.

"And I climb up the ladder/Had I taken more care/I might have seen all the rot in the rungs" has a handful of implications. The narrator is talking about his physical environment and noting how he hasn't paid enough attention to notice that something was wrong. This could symbolize how he feels about the non-narrator. In his mind, if he paid more attention to the non-narrator, he might have noticed that something was wrong. Taking this a step further leaves me wondering if the narrator blames himself for the non-narrator's actions. A less likely implication of this phrase is that the narrator has neglected his environment to help the non-narrator.

The fourth verse has the narrator packing what he needs, leaving his dwelling, and saying "yeah, well I'm sorry too." This is the first time he directly acknowledges the non-narrator. Up until now, he has been upset by the non-narrator's actions; while he's preparing to help the non-narrator, he's been focusing on himself. Notice that the song is from the perspective of a person reacting to someone else's problem, and not from the perspective of the person with a problem. I think this is significant. The narrator needs to help himself to help the non-narrator. He didn't jump into action after seeing the text. He signals that he'll help, subtley, and prepares himself to help the non-narrator. There is a slight hesitation to his actions. This isn't the first time the narrator has helped the non-narrator deal with his problem, and it probably won't be the last. He's hesitating because he knows he can't solve the non-narrator's problem.

The next verse begins with him staring at his "soldiers," which are "blossoms that have waited to fall." I wonder if his soldiers, his blossoms, symbolize hope. They are painted in light---a clear reference to hope and positive change, and another signal to the non-narrator. He is "acquainted with the saint of never getting it right," yet he is hoping that he will get it right this time.

The next verse dictates his struggles with helping the non-narrator. His dress is on fire, which could symbolize him hurting himself to help the narrator. Did he set himself on fire? Is he moving through a fire, despite the consequences? He says: "I hurl myself, I heal myself, I drag myself like a rug in the rain." All of these show how the narrator is struggling to reach the non-narrator and how he is both reluctant and desperate. He hurls himself, so he's moving quickly, despite the consequences. He heals himself because he's getting hurt in the process. He drags himself because he's hesitating and know his actions aren't in his best interest. His saint, the saint of never getting it right, is dancing to celebrate how he honors his saint. Nothing he is doing is "getting it right." Every step he takes sets the world aflame because his actions have negative consequences. He is coming in blazing---a bastion of hope---yet he has hurt himself, and his world, in the process. His hopes are marching after him.

The verse ends with him saying, "For the first time in all my life/I know I'm more than what I fear." What does he fear? From what he's said so far, he could fear the non-narrator not being alright. He could be afraid of other people hurting themselves. Yet the lyrics have offered reasons to think he has forgone himself to help others. This could be a theme in his life, which is why this is the first time he has realized he doesn't have to keep acting this way. He has realized he does not need to hurt himself to help others. The soldiers, which were marching behind him, are now standing before him. This implies he has turned around. He continues to walk, and then he runs, and then he screams: "you do not get to hurt me just because I asked you once / If you were alright."

In the last verse, he's returned to his dwelling. He looks at his phone. The booze he packed for the journey to come has become the wine that he's drinking. Curiously, this is wine that the non-narrator was saving. This could symbolize the non-narrator fortifying himself for what he's about to do. His soldiers sit by; he is not pulling out all stops to help the non-narrator. He's baptised by his realization. Instead of sprinting out to help the non-narrator, he has chosen to call the non-narrator. He whispers to his saint, acknowledging this could be another habit in his tradition of never getting it right. He is doubting his choice. Still, he is calmer than before. He plans to help the non-narrator without sacrificing himself in the process.

I wonder what the song actually means. What were the lyricists thinking about when they wrote it? This was an amateur, off-the-cuff analysis. Incoherent and unedited; my attempt to make sense of a song I don't yet understand.

20260111

I have abandoned all possible plans for the day. I began by laying in bed, watching Fullmetal Alchemist, writing, and am now cooking the beer chicken. I ate part of a melongold today. It's a cross between a grapefruit and a pomelo. Inspired by the time my boss brought in a pomelo with seasoning, I tried to eat bits of the melongold with different seasonings that I had. The cajun seasoning worked well with it. The cilantro-lime-pepper seasoning was okay. Salt was also pretty good. I think salt and paprika would've been the way to go. I remember seeing a recipe for a shrimp and pomelo salad---maybe I could use a melongold for that. The melongold itself was a bit tart, sweet, and sour. I was surprised by how much I liked eating it.

I've been keeping audio diaries by talking to my phone on my way to and from work. Initially, I planned to include them with this website. I think I've decided against that, in part because the process seems like too much work. I've noticed that these audio diaries have helped me think the way I want to be thinking. Usually, I've daydreams running through my head at all times. By talking into my phone, though, I'm forced to focus. I'm not great at talking while daydreaming, and there are fewer stimuli to trigger daydreaming while I am talking. Hmm. I am not sure where I was going with that sentence.

I have lost track of what I've said in this diary vs that diary. I'm writing a novel, sort of, in a Nanowrimo "meet this wordcount each day" fashion. I only count the words in the google doc. To my surprise, I met my wordcount goals for all of last week. The plot started off somewhere and devolved. I could say that the book is about a woman who has a habit of getting her self-worth from men; in the process of becoming obsessed with each man, she starts to learn more about herself. It's a journey of her self-development into becoming a whole person. My thoughts have devolved, though. I'm too busy making the character me to have done anything I want to accomplish, or to have anything I want to accomplish. The novel is another sort of longform venting.

I wonder if the amount of time I've spent watching Youtuber's vlogs has created another manufactured discontent. I see them, with their perfect little lives, and start to think: if only I could live their lives, I'd be happy. And then: I will never be happy. I will never have friends. I don't understand human relationships. Ahh, this again. This bastardized self worth. I've been curling in on myself more, as of late. The constant string of coworkers saying "we don't need your help" starts to feel personal. Am I not good enough? coworker1 has me in the kitchen all the time, though, and he's leagues more experienced than all of us. My boss has gone as far as to assign me to a particular station on some nights, which isn't something that usually happens. And he's pulled me into the kitchen when the others are refusing my help, even saying that they should have had me help out sooner. I don't think it's a problem with me not being able to do the work.

I guess I'm back to the good ol' I am inherently unlikable shtick. I'm biting my tongue when I'm about to talk to someone, choosing to only speak when spoken to. If I'm to feel alienated, then so be it. I'd rather choose to be alone than to be continuously forced into the corner. Which doesn't mean I'm entirely alone, either. coworker1 offloaded a container of his friend's coquito onto me. It's quite good. I loved the strong coconut flavor; so lovely. Rum was a mere aftertaste. I wonder if coworker1 tried it before giving it to me. He doesn't drink much, but he does like tasting drinks. I know he likes coconut, so I really hope he did.

Back to thinking about who I want to be. Or it's time to stop thinking and start doing. I cling to plans, that's for sure. I'm staring at my planner: what will I work on this week?

20260115

My days feel oddly packed. I don't have that much to do, but I'm also the one deciding how to spend my day. I'm the one writing my todo lists. I'm 2/3 of the way through Fullmetal Alchemist; watching it has been a bit of a priority. It's a long-ish show, so I don't want to spread it out over too long a time period. I picked up two more recently-released shows---Daily Life of a Part-Time Torturer; Jack of All Trades, Party of None---to break up the monotony. Or to give myself something lighthearted.

I downloaded the Milk Bar cookbook yesterday and am slightly obsessed. I picked up the ingredients I needed for the cinnamon bun pie; not sure if I'll work on that tonight + tomorrow, or if I'll do it sometime next week. Making each of the components looks like a two day process. I also found out that I do have all the ingredients for the birthday cake cookies. I'm interested in all of these crumb recipes---there's a lot of "make these base recipes and mix them together" going on here. There's also quite a few ice cream recipes. I used Youtube to get some idea of how to make ice cream without an ice cream machine. I don't have a hand mixer, either, so I'll be trying to hand-churn ice cream. Eep. Whipping cream is bad enough. But! My arms will appreciate the random-ass workout. Yessir, I will do it.

In a shocking turn of events, I will need to buy cereal to make cereal milk. The idea of toasting some cereals before using them is unique. I'll need to order some ingredients online, too. I want to cook my way through the recipe book (cookbook --> bakebook?), so I'll need to make a plan for that. Do I pick recipes at random? Do I decide: this is what I'm doing each week? The kimchi blue cheese croissants also sound appealing. Ahh! And there's recipes using passionfruit. I like the sound of that. There was a grapefruit pie, too---I instinctively want to try that with melongold or pommelo. So many opportunities.

The novel is progressing nowhere. It's half-journal at this point. I forced myself to drag the plot somewhere. The current cast of characters was boring, so I pulled in new ones. That being said, I have about 16k words of the main character thinking about her life. I need to read a few more novels to figure out how to make this interesting---how to do it well. I think the Clarice Lispector books will provide insight, but I haven't been taking the time to read. At least I'm writing.

Listening to someone's "messy apartment deep clean" right now---there's something strange about how obsessed these girlies are with cleanliness. They all look and act the same, too...I understand that this is their job, to some extent, since cleaning content --> CONTENT --> paycheck. It doesn't take me that long to clean my place, though. It's not some weeklong extravaganza; just daily maintenance, and a little bit of tidying up other spaces here and there. Then again, these ladies do have so much stuff. Or they need to justify their hundreds of cleaning products.

Gotta remember to buy dumpling wrappers. If I left now, I would have time to buy them before work...eh. I'll go on Sunday. I went grocery shopping this morning and got noticably less food than I usually would, so I'd dragged myself to buy a few more things. They had black grapes, which were noticably cheaper than the other grapes. They also had discount pomegranates!!! I bought a four-pack for less than $2. Once I was done seeding them, I had two black takeout containers full of pomegranate seeds. I froze them both. I'm really happy about this. Pomegranate always seems too expensive, and the season is short, so seeing them with the discounted produce was like a dream come true. They did create quite a mess in my kitchen---juice splattered everywhere---but that came off easily. I wonder if I will bake something with them. They'd go well with a chocolate cake.

What else have I been up to...a little bit of watercolor. Eh, that's nothing notable, just an hour on Monday night. Or was it Tuesday night? The days have blurred.

I think I'll do the mushroom-sausage stir-fry tonight. That'll be low enough effort. Potato pancakes for tomorrow. Salsa...later. For the pie, I can make the topping and cheesecake tonight. I'll make the dough EARLY tomorrow morning; then I'll be able to use it as soon as it's done proofing. I just need to get work as soon as my alarm goes off. I need it to cool down enough so I can take it with me when I go into work. Side note---I walk everywhere, and I really hate walking around with cakes! I feel like the people who see me are watching me, having questions, and just might steal it. That's why I need to bring it in when I'm opening---the homeless aren't usually begging at 9am, so I don't have to worry about them.

20260117

From Down below, by Leonora Carrington:

I realized that my anguish—my mind, if you prefer—was painfully trying to unite itself with my body; my mind could no longer manifest itself without producing an immediate effect on my body—on matter. Later it would exercise itself upon other objects. I was trying to understand this vertigo of mine: that my body no longer obeyed the formulas established in my mind, the formulas of old, limited Reason; that my will no longer meshed with my faculties of movement, and since my will no longer possessed any power, it was necessary first to liquidate my paralyzing anguish, then to seek an accord between the mountain, my mind, and my body. In order to be able to move around in this new world, I had recourse to my heritage of British diplomacy and set aside the strength of my will, seeking through gentleness an understanding between the mountain, my body, and my mind.

20260119

I am doing a terrible job at consistently updating this website. Maybe it is meant to always be a little bit behind---a stark contrast from my slightly anxious posting. Hmm.

I made the cinnamon bun pie from the Momofuku Milk Bar cookbook. The result was noticably salty. At first, it tasted too salty, but after a few bites, it became an addictive kind of salty. I wanted more. It was far too easy to eat. I used the remaining half of the dough to make croissants, which were okay. I managed to mess up shaping them, which left me with shapes that did not vaguely resemble croissants. Still, they tasted good. I'll hold off on making the kimchi blue cheese croissants until I can make a croissant well.

Next up is exploring the crumb recipes. I now realize I don't have the white chocolate I need for the milk crumb recipe...oh dear. I was hoping to make the blueberries & cream cookies---I wonder if omitting the white chocolate will only change the taste, or if it'll ruin the recipe altogether. I even bought dried blueberries. Guess I'll be making the birthday cake crumb for the confetti cookies instead...even though I don't have cake flour. Or clear vanilla extract. The results should be close enough. I'll decide on Wednesday.

I've already gone to the grocery store twice in the past week. Today, I replenished some staples I was running low on (flour, sugar, oil) and picked up ingredients for this week's Futari Solo Camp recipes---most notably, BACON. The gift of the gods...

This morning was strange. Because I fell asleep at 10pm (six hours earlier than usual), I woke up at 3am. Though I was wide awake, I forced myself to try to go back to sleep, and may have successfully slept in short bursts for the next 1.5hr until I deemed my wake-up time "acceptable." Not quite ready to get out of bed, I opted to read the book "Loneliness & Company," by Charlee Dyroff. The book follows a recent graduate who has been assigned to a research project on loneliness. This book takes place in a distant future where the word "loneliness" was removed from the "Emotion Index" (whatever that is). The basis for this is that "loneliness" isn't real---it's a composite of easily treatable problems (anxiety, depression). If the word is removed, then, people will not identify as lonely, so they will not feel lonely. Problem solved. However, people still feel lonely, even if they don't have a word for it. I wonder if lacking a word for what they're feeling makes the feeling worse---they don't understand their problem, and they feel like they are broken. They're separate from humanity but can't understand why.

The narrator is a "Humanity Consultant" who is gathering data for an AI designed to be a true friend. Hypothetically, this AI will solve loneliness. Near the end of the book, we learn that the trial runs of the AI have been relatively successful; the company's founders have reason to believe their AI will cure loneliness. This is why they force the project to close. I enjoyed this brief show of values---they end the data collection and shut down the company because it goes against their beliefs. They'd rather have a world of lonely people than a world of numb people (paraphrasing / butchering a quote).

The narrator is also lonely. She doesn't know this, but the reader will find it obvious. The narrator struggles with social interractions. She lacks connections to other people. She's a workaholic. Her devotion to her work masks her loneliness, but at the end of the day, she still feels alienated from other people. I found her relatable, so I devoured the novel this morning.

But what to follow this up with? I stare at pages of book recommendations. Something by an author whose other book I liked, something I remember hearing about somewhere, a cover that looks familiar, something award-winning, a title I've heard elsewhere but can't place. When I'm deciding what book to read next, I dawdle. I look at books I've downloaded. I look at books I've meant to read. I look and scroll and read first sentences and none of them feel right. The description sounds like it could be interesting, but the reviews & the spoilers they offer turn me off. Strong start, unsatisfying ending. I click and look for something that's the same but done right. I scroll through horror titles that all have the same title, more or less, and the same covers, or just about. I start to think I've found what I want to read, but have I? I stare at the screen. Adjust my feet. They're falling asleep. I think about yoga, exercising, reading, sleeping, brushing my teeth, finally updating the damned Neocities; how I'm missing things but maybe that's fine. Maybe I'll be fine in the end.

20260120

I'm low on time. I slept 8hr, surprise! I finished watching Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood this morning. The conclusion was satisfying. The ending felt drawn out; it took so many episodes for them to bring the end of the show to a close. So many moving pieces for them to successfuly defeat the Homunculi & co. I'm almost sad it's over...and relieved I'm done watching it. Solid show; I can see why people say it's good. Ed's 'confession' to Winry was so dorky! Ah, those two are dorks though. The character growth in the show was nice. Time's up; gotta go to work.

Thought about how yesterday was similar to a previous notable bad day. The ending was different, though. Helpful coworker was around, so the work that could've hurt closing was taken care of before I left. Closing was given the chance to get ahead on the week's work. To me, this proves that the problems from the notable bad day weren't solely because I "didn't communicate well enough"; it was because the people who could help refused to. ("You're fucked," said a different coworker on that day. Sure enough, this coworker didn't help us yesterday either...just whined and scrolled.) I'm happy. Yesterday could've gone really poorly, and I could've been guilt-tripped into staying late, and we could've had an annoying day today because of how much work wasn't done yesterday. But we didn't. People took care of annoying tasks instead of ignoring them, and they worked together, and so a severe backlog of dishes was done within an hour. That was surprising. I appreciate how --- is always on top of things. I'm glad she's going to spend more time working the day shift---we're going to be able to get so much more done. Or at least we'll be on top of things, and the irritating parts of the workload won't all fall onto me to handle.

I'm amused by how paranoid I am about looking at the websites of people I used to talk to. I want to follow them, but I don't want to talk to them. That's funny. Do I prefer parasocial relationships? That's not it---I see the internet as a tool for watching people. That's not it either. I don't think I have anything to contribute to internet relationships, and I don't want internet relationships either. They feel fake, forced, difficult to maintain when you lack casual connection. Online, I'm reduced to my words, and I must keep talking or else I won't be real. Offline, I'm a composite of my words, actions, facial expressions, the setting, the context. I'm present even if I have nothing to say. Online, if I have nothing to say, I'm absent, a ghost(er), an asshole.

Is this me having poor social skills? I think that's a convenient way to point a finger at me. I don't feel the same urge to connect that others do, or I don't connect to others in a typical manner. I think I'm fine with that. I don't know why I feel like I need to justify my disinterest in internet relationships---well, maybe talking to people online is a form of leading them on, when I have nowhere I want to lead them to. I like watching people. I like seeing how people live their lives. I like reading the thoughts they have to share. I like getting to form a picture of who this person could be. Is this a parasocial way of socializing? Have I depersonalized friendship? Am I masking my loneliness---

Am I lonely?

There's bouts where I believe I am. Where I wander through depths of despair, affirming: I will always be alone, I'm meant to be alone, I will not have friends, I have failed, I will never learn how to be a friend, there is something inherently wrong with me, I am not a part of society. I throw myself a pity party. I go to sleep and wake up feeling refreshed, dismissing the events of the previous day as coping. So what if I'm alone? Things aren't as bad as they used to be. My life has improved, albeit not in the drastic, visibly successful ways I wish it had.

Maybe the surface-level connections with coworkers take care of most of the loneliness. I'll admit, coworker1 may as well be a guilty pleasure---he's so good at being a person. Which is a weird thing to say, but I see him as the opposite of me. He's confidently himself. He's good at talking to others---hell, he voluntarily talks to me, even if it's just to pass the time. He's knowledgable and is constantly pointing me to new things to look at, to watch, to search for, to try. None of that's intentional. It's just who he is. Cultured. There's a baby screaming outside my window. Friendly in the way a cat is friendly. I don't know...even if it's just a distantly friendly, passing the time connection, it's still an appreciated one. I feel like most people who talk to me to pass the time eventually blow up, get mad at me, and fall silent. I think the only time he's yelled at me was when I cut some chicken wrong...what a difference.

I don't know what to make of my life. My computer has spent the past hour downloading the update for Where Winds Meet. I haven't played in a few weeks. It's at 80%. What are my goals for this sesssion? I'll start by fooling around for 15min---I heard the interface changed a bit. I'll remember what I was doing and decide what to do next.

Not drinking coffee feels like a game. I think about having some, and then I see a way around it---victory. I buy the new coffee we're selling to try it, but the can is sitting in my fridge. I'll let myself drink it tomorrow. I won't drink it tonight because I want to sleep well. When I came home, I laid down for half an hour and thought I might sleep. If I napped in there---I'm starting to wonder if I do nap but don't notice it---I don't know, but after a bit I felt alert and ready to get on with the evening. I didn't force it. That's the thing I'm trying to work on, not forcing sleep and alertness. I'll get up when I feel awake. I won't stress out about how I need to fall asleep by a particular time. Worst case scenario, I don't fall asleep until 5am. And so what if I need to leave for work at 9:20? I've gotten by on less sleep. It's challenging, but it is not the end of the world. I'm starting to realize I might've been covertly stressed about sleep, and maybe that's contributing to insomnia.

I am wondering if my insomnia is another relic of the past that I haven't learned to abandon. In the past, I was stressed and anxious. My insomnia was attributable to whatever problems I was dealing with. Nowadays, many of my old problems have been solved, but my habits haven't changed. I'm still living like I used to, except the reasons why I lived that way have vanished. I now can choose to live differently. So, I wonder, maybe the insomnia was a habit. My brain isn't sleeping because it's used to not sleeping. It's operating on "I will not sleep because I'm stressed" mode. But it isn't stressed. There's nothing to keep it up. It can sleep. In other words, I need to learn to let myself sleep. I wonder if that makes any sense.

Remember the Titans is available on disney+ and hulu. Is there anything else on disney+ that I need to watch? I remember a college AU for "The Untamed," where Wei Wuxian sent Lan Wangji a list of classic movies. Here, classic was primarily disney titles (Mulan, etc). How to Train Your Dragon was included in his list of classic movies. Lan Wangji watches all of them, and writes: How to Train Your Dragon is a Dreamworks title. Wei Wuxian realizes LWJ wasn't ignoring him---he actually watched all of the god-damn movies.

20260121

Watched Remember the Titans this morning. I have nothing to say about it. I also made the confetti cookies from the Milk Bar cookbook---needs a shorter cook time (for my oven) and more sprinkles. I think the vanilla flavor needs to be stronger, but that's what I get for using imitation vanilla extract. I want to add a bit of lemon juice to the next batch, but I'm not sure if the acidity of that will impact the cookies. Cutting the cookie recipe in half left me with a dozen cookies, which was more than enough. Alas, I still have more of the birthday cake crumb, so I'll be doing another batch. I need to nail the cook time so that the blueberries and cream cookies will come out well.

I'm not surprised that --- was irritating me. All I could think was that if he were anybody else, we'd've been done closing at 9. Frustrating. I just want him to take his earbuds out and put his phone away. His head isn't in the game. He's dragging his feet. I did what I could to help him, but I started too late. When I saw how much he was avoiding his work, I could've given more reminders, and maybe made the passive-agressive move of doing his work for him. If I'd started doing his work for him sooner, we would've been done sooner. I had the time, but I thought doing that would make me seem like a dick. This is why nobody wants to work with you and so on. ARGH. Well, notes for next time.

I really hope one of the higher-ups notices how poorly he's been doing and says something about it to him. I can't tell him to take the earbuds out and put the phone away, but bosses can. Boss1 was trying to politely crack down on phone usage before he was travelling; maybe he'll bring the hammer down on that when he comes back. The cooks have been the worst offenders as of late, which is a turnaround from how FoH used to be the problem. Watching this happen is frustrating because it impacts all of us + the customers, but there's nothing I can do about it.

tl;dr: so-and-so wasn't pulling his weight tonight. Also, --- was really talkative. Now I see why -x- says that -k- doesn't do as well when --- is around. -k- WAS really distracted and didn't maintain her usual standard of work. Other coworker also wasn't doing as well as usual. Those two noobs have really stepped it up as of late, so seeing how the older girl sort of dragged them down was interesting.

What's tomorrow---another opening shift. It's midnight and I'm wide awake. I'll cook more of the camping recipes; definitely looking forward to the bacon. Cookies are Saturday's problem. Fatigue is creeping in; hallelujah. Will this be enough to sleep? Oh, I'll watch a movie tomorrow. I could also start on Food Wars.

20260125

I don't know where to start. There is a problem; I don't know what it is. I can't pinpoint what's wrong. Start by writing. Start by talking about your day.

I've been reading The Art of Seduction, by Robert Greene. He's most well known for writing The 48 Laws of Power. Part One of the book describes different types of seducers and examples of them throughout history. I like seeing how he breaks down different types of seducers and how their characteristics seduce others. For example, 'the rake' is a kind of male seducer who is driven by his love for women. 'The dandy' can be male or female; 'the dandy' has turned their life into a form of art. They are attractive through their air of indifference, attention to detail, aloofness, and their attention to living an aesthetic life. They take on characteristics of the opposite sex. So far, I've found the book interesting. The only annoying part is the quotes---he includes quotes from other texts, but he doesn't discuss them whatsoever. I've found myself skipping over quotes because I feel like they're distracting from the main text.

So I woke up, read for a few hours, and fell back asleep. Then I---what did I do? I read some more, I think. I briefly re-arranged my room so that my bed was by the vent that releases hot air. However, this made it difficult to open the door to my bedroom. I've now moved my bed to a wall farther from the window. Anything to keep away from the draftiness and stay warm. I've grown sick of sleeping on the floor and pulled out the mattress topper. It's soft. I wonder how I'll feel about sleeping on it tonight. Will it feel comfortable? Or will I wake up in pain, like I did the last few times I slept on it? I shall see...

Realizing I didn't have enough butter to make cookies, I went on an ill-advised grocery run. I bought two boxes of sticks of butter, a bag of chocolate chips, and popcorn. I've already eaten all the popcorn. The sidewalks were slippery. The cars sounded like they were struggling, or they were driving especially carefully. The weather's been nasty. Right now, I feel as if walking is safer than driving. If I slip and fall, I can catch myself; I might be hurt a little bit, but I should be fine. If a car loses control (due to ice), the driver, the people in the car, and who/what-ever they crash into could get hurt. Especially if they crash into another car.

Afterwards, I made the tandoori chicken, which I didn't eat until dinner. I cleaned up my fridge. I made the chocolate crumbs for the chocolate cookies, which I won't bake until tomorrow. What else---I've showered, shovelled, re-organized my kitchen, and spent a lot of time laying down. I feel as if my brain is collapsing. Where Winds Meet has been updating all day; 4hr ago, Steam said it had 4hr left, and I set a timer. It says it's 60% complete and has 6.5hr remaining. Lovely. And here I was hoping I could play today...it's 10:30pm. I'll have to leave my computer open overnight to let it finish downloading. Such a waste of power, but I digress.

20260201

Happy February. I want sweets and fruit. Instead, all I have is delicious meat, beans, and rice. People are arguing outside. Thoughts in my head---error, brain disabled. Eyes dry. The feijoada is almost done, supposedly. It tastes good. I'm looking forward to making the farofa, but I'm also dreading making the farofa. One more thing to do. I wish I'd bought more oranges---just the one won't cut it. I ate half of it already. There's a rich, hearty stew sitting before me, yet I don't crave it. I'm thinking of oranges, rice & cheese, mango. The not-a-churrasco is sitting in front of me, on top a bowl of rice. I nibble on it. It's good enough. It doesn't scratch the itch in my brain which is crying for coconut. Kombucha. Lemonade. The blueberry cookies. The more I eat, the more I think about how weird this pork is. The sour orange and oregano don't complement the pork. That's why it belongs on a steak, I guess. If I got up and made the chimmichurri that I'm supposed to have with this, would it be better? I want sushi. I wish Grubhub / doordash / etc. seemed worth it. Yet I know that I'll download an app, look at the fees, remember to tip, and realize that it's not cheap enough to justify spending my money on.

I had stir-fry noodles with mango for lunch. That was delicious. The sweetness of the mango paired well with the spicy noodles. Would've been better with some lime and beansprouts. Ohhh, and coconut.

I want to force myself to take the week off from baking (and extra cooking) and from watching anime. I've been binging Food Wars. Wasn't I just watching Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood? It's all too much. I've cancelled my Crunchyroll subscription. Not that that'll matter until the subscription ends (in 2 weeks), but still. The symbolism matters.

The fat on this meat is weird. I don't like the texture, but oh how it dissolves in my mouth. What went wrong with this---the meat. I'm not using the right cut of meat for this marinade, and I'm not using the right marinade for this meat. For pork ribs, I think rich and flavorful---that black bean garlic sauce, or standard BBQ shit. For citrus, I think---steak salads, fish sauce, veggies...rice, not so much. The meat is cubed, and these chunks aren't fit for the seasoning either. Putting this on top of rice does it a disservice. There isn't any sauce to mix in with the rice. It's just there. The meat chunks don't mix in with the rice either. This isn't cohesive. I want---veggies and fruit. Mango, lettuce, and a different fucking cut of meat.

Some hours later, and I'm eating a mug cake. Lol. I seem to be so picky about food. But what to eat? More yogurt? Should I buy cereal? Cereal is annoying; it isn't filling. Well, at least I've now eaten something. God-damn. I'll make sure to buy something microwaveable this week...I gotta remember that that $6 bag of frozen burritos is worth four meals. Which isn't much, but it's better than nothing. I need to start buying that sort of stuff. All of this cooking isn't sustainable---I keep tiring myself out and ending up with okay foods that I don't enjoy. Sometimes, my cooking is bad. Other times, the food is fine, even good, but I don't like it enough to eat it for the next four or five meals. I'm tasting the feijoada and noticing that it's good, but. There's the but. I'm not craving dense, rich, fatty, pork-filled food. My favorite kinds of flavors are citrus, fruit, and spice. That's why I liked the spicy noodles with mango---it hit perfectly. Hmm, I have been thinking about that chicken with golden raisin dish. The last time I did it, I used the wrong brand of coconut milk (had a lot of additives), so it turned out garbage. That was over a year ago. I keep craving it; maybe I'll cook it next week.

I need to stop trying to pinpoint why I feel so tired and start consistently doing things to alleviate that. Obviously, I am not eating enough. I can feel this with how hungry I keep being. Convenience foods seem "too expensive," but non-convenience foods ain't happening (time, energy). Something's gotta give. I need to stop obsessing over cooking and start buying easy things that I want to eat. Dumplings, meatballs, burritos---see, off the top of my head, I can name a few things I'd buy. "They're overpriced" so? Maybe it's worth it.

I told myself I'd prioritize my wellbeing this week. Instead of saying "I'll adopt all of these new habits," I'm only saying "I'll behave myself this week." A mental reset of sorts. For me, this means stretching on a daily basis, FUCKING EATING THREE MEALS A DAY, advanced hygiene (see: skincare), journaling, and cleaning up some neglected spots in the house. Bonus points for getting out of bed when I wake up. More bonus points for reading and playing video games. Optional mild haircut recommended. I am banned from baking D: and un-planned cooking D: and I think I'll let myself go to the grocery store on Wednesday. Groceries will prioritize simple foods, even if it means abandoning the Solo Camping cook-along for a week. All of this is double-y important because I was scheduled to work seven days this week; more likely than not, I'll be working for the next thirteen days. Lovely. That'll include a special event next week. Wow. I'm ecstatic. Did they look at the schedule before sending it out? Still, challenge accepted...

I keep thinking about that raise, or lack thereoff. The last time they said anything about it to me was in August. Guaranteed for the fall, they'd said, and now we're in the middle of winter. I want to ask, but now seems like a terrible time. Traffic is down (due to weather) so revenue is down so who am I to ask about a raise? Even if they'd been the ones who had been bringing it up in the first place?

After that, I proceeded to scroll through linkedin and enable depression mode. I'm not qualified for anything. What could I prepare to be qualified for? I'm really not qualified for anything. There isn't a role I want to be qualified for. How do I expect to have a better future when I can't imagine out it'd come to be?

Well. Breathe. Is there anything else to say now? I'm glad I moved my sleeping position. I'm making better use of my room. I need to tough out my current living situation. Nothing is wrong with it. I crave better---imagine having my own kitchen, imagine my own space, my own place---but I understand these are luxuries. They aren't attainable in my current state. My choices must reflect my financial situation. I did some math; if my current income and expenses stay the same, I'll be debt-free within five years. This is the reasonable timeline. A shorter timeline isn't worth that much more, and a longer timeline will be more costly. I'll be able to look into refinancing it later, too, again, in case I'm able to get a lower interest rate. All that being said, I'm still pleased with the way things are going. I've updated my finance spreadsheet and know what my numbers and goals are. I know what I want to see each month. Oh, it won't defeat the dopamine gremlin, but at least I know what my genuine expectations are.

20260202

I really do suck at socializing and being a person. This is why I keep to myself. It's safer for everyone else. The other party gets hurt. I'm not who others think I am. (she writes, while thinking about how nice it would be to not be alone---hello hypocrisy my old friend...)

So far, I've showered, cut my nails, ate breakfast, caught up on dishes, and updated the baking/cooking pages. Hooray. I have three hours until work---what do I want to do? I need to stretch; focus on back, legs, feet. I'm surprised by how exhausting stretching can feel. It's an activity. I'd rather not. I just want to zone out, to not exist, to run away to my own unreality where I have a perfect world and feel happy.

Did I write about how I was looking at houses? I wonder if home ownership is feasible. My income needs to go up. I could hit a 10% downpayment within the next decade, but what will house prices look like then? I want my own space, away from everybody else, in my own world. Nobody can bother me. Nobody else will make noise. The space would be mine to do with as I please. I could paint the walls, hang up artwork, use the entire kitchen, fill the fridge with whatever-the-fuck. I could leave dirty dishes in the sink. I could have a dishwasher. I could put down roots and have a place that felt like a home. I'd buy bookshelves and a desk and a bed. I'd come home at the end of the day and sit on a couch. There'd be a pullup bar, somewhere, always. I'd have the money for a car and a space to put it. I'd sing whenever I wanted. I'd never have to worry about who I'm annoying by existing. I'd eat so much fruit; I'd have fresh fruit, not canned stuff. I'd keep my towel and toothbrush in the bathroom. My house would be bright and colorful and lived in. There'd be cacti, and maybe even a large plant (if I could keep it alive). I'd learn pole dancing. I'd bake in the middle of the night. I'd have space and peace and quiet.

Stressed about needing to handle two new people tonight. Both of them are being trained on different stations---am I really ready to work with both of them? One doesn't need much hands-on work, but I do need to keep a close eye on her. The other needs hands-on work. And then there's the rest of work that also needs to be done. God, how I wish I didn't have work today. Just a little bit more rest, that's all I ask.

Anywho. I think that's all there is to say. I want to reread One's Company. Yes, I think I'll do that. Buh-bye.

20260206

I feel myself getting frustrated. I wish I could criticize my coworkers the way they criticize me. I wish I could have that raise. I wish --- wasn't such an asshole. I wish --- wasn't such a bitch. I wish I didn't feel overworked and underpaid. I wish my coworkers listened to me. I wish I were a part of the team. I wish I fit in. I wish I were paid more. I looked at job listings and did some number crunching---a local cafeteria job paid $23/hr. At that, I could work 40hr a week and take home more than I currently take home. I wouldn't be relying on tip either. But it'd only be during the school year...yeah that's not an option.

I'm telling myself I'll ask about the raise next time I see ---; after all, it was _he_ who told me I'd be seeing a raise last year. Repeatedly. I am not demanding a raise. I am following up on things I was told would happen last spring, last summer, last fall. This is reasonable. If I hear more about how they aren't making enough money---well. Then. I'll give it until June; then I can start looking for a new job. My lease is up in August. Might need to move, then, if I can't find new work out here. Worst case scenario...could be that I'm still at my current job. With how much I work / how much they rely on me, they do deserve the heads up. That I'm thinking of looking for better paying work. I guess the actual worst case scenario is that the place I'm working at closes.

20260207

Wow, the next morning. Eating the microwave wontons---everything I've bought that's "bibigo" brand has been good. Not standout jaw-dropping amazing, mind you, but good enough to feel worth buying full-price. I'd bought the pork & veggie wontons because they were on sale ($5 instead of $7), but I don't think I need to overthink buying full-price. They'd come out to ~$2.30/meal if I'm only eating the wontons for a meal. See? It's fine to buy pre-made food.

I worry that buying pre-made processed foods will spiral. Before I know it, I think, I'll be broke and eating pizza rolls for every meal. I don't want to be the kind of person who relies on frozen food. I'm a cook and I like cooking. Maybe dialing back the volume of cooking will help me, though. I want to try to make more feijoada; I'll use more cumin, I won't drain too much salt out of the salt pork, and I'll use black beans. Hmm. I want a plan---a concrete "I'll cook this much each week and buy this much each week." I can't put together a coherent plan. I want the day-by-day, meal-by-meal breakdown. Having a firm, concrete structure makes me feel safe. Except I wouldn't follow it.

Did I mention I abandoned the novel? Huh. Had I not, I'd've had 50k words by now, I think. I bring this up because I started writing a screenplay. I can't believe I hadn't thought of this before---but I can believe, because I wasn't exercising my creative muscles, and I wasn't trying to push myself to do something new. I'm taking the same "writing as venting" approach. Stream-of-consciousness appears as a voiceover while the narrator goes about her life. Occasionally, we change to seeing her talk in real-time. I like what I've written so far. I'm reminding myself---just write, it doesn't have to be perfect, this is just a draft, this is everything you were thinking about but didn't know how to say/do, your failures are coming together, give it time, give it time, give it time.

I remember when I used to write freely and voraciously. Since when did I stop---we've been over this too many times. Stop reflecting on the past. Work on the future. Anywho. I like this. I want to keep writing because I want to know where this story goes. I want to see how all of these vignettes come together. I can't wait to come home and write---what's she going to do next? And, in turn, what am I going to do next?

I learned that playing "brown noise" on my phone, at full-volume, has the exact same effect as blasting a fan does. I'm grateful for this discovery.

I need to keep an eye on the weather. Maybe I'll go and do something next Sunday. A wave of stress for next week washes over me---breathe. My latest excursion into Japanese is hilarious. I'm just trying to keep up with a coworker (and failing miserably). The last time I tried learning Japanese, I was using Wanikani to drill kanji; I'd learned something, but not really Japanese. That was in high school. Now, my memory is rusty, and I'm focusing on speaking. I wonder if working through the Duolingo course will teach me anything. I'm learning a little bit more about grammar than I had before---no shit, Sherlock. I'm sitting here and wondering if this is sustainable and if it'll accomplish anything. Maybe I'll pick up enough to understand anime. Being able to watch anime with Japanese subtitles, instead of English ones, would be interesting. Oh well...

I feel a strange paralysis. What's with this obsession, this guilt, and what must I do to let go of it? I fall back into a familiar thought---if I can only write enough, I'll be free. Well. I've no choice. I must prepare myself to leave for work. I need to remember my options. I've gotten too hooked into the content streams recently. Too much anime, too much comedy (Ashley Gavin is hilarious), too much ... argh! This is why I must write. I'm worried about fading into nothingness, of having created nothing and mindlessly consumed everything. I'm fading into the common being, who I dread so much. The faceless mass of ignorant people. I must strive for more. Cooking and baking aren't enough of an exercise---the creative juices must flow, no, it's the thoughts that must be expressed. That's why I need to remember to write; to journal and work on the screenplay. I'm out of time. I'll take my leave.

20260208

I'm asking myself which actions I'd find more attractive; I'm reframing the choices I make in terms of what (I think) is/not attractive to others. "I went home and watched anime" < "I went home, watched anime, and worked on a screenplay." Yes, that is the only reason why I was able to drag myself to write. And that's the only reason I'm writing this...it's more interesting than a mono-consumptive activity.

Today was draining. Fucking Superbowl Sunday. FoH kept fucking up. They gave orders to the wrong people, which meant we had to redo orders...aaaaarrrgggghhh. There were more problems. They're getting chewed out and I don't even feel bad for them. Moving on...I'm genuinely surprised we pulled through in the end. We got through a slew of tickets that should've been impossible. Damn. 'Twas a weird day, but BoH managed to do well. So well that there's a really long todo list for tomorrow. About half of our menu needs to be prepped. It's exciting! I love a good, long todo list for opening. Will strategizing be a problem, yes, but god it'll feel so satisfying. Not to mention that Mondays have been consistently weird (in terms of how busy they are/not). I'll be stressed but it'll be fun. To top it off, there's the catering order where I'm going to be using a different kitchen. We're only serving food we've already prepped, thank merlin, but it's for a few hundred people. I'm looking forward to going over the fine details and finishing preparing for it. The change of pace will be exciting.

I hate watching myself crash. I can feel it, I can watch it, and I might drag myself into it. But it's so embarrassing.

I started making a list of things I do that I'm dissatisfied with. Which is weird! But I want to put together a curriculum for myself---focus on each flaw, really push to fixing them, one at a time. Which includes challenging myself to make eye contact with people :| this is such a weird-ass way to go about life. But I must continously challenge myself to improve, if only to run away from the mediocrity which I fear so much. I must develop into a full person who I have no interest in running away from.

re-listening to my top songs from 2024; so much The Pretty Reckless (the letter p must be copy-pasted? No. Oh dear. Is something wrong with my keyboard? For a moment, the ---- wasn't working either. I hit the key and nothing appeared. That's twice in the past two minutes...this is very very strange. I wonder if something is wrong and if it's going to be a recurring problem. There's something very unsettling about 9=00-00--0000000------o pressing a key and seeing nothing appear. That was weird--- p, -, and = didn't work. They're all close to each other. But pressing - triggered a string of 0000s, so maybe there's a crumb in the keyboard that's screwing with it? I want to be screwed with, but alas, I'm not desperate enough to download a dating app.) Oh, The Pretty Reckless. I heard "Going to Hell"---I loved the line "Getting heavy with the Devil / You can hear the wedding bells." Ooh, now it's playing Jack White, Here in the Twilight (When you cut into the present / The future leaks / Out). I think I appreciate the song more when I've forgotten about it. Hear, a blast from the past, something you used to like/love/loop and now don't. Huh, I hit p and it a9=9=aaadopppoopoooo[---ppapppp]ppeared twice, and then not at all, and then in a slew with 9---====00099900----pp[[[[[pp]]]]]. This is concerning, but it's a problem for tomorrow. From Going to Hell---

Father did you miss me?
Don’t ask me where I’ve been
You know I know, yes I’ve been told
I redefine a sin
I don’t know what’s driving me to put this in my head
Maybe I wish I could die, maybe I am dead

You need to look it up and listen to it.

20260209

I'm amused by how much I hesitate. I've been sitting here, meaning to put away the dirty dish, meaning to use the bathroom, meaning to brush my teeth, meaning to check my phone. Transitions are difficult, I notice. Instead of committing to continuing to watch a show, or committing to practicing Japanese, or committing to writing, I chose to zone out. I think about something a coworker said. I think about something my boss said. I think about something I said---something that I meant one way, but I think the listener took it the other way, and the way he interpreted it was creepier. There's a difference between wanting to eat someone's fingers and wanting to lick someone's fingers; the latter is weirder. Or the connotations are different; less violence/cannibalism and more sexual.

I sit and I hesitate. I think of the song "Sexy French Depression." I think of found family and The Nocturnal Academy. I think of a scene---Alice has tied up Andre, something with revenge---I always hated the way they got back together---and voices the problem: "I don't know if I want to kiss you or kill you." I see a lovers to enemies plot; this is the turning point. Character A & B's relationship has been on rocky grounds, yes, but there's still room for recovery. We have some idea of what B cares about, what they value, and what their non-negotiables are. We know enough too understand what A could do to truly hurt them. This is the turning point. A is forced to make a choice---does she respect or reject B? She chooses rejection, and the hurt is palpable. The hurt radiates throughout the room. This relationship is past the point of no return, and it's (d)evolved into something deeper, darker, more dangerous. Sprinkle in obsessive tendencies.

I'm reading Open Wide, by Jessica Gross, but I'm collecting more books to read. I think of who I will be if / when I read them. I add: Kink, by Kathe Koja; Severin's Journey into the Dark, by Paul Leppin; The Dark Domain, by Stefan Grabiński; The Maimed, by Hermann Ungar; Dark Spring, by Unica Zurn.

20260210

Alternative forms of maxxing:

ticketmaxxing: When the parking spots near your workplace have a 2hr time limit and you see how many parking tickets you can collect during your shift.
bobamaxxing: When you stick your hand in a container of boba, how much boba can you pick up at once?
honeymaxxing: Seeing how many woman you can [REDACTED]. See: player (m), whore (f).
pillowmaxxing: When you're spending as much time with your head on your pillow as you possibly can.
exhibitionmaxxing: When you go and see every single museum exhibit in a 20mile radius within a set period of time. Not to be confused with xxxhibitionmaxxing.
littermaxxing: When you collect every piece of litter you see. May be to relocate into trash or for recreational purposes.
highmaxxing: Climbing mountains, in search of preparation for summitting the tallest mountains.
lowmaxxing: Depression.
anxietymaxxing: Always leaving objects, particularly cups of water, so close to the edge of a table/surface that they could easily fall off the edge.
dreammaxxxing: See: maladaptive dadreaming.

I began listening to a video that used the term 'frictionmaxxing'; hence this list. I swear every commentary video I click on has a term that ends in "maxxing." Looksmaxxing, bonemaxxing, healthmaxxing, gymmmaxxing---always with that insufferable double x. XX, if you will, like the chromosomes of the people the maxxers chase after. Per "Know Your Meme," the contemporary usage of this term stemmed from min-maxing. Min-maxing is a gaming behavior where "desired traits are maximized and undesired traits are minimized" (Know Your Meme). This explains how the term "looksmaxxing" appears to have originated on 4chan. Gamers gotta be terminally online, after all. I thought the ongoing variations of maxxing were all derivative of looksmaxxing; instead, looksmaxxing stems from min-maxing, which explains why many variations of maxxing concern character/lifestyle traits but not necessarily physical traits.

This has an interesting implication: do we see ourselves as video game characters, with traits that can be increased/decreased as we desire? I think this implies an interesting distance from oneself. One isn't "Alice"; one is player playing a character named "Alice." So many self-improvement videos are impersonal and distant from the person watching it. They offer the same advice regardless of the person's situation. The viewers are an indistinguishable mass who have the option to customize their characters. To the viewer, this may mean they can customize their character without taking their situation into account. They choose: get out of bed early, have lemon water, go for a run; they adopt a role; they play the character. They adopt the trend without taking themself into account---do they want the acai bowl, do they want to run, do they want to go "plant-based," do they want to play the part?

This is why thinking "I need to get off my phone" isn't enough. The character needs a trait to maximize; this is the role they can play. They can't just remember an old hobby, an old interest, or pick up a book; they must hobbymaxx, offlinemax, bookmax. And this must be optimal. One cannot only introduce a trace of the trait; one must maximize the trait. They must be in pursuit of some grand overhaul. After all, what good is doing something here and there?

"Maxxing" could be seen as the latest evolution of self-help content. Is this a rebrand of self-help? Instead of improving one's health, one must healthmaxx. Instead of adopting the "millionaire morning routine," one must routinemaxx, or morningmaxx, or lifemaxx.

I'm bothered by the rejection of slow change. Haven't we learned that building habits takes time, that slow, small steps are better than a full-out revolution, and that progress is more useful than perfection? "Maxxing" says followers must do what's optimal; it implies trying isn't enough; one must be striving for perfection. There's to much to do, so nobody has time for the peregrine path; a coherent path promises a certain set of results. Yet, to me, the path of the wanderer will lead to more satisfaction. Enjoy the process; stop to smell the roses; notice and adapt, instead of confining yourself to the standard formula. The maxxer has become a representative of the hive mind, while the wanderer has furthered their knowledge of themself.

re. an article

Mog is a new term for me; per Merriam-Webster, it means "to outclass." Merriam-Webster follows up with definitions of bomboclat ("a Jamaican profanity similar in meaning and function to the f-word" which, online, may be used to say something is unusual), looksmaxxing, and 'sybau' ("shut your bitch ass up." apparently, stfu is not enough). Continuing to read through the words Merriam-Webster is showing me, all of which are classified as "slang & trending," appears to be a form of brainrotting. Kids these days...at least twenty-one was a direct reference to something.

The word 'mog' even warranted an article from NBC news, which lists enough variations of maxxing to give a terminally-online gal a headache. However, the Sam Kriss article leaves one wondering if these are actually forms of maxxing. To truly "jobmaxx," wouldn't one have to create the maximum number of jobs? Can one jobmaxx? Is votemaxxing legal? At this point, what the fuck am I writing about? This much exposure to the internet will surely culminate in a brainrot-induced coma.

What is this internet lingo doing for us? It's another way to compete with others online; another form of attracting attention. Self-improvement isn't enough. We must "maxx" so we can "mog"; only then will we achieve true internet fame. Maybe maxxing is a form of creating a niche for oneself to thrive in. If you've reduced your life to one principle, you're easier to market. You can be summarized by what you're maxxing. This allows one to escape from reality, or perhaps it's a way to force your reality to conform to one idea. Everything you do must be part of your path to your ideal. You have become unbound. You must single-mindedly pursue your maxxing, and refuse all obstacles that stand in your way. At that point, it might be a coping mechanism. Gain tunnel vision and your other problems fade from view.

Unfortunately, discussing the history and mental health of individual maxxers would require researching them. When I search maxxing on Youtube, I'm met with dozens of videos about Calvicular and how to looksmaxx (and people who've tried it). The first result is from someone who is reacting to TikToks.

"Tapeworm is nature's Ozempic." proana would like a word with you. Wouldn't be the first time someone's done that.
"spinal waves" umm? you're dancing. Just call it dancing. I don't think someone with severe back pain could do that...
"morning shed" oh, this has been a thing for years. It's got more to do with overconsumption than maxxing.
i'm done. i can't. these aren't even maxxers, just bizarre self-induced health 'hacks'.

20260212

I am on enemy territory. Quick, eject the outsiders! Seriously, though, I feel way out of my depth here. A stranger in a strange land, but at least doing things I know how to do. I keep feeling like someone is going to show up and...idk. Yell or something.

Break a celery stalk over your knee (not sanitary). Such is life. And for how much longer must this go on? To wait and wait. God, I feel like I fucked up. I should've made sure I was in the room before he started. Maybe I should've stayed with No name or something. I hope he's getting the videos he was supposed to get. I'm just getting yelled at. I'm so fucking anxious and stressed over—what, existing? Just overwhelmed? Oh well, the worst is over. Rude rude rude. I'm sick to my stomach. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't have said yes. I shouldn't do this again. I'm so tired of making the same mistakes over and over again. Breathe and fucking write the damn screenplay. Script. Whatever the hell.

20260215

In a shocking turn of events, I actually messaged about the whole raise thing. He said we'd talk (today), so now I'm waiting for a phone call. Really nervous, but at least I've put it out there and can get an answer on what happened to that. Also getting really annoyed with how --- is being brought into doing more prep---I've asked to learn these things every single time they're happening and get met with a "there's no point or time" yet newboi is being directed to do these things?! Could point to other times when other guys have been taught to do things that I kept asking to learn to do. They don't even have to ask; they just get told that that's what they're learning to do. Older guys will even take the time out of their "too busy to teach anybody how to do anything" day to work with them for half an hour. At this point, it feels like my hard work isn't being rewarded in the way I wish it could be. I'm trusted to watch the kitchen by myself, which gives the newer people (who can't be left alone) the chance to learn from the older people. Paradoxically, if I couldn't be left alone, I'd end up in the same boat these guys end up in. But would I? The girls who can't be left alone were never taught to do prep; they didn't learn much of anything.

Sigh. Currently reading Into the Woods, by John Yorke, which is about storytelling. It's helping me flesh out my wannabe screenplay. I've gotten a better idea of how to flesh out my story and think about my character's motivations. My story's stronger than it was. I'm starting to look forward to doing an outline + genuine first draft (as opposed to my zero draft).

20260217

Well, on top of the lack of response from boss2, I managed to somewhat tell boss1 about the other half of things I'm dissatisfied with. I suspect it'll be followed up with tomorrow, after "I've calmed down." Or something along those lines. I've thought the same thoughts so many times that I can't remember what I have and haven't written. A bulletpoint list of my CURRENT problems with work (in case I forget, or it gets worse):

Last year, I was repeatedly told I'd be seeing a raise sometime soon. This was repeated January through August. I was told it was guaranteed for the fall, by both employers. This raise did not happen.
--- and --- have asked if I'd be interested in doing more prep. Both have emphasized the importance of this. The last time this was brought up, in October, I'd questioned if they'd actually meant it. I was told "maybe by December." Welp, December's come and gone.
Either the boys are consistently given preferential treatment, or I'm given preferential exclusion. The other two girls who've worked in the kitchen in the past year are shit examples; I can only call it sexism if the newest girl, whose only been here for 4 or 5 months, is still being given the same treatment for the next year. That being said, there are times when both her and I are being excluded from what's going on. If there's too many people here, the boys are working the tickets, and the girls are doing dishes. This is consistent. If it's a week where she's swapped out for a boy, that boy is in the kitchen. Coincidence? I think not. The boys are brought in to help with what fucking ever, the girls are told to "just keep doing what we're doing."

I wish I saw enough of her to have an accurate idea of what's going on. She's pretty reliable, too, and quick. Like the average for what you want a line cook to be. I like working with her---if I tell her four things that need to be done, she figures out what order it makes sense to do things in and understands where she can multitask. She can look at all the tickets and know what to prioritize. She's got room to learn more, but for the time she's been here, she's were you want her to be.
--- was taught by boss how to sharpen knives. Boss consistently dropped other work to criticize his knife-sharpenning. If I'm sharpening knives, I'm ignored. After a year of being ignored, I was given a passive-agressive five-minute lesson which answered none of my questions. I do not know what I'm doing wrong. The only thing I've learned is that a dull knife is better than a poorly-sharpened one. Nobody has time to watch me and tell me what I'm doing wrong. Consequently, I've not been trying to sharpen knives at work (I do try to sharpen my home knives, thankyouverymuch). Or, after 1.5year of failure, I've given up! Halle-fucking-lujah. If --- hadn't rejoined, would it be different? He was even showing --- how to sharpen knives today. --- didn't even ASK. --- just asked "do you know how to sharpen knives?," response was no, so he worked with him on it for a bit.
The soju I gulped down is hitting me right now. Conclusion, drinking is good for me. This is sarcastic but also not. My head is fuzzy. I came home intent on applying for new jobs, thinking about how I should've said things today, thinking about how much I wanted to say "I quit," and fantasizing about stabbing my boss. (Who doesn't! legal disclaimer: this is not serious. I have not threatened or made attempts to injure my boss or other employees. I've got better things to do with my time, and I'm not quite that mad with them. Not to mention that he's bigger, stronger, and more experienced with fighting than I am, so there's no point in trying to hurt him. I'd get hurt. And lose my job. I can't afford to lose my job).
in conclusion, there are double standards. I am not taken seriously in situations where my male coworkers are taken seriously. My employers routinely make empty promises and I've gotten sick of it. I do not know what to do. Every line cook job near me is part-time and/or seasonal. I feel like I've hit gold-tier "suck it up": I am in a position where I make enough to cover my bills, but not enough to change my lifestyle (see: not have roommates, have money for a car).

I'm grateful I know not to spend above my means. The extra money goes into savings. I follow my budget. I've'nt impulsively signed up for driving lessons, which would be beneficial; even if I had a license I would not have a car, because I do not have the means to actually afford a car. If I wanted a car in my current situation, I'd be relying on the food pantry and be in credit card debt over my utilities bill. And probably other bills HAHA NOT HAHA. I might not feel free, but at least I can afford some degree of sudden unexpected expenses. Unless they're medical in nature...am I jinxing something? Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

I feel so trapped in my current way of life. I should make use of free community college and complete a fully-remote program over the next two years. It'd give me an option! But...for what? What can I do with these associates' degrees? I feel like life is trapped behind a car, or my lack thereof. I could give in and start using rideshare apps; I'm scared of the cost. I wish local public transporation was a thing. I can get to my state's capital, and the towns the train stops in on the way to the capital, but that's about it!

20260221

From "Sexy French Depression" (in Crazy Ex-Girlfriend s1e7)

If I think about it hard enough eventually I'll get the answer but I've forgotten what the question was.

TBH I just feel fucked up. Also, I want vodka, or more soju, or to drink enough that I actually feel something right now. I have rum, but I need it for caneles...

20260222

Last week felt like a wash. I don't even have words for it. I was spiraling, certainly; I felt like I'd been buried alive with no way out. I couldn't die, but nobody could come save me. Stuck underground for eternity. Well, eternity has come and gone. Shocker.

Cooked pork ribs in oven, wrapped in aluminum foil, at 275degF for 3hr. They'd marinated in a black bean garlic sauce for 2hr before that. Results were amazing---so tender and juicy.

Wednesday--- boss1 asked me if I'd made the batch of something. Yes, what's wrong? And he had that fucking smirk of someone who just got exactly what they were looking for. Is that what you think? ---What do you mean? ---That I'm talking to you to tell you something's wrong? ---Yes. That's what you do. ---Do we have a problem? ---I'm not sure I know what you mean. ---Is there a problem here? Because you're acting like there is one. ---I...in some ways, yes, and in other ways, no. It depends on how you look at it. ---Elaborate. ---I don't want to work here anymore.

Is that not enough to prove you're an invaluable member of the team? ---I wish it was. ---If you're having emotional problems here, you come and talk to me about it like an adult. distorted, festering, the god-damn meats, costly mistakes, nobody's saying that, you're not ready, we don't want to set you up to fail, leadership, not being liked.

i suck so much. i don't know what's wrong with me. it's as if nothing will ever be enough---i want something to be enough, i want to be content, i want to just fucking live without ruining everything i touch. everything blows up in the end. things go wrong and people get hurt. i'm tired of being alone and i'm tired of feeling this way. i just want to be held.

I'm still reading Into the Woods, by John Yorke. He's analyzing Thelma & Louise, which I've not seen, and discussing how it fits into a five-act story structure. This story structure has broken down how characters can develop. Looking at this has helped me understand how to think about the middle of the story. How does the protagonist get to the end? What obstacles do they encounter, and how do these obstacles get them to where they need to be?

Act 1 consists of no knowledge --> growing knowledge --> awakening. This is the typical "ordinary world --> call to action." Here, the "call to action" is seeing the world beyond what they've currently known. Their new knowledge has given them just enough for them to begin a journey to where they need to be.

Act 2 consists of "doubt --> overcoming reluctance --> acceptance." To relate this to the hero's journey, I'd relate it to "refusal of the call --> meeting the mentor --> crossing the threshold." I've consistently struggled with the "meeting the mentor" step of the hero's journey. Does the mentor need to be literal or figurative? Many of my stories feature a solitary protagonist; there is no mentor who cleanly fits into the story. Experiencing something atypical could be a mentor of sorts...but perhaps I'm trying to bring the hero's journey structure to a story it doesn't belong in. Meeting the mentor is a vehicle to overcoming reluctance (to accept the call), but it is not the only way for the protagonist to overcome their reluctance. I wonder if encountering a new piece of information would be enough for a protagonist to begin to overcome their reluctance. Or they're forced into a new situation---whether they like it or not, they've accepted the call, even if they didn't choose to.

Act 3 consists of "experimenting with knowledge --> key knowledge --> experimenting post knowledge." I think this is where the five-act structure breaks from the hero's journey. "Tests, allies, and enemies" are a form of experimenting with knowledge, sure, and "the approach --> the ordeal --> the reward" are loosely related to key knowledge and experimenting post-knowledge. I'm reaching so much I feel like I'll fall. The hero's journey seems to articulate a specific enemy---everything has been building up to this ordeal, this villain. The five-act structure points to an obstacle, but not a villain. This gives the space for a protagonist to be their own obstacle---a man vs. self conflict. While the hero may have gotten what they came for, the protagonist has begun to learn what they really need.

Act 4 consists of "doubt --> growing reluctance --> regression." I love how this is the opposite of act 2, where doubt led to overcoming reluctance. This shows a protagonist who is struggling to understand their newfound knowledge. They want to return to their ordinary world; they're struggling to understand their new world. When I see this breakdown, I understand what someone means when they reference "the dark night of the soul."

Act 5 consists of "reawakening --> re-acceptance --> total mastery." I have nothing more to say on this. lol three pages after discussing the five-act structure, he fits a hero's journey structure into the five-act one. oh me of little faith!

the story shape is structured around how they find, retrieve and finally master the quality in their life that has eluded them. They start flawed, they find the elixir, learn how to use it, and end complete.

The midpoint, then, is the moment the protagonists are given a very powerful ‘drug’ but not the necessary knowledge to use it properly. How they develop that knowledge forms the underlying subject matter of the second half of the film. A well-designed midpoint has a risk/reward ratio: a character gains something vital, but in doing so ramps up the jeopardy around them. It’s an obstacle that can dramatically raise the stakes and in the process force the heroes to change to overcome it. That change marks the point of no return for the protagonists; it’s the end of the outward journey to find their ‘solution’ and the beginning of their journey back.

I keep mis-hearing "you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?" as "you ever danced with the devil in your mind?"

20260223

Paycheck for the 7-day week hit and ahh! Tip was 25% more than it usually is, too. Very exciting.

I'm surprised by how many videos there are on caffeine + sugar overconsumption (addictive drinks, caffeine overconsumption, that michelle mcdaniel watertok video). I'm concerned about our water alternatives. Why does this shit keep happening? Another video on Starbucks (the queen of caffeine + sugar overconsumption), another video on energy drinks, another this, another that. Why do I hit play on this shit.

Do looksmaxxers actually get girlfriends? What are they trying to achieve? They're so unreal looking that they are unattractive. I'm vaguely annoyed by this.

From The Extinction of Experience, by Christine Rosen:

We can no longer assume that reality is a matter of consensus.

What kind of person is formed in an increasingly digitized, mediated, hyperconnected, surveilled, and algorithmically governed world? What do we gain and what do we lose when we no longer talk about the Human Condition, but rather the User Experience?

--> could consumerism be a form of self-surveillance? we buy products to become who the algorithm tells us to be; we force ourselves to fit into the algorithm's beliefs; we fixate on making our life conform to some sort of aesthetic / trend / what-fucking-ever that's being perpetuated in the internet hole we're in. force oneself to conform to the trend, and step one is to buy the stuff, because at least you look the part. if you look the part that the algorithm wants you to play, then you can act the part that the algorithm has told you to play. we monitor ourselves to make sure we conform to what the internet says. there is still an anxiety over not being good enough for the algorithm.

Daily intimacy with the physical world recedes, little by little, while our attachment to digital worlds grows. More and more, we relate to our world through information about it rather than direct experience with it.

--> i spend an obscene amount of time using google maps to look at place i could go. i imagine myself going there. i imagine myself enjoying it. i imagine what else i'd do. i imagine how i'd feel. i do not go.

Social media gives everyone the opportunity to promote themselves, and to turn every experience into a marketing opportunity, which is why so many people aspire to become successful “influencers.” We have become our own personal brand managers. And we’ve become the ads.

--> see self-help content about treating yourself like a brand and running your life like a business. this isn't satire.

Today, in review. I spent a lot of time sleeping, which was amazing. I think I caught up on all the rest that I'd wanted to catch up on. I ate more pork ribs, which were absolutely amazing. I wish I'd marinated them for longer; then the flavor would've really sunk in. I loved how the fat melted on my tongue. I loved how tender the meat was; it fell apart when my fork touched it. I cooked that! Ahh! I want to try more store-bought marinades. Black bean garlic isn't really my thing. I needed something spicy, lol.

Yesterday, I had an AI generate a workout for being able to do a pullup. Yes, I'm that desperate. I'm ignoring human advice, so maybe robo advice will work. Granted, it was able to give me what I was looking for---a straightforward workout which only requires a pullup bar and lightweight dumbbells. No resistance bands, chairs, tables, or other equipment. Today, I am feeling how sore I am from the workout. I think the inside of my elbows hurt more than they should---is it from the negative pullups? I was able to control the first half of the descent, but fell for the second half. This is interesting. I'm worried I wasn't using my back enough; my back is nowhere near as sore as my elbows and upper arm are. The AI plan is three workouts a week for six weeks (per my request); one workout down, seventeen more to go.

I did a bit of upper body yoga, which felt really good. I'm disappointed in myself for not continuing to work on the splits, but such is life. I'm always starting new things and forgetting about them. Hmm...oh, I wrote a short story, and I worked on my screenplay. Very pleased with myself for continuing to ignore my reluctance to write fiction. I showered. I read for a bit, and I watched more Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, and a few random Youtube videos too. I'd also compulsively checked the work chat to confirm that we were closed today. Mostly, though, I slept. I woke up, read for a bit, slept for a bit; I did a few more things and slept a bit more, I tried to do something and went back to sleep. Honestly think that was a 3hr mid-day nap. Genius choice on my part. Hell, I've slept for another hour, and I'll go to bed within another hour. I am in bed. I am typing in bed. I am content, if only for a moment. I feel well-rested. My feet hurt much less than usual, and my legs aren't as tight as usual. This feels good.

Plans for the week---finish reading The Extinction of Experience, read Crash (by Ballard), try the cinnamon bun pie again (use cocoa powder + less salt), do the damn workouts, complete my nobuy, write/draft act 1, game for a bit, ??? doesn't seem like enough; I need to find more.

20260225

Baking brings on a strange exhaustion. Make component 1. While component 1 is baking, wash dishes and prepare component 2. Timer for component 1 goes off; it's not done baking; set new timer. Continue working on component 2. Timer goes off; still not done; new timer. Finish working on component 2, which must rest for an hour. Take component 1 out of the oven. Since the oven's already heated, season and cook chicken thighs (yay, lunch). Prepare component 3. Wash excess dishes. Come back in an hour. Remove chicken thighs and adjust oven temperature. Assemble components 1-3 and other accoutrements (seasoning for the middle of the pie). Stick pie in oven; work on dishes; eat chicken; check on pie; take pie out of oven. So much back and forth. So many dishes.

I fantasize about an apartment with a dishwasher. Imagine having enough dishes to use a dishwasher! Instead of washing the same bowl three times a day, I'd have three bowls, or more. Instead of continuously rewashing my forks and spoons, I'd put them in the dishwasher, and I'd have even more. Imagine have the space to have more dishes. I have a stack of dishes in the bottom shelf of my cupboard---four bowls, of variable size, and a plate. Most of my cupboard is full of baking ingredients. The top shelf contains infrequently accessed ingredients---soy sauce, fish sauce, rice, powdered milk, and rice flour. My most-used seasonings---salt, pepper, cumin, paprika, and garlic---lay on the counter, in the same box as my knives and other kitchenware. The rest of the seasonings are in a box by my desk. There's a grocery bag of onions, ramen, canned tomatoes, and cassava flour besides my desk. I keep a pan and glass bowl on my shelf in the kitchen; my rice cooker, pot, muffin tin, pie tin, bread tin, strainer, mortar & pestle, and whetstone go on the top shelf of my closet. The blender stays in a box on the floor, besides the boxes of tea and liquor. While cooking, I'm always going back and forth between my bedroom and the kitchen, in search of the right seasoning and right equipment and right ingredients. There's so much to search for.

Maybe I need to declutter, I tell myself, yet I look at how much I use these things and know that the volume of stuff isn't the problem. I bought each of these items because I saw no alternative and grew tired of searching for one. Sure, I could live without a pot, but it'd significantly decrease the number of things I can make. I like soups and see no genuine reason to live without them. And on and on and on. I could live without the chair---and I did for a while---but it's useful for storing things on. I don't need a desk, but I appreciate being able to use something other than my bed. I don't need a mattress topper or yoga mat either, yet they're great surfaces to sleep from. I can live on the floor, but in the winter, it is too cold, and I need a brief layer of distance from it.

Still, my space feels like a mess. It screams: I don't care, or I don't have much money, or I don't value my life, or I don't see a future here. My appearance says the same. I bought lip gloss, but I feel like a fraud for wearing it.

20260226

I skipped doing negative pullups today. Right now, I genuinely want to, but that'd involve putting a chair right in front of my roommate's door. I don't like using the pullup bar when that one's around. But if she leaves before I leave for work, maybe I'll do a few. I think the negative pullups were the source of most of my soreness on Sunday.

I hate how one criticism---which wasn't even directed at me---is enough for me to spiral. I hate waking up from a nightmare where the kitchen was in one of my old classrooms and everybody was watching me and everybody was judging me. I'm staring at the screenplay and can't focus on it. What's going on? Who cares. I can't breathe. I need to get out. I don't want to go to work today. I don't want to listen to more criticisms today. Yesterday, I didn't notice that one of my coworkers was putting stuff into a plastic container on the stove, so I got flack for not telling him not to do that. Said coworker has been here nearly 2yr longer than I have. Why am I supposed to tell him things. Why am I supposed to check on him. Why can't everybody I work with just do their god-damn jobs. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be anywhere.

I'm setting alarms and procrastinating. My chest is tight. Every memory comes to mind---what's wrong with me? How can there be so much? Why do I screw up everything? I need to leave, but there's no way out.

20260227

internet binge:

How it's made: rice. Lots of sifting. Wondering how much rice is 'wasted' in a year when they find bugs in a crop. Also wondering how bugs still end up in rice---thinking of when boss1 mentioned that some crop of rice from a certain storebrand had bugs in it. Which is why they're particular about which rice they buy. Similarly, why did that 'higher quality' brand of rice have so much dirt in it? So irritating to rinse.
The New "Unemployable" Class. Why are people going to college?---a: to have a more prestigious job--> success, money, good life, etc. Saying 'the system is broken' seems redundant and vague, but something is wrong here. People go to college and expect the investment to pay off; this makes sense. They want to be rewarded, which explains the weird ass job titles (Receptionist? Nah. Chief Officer of First Impressions? Yeah).

Curious about what the pile of trashed projects for a tech company looks like. A quick search brought me to killed by Google, but that's just the projects that saw the light of day in the first place. How much else is there?

Professionalism is odd. The notes about businesses not wanting to hire recent college graduates weren't news to me. No wonder recent college graduates are struggling to find a job---people don't want to employ them! The behavior issues ring true. Side note, the section of statistics about parents helping their children find jobs astounded me. I think the statistic cited was that 1 in 6 (people from the demographic that was being studied) brought a parent to their interview. Wtf? And then it was that 83% of the demographic credited their parent with helping them get a job. What the fuck are these people's lives.

I'm blanking on the title of the book I'm thinking about, but it was something that discussed how childhood has changed over time (due to technology). Kids being more sheltered and not free to roam contributing to less independence. Children being less prepared to be adults. Something about how fewer people were learning to drive, teens reliance on parents where they wouldn't have been relying on them decades ago. FUCK WHAT WAS THE BOOK. The book is iGen, by Jean M. Twenge. Subtitle: Why Today's Super-Connected Kids are Growing Up Less Rebellious, More Tolerant, Less Happy---and Completely Unprepared For Adulthood. And that book (thanks, search engine) was about 1995 through 2012. The year is 2026. I suppose this generation's difficulty with adapting to the workplace was predicted.

One commenter pointed out that apprenticeships (for the trades) tend to be low-paying and, thus, not an attractive option (even if, in the long run, it can be a lucrative career). Something something about the academic system. Current academic system doesn't offer enough exposure to 'the trades.' When I was in middle school, we were given the option to interview for specific programs within a regional technical high school. Does a 13 year old know enough to decide 'yeah, I want to study plumbing for the next for years AND do all the normal academic stuff?' No...I don't think they do. Fucking hell, the only reason I've looked at the HVAC program near me was because I saw a sign for it. What am I reaching for here?

College being 'the default' is a problem. We do not need to all go to college---case in point, now a college degree is a norm, which has reduced its worth. Why not work after finishing high school, then complete further study when you've decided you want to? "Muh success" doesn't seem to be a reason because college is not equivalent to success. There might've been a time when it was. Nowadays, though, it isn't. Degrees---we don't need to get a degree to do a thing. IMO, most humanities degrees shouldn't exist. A creative writing degree will not get you anywhere. A philosophy degree? Puh-lease. DIY it. I'm serious. Not everything needs to be turned into an academic course of study. There's nothing wrong with taking a philosophy class, but don't go into debt over it.
Dr Horrible's Sing-Along Blog
It was less successful in that I inadvertently introduced my arch-nemesis to the girl of my dreams, and now he's taking her out on dates, and they're probably going to French kiss or something.
Brand New Day. yes, this is how i was introduced to the song. can't believe it's been 9 years.
Stayed Gone. a+. wonderful remake, can't believe someone actually took the time to do this.
Stalemate. The lighting and camerawork here was wonderful. Really got the drama of the scene across.

Misc. notes on today---work was busy during the day; didn't get to go on break until late afternoon. Groceries were groceries and life is life. Really want to finish reading The Weak Spot tonight / before I go to bed (it's 12:38am and I have work in the morning). Also want to try out a recipe from Citrus Illustrated; torn between the cake and the cookies. I want to do the cake as muffins, but I'm not sure how it'll turn out. Welp. If I get up early enough in the morning, I'll find out.

20260301

I am amused by my perpetual ability to make plans and cancel on myself last minute. I'll spend time on Google Maps, I'll look at menus, I'll look at what's close to what and who's open when, and then I'll decide I don't feel like going. Oh well. Such is life. Kinda face-palming at that one. That being said, I have decided that I'll go to my favorite downtown place if I get a few things done. This is much more appealing. They've got a new seasonal chili, and I do love chili. They also have an interesting matcha latte that I'd like to try.

Bonus points: I'll walk by the grocery store in my way there, which means I can pick up more butter. I bought whole milk for the citrus cupcakes, so I'm going to use the leftover milk to make caneles. Unless I find something else to make. I've been wanting to try out the caneles with double butter for a while. Ooooh, what if I added orange zest? Orange instead of vanilla? That's an exciting idea. I could also use the peach guava tea that I bought. Who am I kidding: I have enough milk for two batches of caneles. I can do both.

I've learned that IRL people think I do tarot. Interesting. I note that I want to embrace this: an excuse to push myself into more tarot. To re-open up a tarot deck (not just an oracle deck) and really learn to read it.

later...When I encounter a website in an unfamiliar language, I close the tab before I can let a browser extension translate it. This is not for me, I think, I believe, I know. Who am I to let technology butcher another's words?

even later...I can now do negative pullups and control my entire descent. I wonder how much I can continue to slow down my descent. At least my elbows don't hurt like they did last week. My attempts to do a pullup seem so stuck---literally, since I can't pull myself up by very much. This little bit of progress is making me feel a lot better about myself. I'm getting closer, even if it isn't obvious.

I finished reading The Weak Spot, by Lucie Elven. Do I have anything to say about it? It's an atmospheric novel which paints a picture of a town and some of its inhabitants. The narrator---did she have a name?---is a pharmacist who has accepted an apprenticeship at the pharmacy of an unnamed town in an unnamed European country. My memory is as shrouded in fog as the book is. It is immediately evident that the pharmacist she works for is held in high esteem by the rest of the town---many townspeople come to the pharmacy to talk to her and her coworker. Her employer, Mr Malone, has told them to get the people to open up to them. They should be trying to get these people to talk more and expose themselves and their problems---it's implied that he's collecting this information for his own purposes. There was an offhand sentence that implied that she's taking notes on these conversations and sending them to Mr Malone. Kinda strange. He becomes mayor by the end of the book, likely because the townspeople are so fond of him.

Mr Malone is one to reshape memories so that people remember things differently from how they actually happened. He lies to others to get his desired reaction. For example, he tells the narrator that a woman is in the hospital because the narrator prescribed her the wrong medication. The narrator is racked with guilt and becomes more prone to doing what Mr Malone tells her to do. However, when she does get to visit the woman in the hospital, she learns that her medication had nothing to do with her hospitalization. An old throat problem had flared up, and this incident was long after she'd stopped taking the medicine the narrator had prescribed her.

There's a scene where the narrator's coworker, Elsa, is talking to Mr Malone. She's trying to use a personal problem of hers as a way to segue into getting him to think about how to rearrange the pharmacy. (The problem with the pharmacy is that the space behind the pharmacist's counter is uncomfortably hot compared to the rest of the pharmacy. It's just out of reach of the fans...coincidence, maybe not). Once she finishes describing her personal predicament, Mr Malone asks a nearby customer about her thoughts on the situation. The customer immediately leaves the store, and Elsa refrains from bringing up her plan to rearrange the pharmacy. This is the first hint of how untrustworthy Mr Malone is. He's dragging a stranger into a personal affair, thus violating her trust in him.

The obvious example of Mr Malone's abuse of power is the gradual reveal of how he's been raping one of his employees. Annie is brought on to help him with his mayoral campaign. Gradually, the reader is given the sense that something is wrong, even though the narrator seems to think little of it. Annie and Mr Malone would disappear, a door that's usually open would be closed, Annie would be drinking alcohol during the day, Annie trying to find ways to avoid Mr Malone, and so on and so forth. Finally, she leaves, and she confides in the narrator about what had been going on.

When put together, the book is about a man influencing others and abusing his power.

20260302

I hate listening to my boss and coworker1 bitch about each other. It's like being caught in an argument that has nothing to do with me. boss has a point. coworker1 also has a point. neither of them will listen to each other, so they complain to me, and I have to stand there and say that I understand but don't know what they expect me to do. Like. I can't make my boss do a better job of planning things out, and I can't make coworker1 get off his phone and take the initiative to get more work done. Or really just get off his phone and get the rest of his job done. I'm a bit pissed off about how some things went down today. We could've gotten the rest of our first set of tasks done if he wasn't on his god-damn phone. Not to mention that I ended up staying an hour late to clean up other people's messes, and my boss wasn't happy about this either. I am not looking forward to whatever's going to be said tomorrow. Ffs, coworker1 was all "oh everything is prepped" except everything that needed to be prepped wasn't prepped. I had to do shit last minute, because I thought it was already done, and now there's more work to do tomorrow that we could've gotten done today.

All of this is aggravating. Beyond that, it's anxiety-inducing. I keep reminding myself that I did everything I could. This has nothing to do with me. It's just a regurgitation of the same problems between the same two people where I'm the one who has to keep hearing it because I happen to be there. That's it. This is not about me. Move the fuck on.

How to distract myself...I started reading Drawing Down the Moon, by Margot Adler. This book is about, in the most general sense, witchcraft and neo-paganism in the United States. She spent the first chapter establishing what some common terms mean (witch, magic, occult, religion) and comparing their denotations, connotations, and history. For example, a dictionary will define a witch as someone with evil-doing powers, or someone who practices magic to aid the devil. However, to someone who practices Wicca, a witch is an initiate of the Wiccan tradition. (This book was published in 1979. Merriam-Webster has since updated the definition to note that, less commonly, witch refers to someone who practices witchcraft or follows Wiccan or Neo-Pagan traditions). She also notes that magic isn't inherently supernatural; it is "the art of getting results." This ties into the idea that witches bend reality---the word witch has been derived from 'weik,' an Indo-European root which can mean "to bend or to turn." I appreciate her forays into understanding what witchcraft-related words mean so that the reader understands what she's actually talking about.

To me, witchcraft has always been an Internet thing that I was vaguely familiar with. I'd never considered the neo-Pagan resurgence, or the idea that there'd been a resurgence of Pagan traditions to begin with. Hadn't people always followed them? The author, however, ties the explosion of people following Pagan traditions to 1960s counterculture and environmental movements. According to her, 1960s countercultural and psychedelic movements were visionary, and had a mystical view of the cosmos; these are both characteristics of witchcraft. Environmental movements inspire people to connect with and care about nature, which is also typical of witchcraft.

20260303

My downloads folder:

Scandinavian_from_Scratch_-_Nichole_Accettola.pdf: requires almond flour, dessicated cardamom, and patience. I am lacking in all of these things.
Into the Woods _ A Five-Act Journey Into Story -- John Yorke -- Open Road Integrated Media, Inc_, New York, NY, 2015 -- ABRAMS Press -- 9781468308099 -- b03663d5988cc83cc49700494164e821 -- Anna’s Archive.pdf: for when inspiration has vanished.
2025_SSF_2026-02-06_055513.pdf: financial documents which I will probably never look at again (part 1/?)
2025_EXPURGATED]_2026-02-06_055405.pdf: financial documents which I will probably never look at again (part 2/?)
2025_FEDERAL_RETURN_2026-02-06_055157.pdf: financial documents which I will probably never look at again (part 3/?)
1098E Statement..pdf: financial documents which I will probably never look at again (part 4/?)
[EXPURGATED]_1098T.pdf: financial documents which I will probably never look at again (part 5/?)
1098eaid.pdf: financial documents which I will probably never look at again (part 6/?)
_OceanofPDF.com_Event_Factory_-_Renee_Gladman.pdf: I could read this tonight.
_OceanofPDF.com_Momofuku_Milk_Bar_-_Christina_Tosi.pdf: will I ever look at this again? I think I need to collect the cookbooks, instead of tossing them into whatever folder I feel like.
visionboard2026.png: computer background. Recently replaced by I feel like these two should never have met.
Personal Finance For Dummies -- Eric Tyson -- For Dummies, 9, 2019 -- John Wiley & Sons, Inc_ -- 9781119179030 -- 1770020ac9148002e18408508b7083bb -- Anna’s Archive.pdf: read two chapters, at most, and forgot about it.
The Bar Book_ Elements of Cocktail Technique (Cocktail Book -- Jeffrey Morgenthaler with Martha Holmberg; photographs by -- Lightning Source Inc_ -- 9781452113845 -- ce9ef9fc959eb5a2eb7ae305cb4ced30 -- Anna’s Archive.pdf: I think I might've skimmed a few pages at some point in the past.
final-disclosure.pdf: financial documents which I will probably never look at again (part 6/?)
Knee Ability Zero -- Patrick, Ben -- 2021 -- Onyx publications LLc -- 64b729971f6463a2dddb60b13db2ff96 -- Anna’s Archive.pdf: followed the workout for three weeks and forgot about it.
Chef Paul Prudhomme's Louisiana kitchen _ contemporary -- Paul Prudhomme; photography by Tom Jimison -- 1st ed_, New York, New York State, 1984 -- 9780688028473 -- 504bc3d6ec6e65de78535873f59515e2 -- Anna’s Archive.pdf: made me think I should visit a Cajun restaurant. In Louisiana. Not happening :(
Complete_with_Docusign_Lease_[EXPURGATED].pdf: the only document I need a copy of.
The-Unofficial-Homestuck-Collection-2.5.7.AppImage: still haven't read it.
unofficial-homestuck-collection-2.5.7.tar.gz: still haven't read it.

Event Factory, by Renee Gladman:

But it's to me this evening something has to happen, to my body as in myth and metamorphosis, this old body to which nothing ever happened, or so little, which never met with anything, wished for anything, in its tarnished universe, except for the mirrors to shatter, the plane, the curved, the magnifying, the minifying, and to vanish in the havoc of its images. --- Samuel Beckett (quoted)

... that would require knowing why I had come, which I had not yet discovered. (pg24)

I abandon the novel and skip to the end.

Since 2005, [Renee Gladman] has operated Leon Works, an independent press for experimental prose and other thought-projects based in the sentence (...)

How precise.

As I forget about the novel, I wonder if it would've been worth reading, and if I'll remember it within a week. She captures a feeling of alienation, of not belonging to the culture, of knowing the language but not its context, of missing something and not knowing what it is, or maybe not being able to know what it is. The narrator is not of Ravicka. She knows this. Both of these are evident.

I think I'm becoming nothing. I revel in my eternal transience. I am fog; I am mist; I am barely here. I bastardize reality, and I work on separating my bastardizations from reality. Why twist reality into what I want it to be when I can live in a world of my own? I already live in my own world---why not truly make it my own? I currently inhabit a place halfway between the real world and my world; the real world seeps into my world. I'd like to reverse it. I do not need to fictionalize real people. I can make my own people. Hell, I can rid myself of guilt. I can complete my detachment.

I am tired of trying to anchor myself down and turn myself into something I'm not. I need to become myself. If myself isn't a very good example of a person, then so be it. Myself, my self, my self! I become ill. Yes, I ruminate, I wander in circles, I meander, and I do not know where sense is. I watch as I play with words. I am enlightened, I believe. My separation need not be dissociation; it will be more than that. I will be alive in my own world, but it will be my world, and not a reinterpretation of the real world. Does the difference make sense? Does it matter? I'm on my own, after all.

Solitude is for the better. Either I hurt other people, or other people hurt me; I do not think I am compatible with others. Or I have not met the right people. I don't think my people meet each other, anyhow.

The day has come to a close. There are now two documents in my downloads folder, both of them books. I skim a section on bankruptcy and wonder if this will ever apply to me. Good night.

20260306

Read Wired on Wall Street, by Tom Hardin, yesterday. It was about a guy who helped the FBI crack down on insider trading in the 2000s. The big selling point of the book isn't the look into how Wall Street works; it's the psychology of why he made the choices he made. Tom Hardin, also known as Tipper X, was a person who worked in finance. He had always been desperate to prove himself and fit in, as evidenced from examples from his childhood. He was someone who felt left out of the "inner circle." When it came to the finance world, he was left feeling like others had "an edge" that he didn't have. He wanted this. Unfortunately, that 'edge' isn't exactly legal---it's all about knowing what's going on and making choices based on insider information. Once he started getting this information, he used it because he wanted to fit in. Everybody else was doing it (and other slippery slopes). When the FBI approaches him, he nearly immediately comes clean and cooperates with their investigation. His 'claim to fame' was that he wore a wire over 40 times, and helped indict several dozen people. I appreciated the "I'm a felon; what now?" aspect. He talks about how he couldn't find a job in finance after his identity became public (no shit, Sherlock), and struggles in his personal life. He also recognizes how his actions affected his wife and family. Overall, an interesting read.

As I was reading the book, there were a few details that kept nagging at me. He would say that something wasn't just x, it was y, or a quiet y. There were some sentences that sounded like they were written by AI. Yet when so much of his story is about character growth and honesty, how could he use AI to tell his story? Well, the answer was in the acknowledgements section. The text of the book was not written with AI. However, according to him, he did use AI to give him feedback. So...maybe referencing AI while writing the book influenced his writing style. He began to naturally write things that sounded like AI because he was hearing them from AI. This is interesting. To what extent can exposure to AI influence human writing?

In other news, Denmark is set to explore if gastronomy can be recognized as an art form. For reference, gastronomy may be defined as the art or science of good eating, or the study of the relationship between food and culture. From the AP article:

Imagine dining on “edible plastic” made from algae and collagen from fish skins. While you ingest the dish, ocean-borne plastic pollution seemingly floats above you, projected across the restaurant’s huge domed ceiling. It’s an experience — and dish — inspired by large garbage patches found in our seas.

In Denmark, chef Rasmus Munk doesn’t offer dishes at the Alchemist restaurant. Instead, he whisks guests on an “immersive dining experience” combining performance, music, projections in its planetarium-like domed dining room, and, of course, food.

In my humble opinion, this is immersive art that uses food to support its message. None of this is truly food! It isn't a meal that's meant to satiate your appetite. They aren't selling dishes; they're selling impressions. And if you're asking why any of this matters, classifying gastronomy as a form of art would "make the country’s chefs eligible for state subsidies and funding from private foundations — like writers and musicians — to get their projects off the ground." Anywho, that's enough being annoyed for the day.

20260308

Scheduled to come in at 11 instead of 10 this week, even though the rest of the cooks are still being scheduled to come in at 10. All I can think is that my boss is going to yell at me like he used to when I came in at 11 and the things I usually do at 10 aren't done yet. coworker1 won't let me do any prep work anymore. Dishes are going to be behind and I'm going to get yelled at for it; I'll ask --- for help and he'll say he's not bored enough, and he'll scroll through his phone and whine about how there isn't any work to do. Feels like it's me against them. And then whatever our boss asks us to do won't get done, and he'll yell some more, and then my hours will be cut because what's the point in me being here if I can't do the things that need to get done.

To top it off, working less reduces my income. No chance of those 45-48hr weeks for a long time; closer to 38hr at best. I don't get overtime pay so it's not that great a loss, but it'll add up during the month. Thinking: need to cut expenses, shouldn't do this or that, shouldn't shouldn't shouldn't...should take the time to find something to make a little extra money. Another hundred a week would be good. I could pour my energy into etsy printables. That's it---I'm barely working this week (6hr shifts are so easy), so I'll pour the extra energy into something that might make a few bucks. Or so I'll tell myself.

Read half of Katabasis, by RF Kuang. As in, I read the first half (up to the point where we learn Peter has Crohn's), and then skipped around, saw nothing of interest, and read the ending. Sure, there's something in there about the stress of academia, losing oneself in academia, competition, putting people up on a pedestal, commentary on academia...but. Uhhh. It's too long-winded, and the story isn't compelling enough to make up for it. If the author spent less time on exposition, memories, exploration, and the gradual reveal of details, and more time on letting the plot move along, the story would've been more compelling. Instead, the interesting details---exploring Hell! character development!---are lost in all the rambling about whatever-the-fuck reflections. I was bored. The gravity of the big reveal about Peter was lost in the 'it's about fucking time.' I was bored. I'm not compelled to pick up Babel or Yellowface or whatever other books the author has written.

More reading today, beginning my 'reading recommendations' experiment. Telling myself I can't look at librarything recommendations until I finish reading the first batch of recommendations is infuriating. I love reading descriptions and reviews and so on. I love finding out what books are out there, even if they aren't ones I want to read. Is that weird?

I wish that book rating systems were 2d instead of 1d. 1d: a scale of 1-5 stars; reductive. Am I rating how good the book was, or am I rating how much I like the book? 2d: coordinates (quality of the book, how much the reader enjoyed it). So a (5, 1) would be a well-written book that the reader didn't like, while a (1, 5) would be a poorly written book the reader loved. (3, 4) could be an ill-researched nonfiction book which was an otherwise enjoyable or interesting read. Alas, this may be overthinking it. Probably something that most readers wouldn't benefit from; not because there's something wrong with them, but because they aren't overthinking what rating a book means. I mean, rating something on a scale from 1-5 is ubiquitous for a reason. And here I am, saying it's reductive and not very useful.

Something is eating away at me. I feel like---I don't know. I'm on my way to falling apart. There's a howling, somewhere, in some internal landscape. I'm in the Immaterium, maybe. The demons are approaching and there's nobody to protect me and I don't have the tools to protect myself. I don't have a path---if I had a path I'd get through it, but I lack a path and fail to create one for myself. So I'll go mad. What did happen to that priest, anyways? Something with the Lonely House, was it? There's no sacrifice for Necronis, though, no greater conspiracy. The world is not ending. Mine could be, though the how is beyond me. No, that's not it. None of this is it. If I can know my path, or remember it?

At least I have access to research. But what to research? Where to begin? Am I looking for stories of people who struggled and succeeded, accounts of mental illness, meditation, philosophy, magic, time; some other field in the library, where there's a book that answers the question that burns like a fire in the mind. I've always believed there was one book that'd do it for me. If I just keep going, I'll find it. I must.

Today's a failure; I didn't exercise or work on the screenplay. I made muffins and pad kra pow and read parts of books as well as a whole one. I showered, too, if that counts for something. And made tea. Scraping at the bottom of the barrel. I'll go to work tomorrow and be filled with dread. Something to look forward to in six months, I'm told, and I'm struggling to fathom being there. Relying on me for one thing and I can't do that properly. I'm doing the bare minimum and I don't know how to fix that. I'm no 'genius at prep,' nor do I have the technical know-how to replace water stuff and deal with pipes and repair stoves and electrical shit. I wouldn't even know where to begin, or why. I'm better for the fantasy world and the imaginary things. No wonder I suck at my job. I can't do it. I don't know how to learn to do it.

I'm falling. I'm drowning. I'm watching a body slip, lose grip, there we go, bring on the haze. I want to forget, but my brain screams at me that it doesn't want to drink, and I've no energy to do anything. Instead I'll haphazardly read and write and wonder what it takes to get these words out. If only I could say the right thing, write, stumble on the truth---it's there if I only write enough; to write and to be right are the same because I'll find it, I must, even if I don't know what it is; if there is no it than what is this? how can i continue? there must be something, to search for, to long for, to lust for, a point which will bring this all to a close. I've written around it for years and yet I've'nt approached it. Years, imagine, with no progress. I've found new ways to take the edge off without defining what the edge is. I've found more things that aren't the point, and they've brought me no closer to finding the point. Process of elimination vs. infinite possibilities---now that's useless.

I'd a thought about the universe having iterations---all the parallel universes eventually happen, see, where time expands and collapses on itself. The universe 'resets' infinitely. I saw it, for a moment; connected it to the clock, those times when you could've sworn the clock said 4:38 except now it's 4:34, those bizarre times---I remember keeping a log of them at one point, searching for a pattern, where I didn't spend enough time tracking them to find it. If I'd done that for years, I wonder, would I have found something? Would there be a point? I let myself wander, mentally, wondering if there's something worthwhile to be found, if I can find what I'm looking for. This underlying structure to the nature of existence. There is no God in the way we conceive; it's too human. Wanting to interpret the universe like that is too convenient. We are reborn, but it's when the universe resets and our time comes again, even if not in every iteration; or there is a set cast but who plays who keeps changing, because---I've lost the plot, really, and am spewing nonsense.

There's something out there! I insist. There's something I'm reaching for in reality, and something I'm striving to find within my own mind, and something else about existence. I don't think they'll coalesce into one truth. There's nothing there. The thought experiments don't matter. What does is finding what I'm writing for. Eviscerating my apparent demons is not enough. Nothing I do is ever good enough; I come to terms with that and wonder how I can improve independent of the fact. How do I get better without fixating on how I'm not good enough. How do I improve, not to prove myself, but to refine the task I'm set upon? How will I separate myself from my existence---no, that's not it, but how do I not let my identity be caught up in the things I fail to do? Perfection is not the answer. There is no perfect being. I look at the younger self and tell her that good enough exists, it's more attainable than you think, and when you see it you'll realize it is the bare minimum; you'll be rewarded for exceeding it, but you won't be punished for only meeting it, even if not being rewarded for exceeding it is it's own sort of punishment. This is not it.

What is my problem? I don't understand this. The words flow through me and fade out of my conscience. The time is 00:00. I am writing to find something, we've established that much. I think: in the library of babel, there is one book that has the answer.

While reading Crash, by JG Ballard (put on hold for the duration of my experiment), I repeatedly encountered the term "neurasthenic." It was used in descriptions of people crashing cars, or the results of being in a car crash; I can't quite remember. Per Wikipedia, neurasthenia was being diagnosed in the 1800s-1900s, and its symptoms included fatigue, anxiety, and an assortment of pains. Huh, sounds remarkedly like certain modern conditions such as fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue syndrome. Or just plain old burnout. I did find this bizarre Reddit thread where someone thoroughly debunks the argument that neurasthenia was a consequence of Calvinism. This argument appeared in a book about "America's love affair with positive thinking" (thanks, description). The top response to that reddit post states that: "This is a .... surprising.... line of argument to read." and points out that, "Calvinism (and hues of movements which follow it) does not correlate geographically, socio-economically, nor demographically with the prevalence and patterns of neurasthenia diagnosis." Naturally, this made me contemplate reading the book the argument was from---I'd bookmarked it until saying fuck it, I ain't readint that shit. I don't know what the point of this is. Interesting reddit post though.

On Wednesday, or was it Thursday? the narrator kept doing. I found it odd: a lie. If I'm projecting onto her, or rather she is me, than why is she doing things? I do not do things. I lay down and daydream until I'm in another world where I am not alone. Why isn't she doing this. Yet writing that was enough for something to shift. I woke up and did something. Reading, probably, or a bit of writing and journaling. I've been more consistent with drawing a card a day---of an oracle deck---than I have in months. I write it down on the calendar in the planner. I wonder if I'll fill the month, or at least every other day of it as I have so far. Why did the Narrator keep doing? Even as her thoughts wandered, her actions said: I will try this thing because someone said I should. She thinks: I don't know what I want to do, but someone suggested I do this thing, so I will do this thing. And then her thoughts---how countless---dictate her problems, her reflections, her past, her ruminations. We learn more from her thoughts after than the event than during, even though the during is where the things happened.

This is to say that I accidentally abstained from watching youtube videos for a few days---I felt no urge. I wanted to do some other things, so I did the other things. When was the last time that happened? I took a break from something because I didn't think to do it, and in this case the 'it' was was look for some video entertainment. Some vlogger, or life advice, or reactions to internet trends. I did none of it. I read another book, and I looked at more recipes, and I tried to figure out what I'd bake next. I failed, too, and I'll live with that. I think, again, that I want to focus on tarot or something. I don't know what. Well, now it's the reading experiment, where I must continue the T Kingfisher book, A Sorceress something or other; my ees grow closed and I think I'll daydream of the improved ordinary life. Yes. I don't dream of something epic, is that strange? My mind sees something grand, and then it sees what it actually believes it wants: a person beside me, warmth, company, laughter, and physical contact. I want someone else, or at least the idea of someone else, more than I want to be around myself.

20260309

My body is full of anxiety. Something has eaten away at me. My appetite is gone. It's 10am and I should be at work, except I'm not useful enough, so I'm working less and don't go in for another hour. I'm spiraling. What are the boys doing that I'm not doing? Why am I not good enough?

The oracle deck gives me: the weaver. Rediscovery, transition. I need to "take the messy loose ends and make them a part of me." I stare and wonder what that means. I think: I will do exactly what is expected of me, and I will clean until they notice. Because nobody notices. Other people get shoutouts; pictures of "look at how so-and-so made good use of down time." I don't know where they're finding down-time. I understand that keeping the stove and fridges clean isn't enough. I don't know what else there is to do. I'm always trying to stay on top of things and get stuff done. I don't understand why what I do isn't good enough.

Quotes from Our Wives Under the Sea:

She says, when she says anything, that it’s something to do with the pressure, the sudden lack thereof. Her blood retains no sense of the boundaries it once recognised and so now just flows wherever it wants.

The first time Leah stayed over at mine, we watched Jaws and afterwards talked so long about how Hooper and Brody were obviously in love that we forgot to have sex and simply fell asleep together, Leah’s ankle hooked over my hip. In the morning, she woke me up by playing the Jaws theme full volume in my ear.

I imagine living with someone else; alongside a familiar face and body, and not Craigslist or Facebook permanent strangers. What would it feel like, to not feel alone? I think of sharing a bed with someone; of holding and being held; of something I don't know. I tell myself to postpone the fantasy until I've finished the next section of the book.

20260310

I'm listening to the soundtrack from a video game (Baldur's Gate 3) and feeling like an imposter. I have not played this game. I know nothing about it. So who am I to listen to it? Ahh, the feelings are all out of whack.

I fucking hate customers who are patronizing and trying to get free food out of me. "Oh, there's something missing---" ma'am, here's the ticket. You ordered x and y, which is what your receipt says. The person who took your order says you didn't order z. I cannot give you z until you pay for it. It's even worse with the men. A guy today was cutting me off and talking over me. The worst part is that I got flustered enough to end up giving him the extra sauces---yes, it's a minor charge, but a) he didn't pay for it and b) dude told me I was wrong, and when I elaborated on how much sauce we serve and yadayadayada, he cut me off and told me I was wrong again, and that I didn't give him his order. I fucking did. Spoke to a coworker about this, and he said that I should've told him before I gave him the sauces. Apparently, he would've enjoyed having a word with the guy. Really wish I had thought to do that because it'd be interesting to see how that played out. (coworker is physically intimidating + a man ... and wouldn't be flustered/anxious when a customer is rude)

The main reason why this is still on my mind is because of how rude the guy was. Stop talking over me. Stop cutting me off. Stop telling me that I don't know how to do my fucking job. If you were genuinely confused, you would've listened. You were bullshitting me into giving you free stuff and you know it. This is just like the people who ask for a side of rice...that's a menu item. If you want it, order it. Ugh, and all the people who ask for things that aren't on the menu. We don't sell that! We don't have the ingredients for that! Ffs, people really think we've got everything stocked...I can't count the number of people who ask to sub something with blue cheese. THERE IS NO BLUE CHEESE. NOTHING ON THE MENU MENTIONS BLUE CHEESE. ALL YOU BLUE CHEESE LOVERS CAN GO ROT IN A HOLE. Right next to the people who want a side of chicken with their rice. I can't. I just can't. Like what. If you want rice and chicken, order one of the many dishes that include rice and chicken. There are dishes that are only rice and chicken! We cannot just fucking give you 'a side of chicken' with your rice! What else...the guy who wanted a side salad. There is no such thing as a side of salad. We can't replace rice with lettuce. Oh, and we don't keep different varieties of mayo stocked. There's always a few people who want kewpie mayo instead of regular mayo. If it's an option, we'd say it's an option. We do not have your fucking kewpie. Stop asking for it.

There's a special place in hell for the no onion people. This does not apply to people with onion allergies. The onion allergy people are not a PITA; they find out the dish has onion and so they just...order something that doesn't contain onions. The online orders will say "onion allergy; please call if this has onions" or some shit. It's the "can you make this dish without onions b/c i no likey" people who aggravate me. "can't you just pick them out" YOU PICK THEM OUT. YOU'RE THE PICKY EATER. YOU'RE USED TO PICKING THINGS OUT OF THINGS. JUST FUCKING ORDER SOMETHING WITHOUT ONIONS. Ten bucks says one of these assholes has gone somewhere and ordered onion rings without the onions. I can see it happening. This reminds me of the person who changed their pickup order three times---they wanted no onions in everything, and then they realized some of the food wasn't for (the person who wanted no onions). hmmm... chicken fried rice no chicken people must think they're so clever. if there was a vegetarian fried rice dish, it would be on the menu. there is no vegetarian fried rice. i'm waiting to see someone ask if some obviously not vegan dish can be made vegan. trying to recall other crazies. people who change their order after they order...especially when it's a pickup order and they change when they see the order. we already made all the food. everything. some gluten allergy person who didn't tell us they had a gluten allergy until we gave them the food and they asked if it was gluten free (because they had a gluten allergy). lady, tell us your allergies; we actually have a list of gluten free menu items!

*sighs* however, as someone who spends too much time around customers, I am delighted to state that most customers are relatively normal people who I do not think twice about. Some of them spend too much time staring blankly at the employee speaking to them. (like when you call out someone's name to give them their order, and they just stare at you. They are not the only person staring at you. 'owen' is three different people, and none of them are named owen, because the REAL owen is the guy who's wearing headphones and can't hear you). Like at least acknowledge that you've received the order or some shit. "Thanks" is all. Not the blank stare. But the blank stare is better than the rude / patronizing / other asshole-ry ones.

i feel like i'm going crazy. ugh. i was contemplating buying a new tarot deck (it had cats), and then doubting. that and another book were going to cost $50 after shipping. was it what i needed? would it have been useful? am i useful? am i good enough? i hope to be. i finished the screenplay; now i need to sit down and edit it. i can see where the kinks are. i'll iron them out. i'll iron everything out. and when i'm done, at least i can say i'm not a failure, and that i did do something, even if it wasn't worth anything.

tired of running in circles. or writing in circles. my reading experiment aggravates me, even though i'm only two days in. 6/12 books done. i dared to look at the new recommendations and was disappointed. nothing's truly changed; older recommendations shifted up in the list. what i need to do is voraciously chase after my current tastes. i could read more memoirs---i love those, after all. it'll take a lot more reading to get the algorithm to pick up on what i want to read now, and not what i wanted to read two years ago.

I've rewatched parts of "changing my life in six months" challenges more times than I can count. Primarily Kiara Ivola's, though also agata in progress'. Agata's shows more progress; it's in the "organized update" style instead of the "vlog" style. I fantasize about what my challenges would be---career (what career?), fitness/health (lol), image (no), hobbies (is there anything?)---and it's 1am and I'm not writing that seriously. Maybe that's a starting point for me-when-I-wake-up-this-morning. Not for the falling asleep me. Above all, I'll tidy up my place tomorrow. Then we'll see what happens. Knock out another book, probably. I don't have work until the afternoon.

20260311

From Tarot Journaling, by Corrine Kenner:

In fact, the issues that most people bring to a tarot reading are the same issues they bring to their journals: concerns about the past, qualms about the present, and questions about the future.

possible tbr:

Workbook. You might want to use your tarot journal in conjunction with a tarot workbook or home study course, such as Mary K. Greer’s Tarot for Your Self, Joan Bunning’s Learning the Tarot, Teresa Michelsen’s Complete Tarot Reader, or Wald and Ruth Ann Amberstone’s Tarot School Correspondence Course.

20260314

It is the 15th, but spiritually, it is still the 14th. My thoughts keep racing. I've been home from work for 3hr yet can't tell you where the time's gone. I've---what? I spent some time staring at online shopping carts and wondering what I'm doing with my life. Do I really need candle holders and multicolored candles. Roselle flowers are a specific kind of hibiscus that are commonly used in tea. The Asian market near me sells them, which means I don't need to order them online. I read a cookbook called Floral Libations which includes drink recipes using---you'll never believe this---flowers. It's almost like the book is what it says on the tin. The author has a recipe for hibiscus simple syrup, and includes a few recipes which use this syrup. This includes a latte, a few cocktails, and the hibiscus equivalent of a rootbeer float. I want to drink these now. She also talks about making rose sugar, which is sugar infused with fresh roses---you mix roses with sugar and let it sit for a week. She briefly discusses using these floral sugars (and salts) in baking and cooking; I definitely want to try to make a hibiscus sugar to put on something. Scones? Muffins? Hibiscus blueberry muffins? Hmm...

20260315

Interesting video: Real Images Of Venus Show That Something Is Seriously Off With The Planet. Clickbait-y title; I wonder if the thing that's "off" is the lack of attempts to further understand the planet. He references this website with more interesting science stuff. That being said, I didn't know there was audio of what the surface of Venus SOUNDS like! Very cool. The thing about possible life forms made it seem like there could be reason to believe something is happening beneath the surface. This is vague---I don't mean "woowoo alien civilization," but maybe insectoid creatures with alien biology adapted to their environment. Or some sort of matter moving below the surface...like lava, but not. Insert actual scientific reasons for some inorganic thing to be moving around here. I wonder what we'd've learned from an actual soil sample---the fact that they didn't account for the possible location of the camera cap after being removed is something.

I read Floral Libations, by Cassie Winslow, and tried a few recipes from it. I used the hibiscus symple syrup to make a hibiscus latte with cinnamon, which was nice. I think the hibiscus syrup doesn't have as strong a flavor as I want it to have. I also referenced her blackberry hibiscus lemon drops recipe; I didn't feel like buying vodka, so I used mango soju. I also forgot to buy blackberries. Still pretty good. Last up is a hibiscus vanilla float. Yaay, ice cream.

I made a carrot daikon stir fry using a recipe from Woks of Life. I like the contrast of textures---the daikon is soft, but the carrot is still crunchy. I think I'd eat daikon again. It doesn't taste like anything.

20260316

D / L --- I am not a healthy choice. This is what's best.

20260317

I hate thinking about how I need to talk to my boss about issues I'm having with two coworkers. Lovely. My favorite. --- keeps being an asshole. Our boss specifically told us NOT to do a certain thing, I got into an argument with --- over it, and --- did it anyways. This is aggravating. I can also point to the whole "oh, I'd do the dishes if you asked, but you don't ask, and you're always so on top of them, but if you asked I'd do them" --> I ask --> he says "he's not bored enough." Or that we're screwed. Or that he doesn't feel like doing the dishes. That's not counting the number of times he leaves a stack of his own dishes on the floor, says he'll wash them after he goes on break, and then forgets. And leaves. Someone else is always cleaning up his mess. Or the number of times when he's been complaining to me, I tell him he's pissing me off; please talk to someone else, and then he just. doesn't. stop. Can you please listen to me?

Aaaaand then there's newboy. The one who keeps refusing to keep his hair covered---you're working with food---and just doesn't do anything. I don't want to keep being the asshole who's getting on his case about doing work. I'm not sure if the problem is that he just needs specific instructions, but he gets annoyed when I tell him what to do. You're at work. You don't get paid to spend 6hr texting your girlfriend and standing around. Please contribute. Please do your fucking job. He wants to learn how to do more things, but he hasn't shown he can consistently do the things he's been taught to do. I'm not teaching you how to cook things when you can't notice that we're out of things that we just need to bring up from the basement. It's been three months; he should know more than this. I don't know what to do to help him pay more attention and do his job. It's not like he's actively creating a problem; it's the not doing anything that's the problem. We've told him---not just me, but my coworkers---what to do when he comes in. Check this, check this, check this, do dishes. He does none of that.

There's the timer; off to work.

20260318

I've updated my reading experiment page. I like having a small, defined list of books to read next. There aren't infinite possibilities. There isn't a sea of tbr-s. I have two lists; while I may read books outside of those lists, I will hopefully focus on my 25 books to read. I had a bit of fun picking them out. I look forward to seeing how these will impact the list of recommended books on librarything. It's so dumb, and yet---well, I'm doing it anyways.

I don't have work until 4pm tomorrow. I need to remember to ask --- if I can use some dried cranberries. During the day, I will focus on reading. I'll try to read two more chapters of Practical Solitary Magic. I'll also read something casual I should finish one of the music videos too. Hmmm...double check what I have in the fridge. Also need to look at creating next week's grocery list. Exercise! Please exercise, you're slacking. I feel like I owe myself a longer diary entry too. I'd like to watch some anime, but what...

20260319

Continued reading Practical Solitary Magic. I appreciate the analogy of astrology & numerology being 'like the weather.' Apparently, I am experiencing a 7 personal year, which means it is a time for spiritual reflection. (fitting, no?). Now is not the time to pursue ambitious financial goals. Or so the numbers say...

I haven't had coffee since Saturday. I really want one. I'm reminding myself that I'm only halfway through the week. I still have three more days of work; three more shifts until my day off. I'm thinking of trying to do some indoor gardening---I might run out to Target on Saturday to pick up some seeds or something. I need to go grocery shopping too. I'm going to try to cook scallops. I'll make scones tomorrow and a honey cake on Saturday. I was skimming a book on Ostara; I'm planning to do a ritual on Sunday. That's why I need to do all my errand running before then. I've been putting off buying botanical stuff---I'm surprised I've actually completed the first 6 days of the book. The shock. The horror. I do have a few webpages of witchcraft-related stuff that's growing, but I want to keep it to myself for now.

I like the steady pace of reading a little bit of each book each day. It's doable. I'm incorporating a new habit at a steady pace. I'm not changing everything I do in a day; I'm just adding one new thing that I want to do. This works. This is good for me. I'm getting better at meditating. My brain now prompts me to do it when I'm bored---I mean, I have no excuse not to. It's not like I have to get up and grab stuff or do anything. There's literally no reason not to try. After so many failed attempts at incorporating meditation into my life, I'm surprised at how easy it's becoming. I think the exercises in Roderick's book are to blame---there's a focus for each meditation. I'm not only trying to focus on my breathing. There is something I'm doing. Meditation is becoming something I'm actively engaged in. This matters!

I can't shake the feeling I'm not doing enough. I can't shake the feeling I'm doing something wrong. The weather is cold; all I want is a nice, warm cup of coffee. Comfort in a cup. Who am I kidding---once I get to work, it'll feel so much warmer. It's just right now that I feel like I'm trapped in an icebox.

I'm scared of looking at my todo list. How much else did I not get done? Reading's all I did, and none of it was amazing. That's a lie. That's a lie too. I stare at books I could read, for reasons I can't explain. There are so many things I could be doing. I want to sit back, relax, and enjoy a moment to myself. I tell myself I'll do things I don't want to do. I think about a local concert I didn't attend, and I think about another one I'd like to attend. Hopefully I don't have work again. They're free concerts at a local college; why not take the time to see what music students are up to? I wanted to be one of them, once. I thought I could be. But I was told there was no future in music, so I started off at a weird liberal arts school instead, and so began the degree-hopping. I'd've graduated by now. Oh well. One of the new hires is like me in that aspect---she hopped around a lot, similar fields too, and now she's just working. There's no new ground to tread. I wonder: what am I doing here?

One of my loans is paid off. I'm scared to check how much is left on the other one. I pay so much, but it's not enough to make a dent; all I can do is offset interest. I want quicker results. I want to have never made the mistake in the first place. I think about throwing more money at it, wishing I had more money to throw at it, wishing...well, such is life. I'll power through. I've no other choice.

I am so tempted to call out today. Maybe I will buy a coffee....

20260320

I keep writing the date and doubting it.

I haven't seen my 'family' in over a year. Am I related to them? Was I ever? Of course I was. They talk to me more in my dreams than they ever have in the real world. Last night I dreamed I was trying to catch a train. My mother kept yelling at me. Why do you want to go to Boston, she said; what's there for you?; that place isn't for you; you won't like it there. You can't handle it. My sister was similarly discouraging. She was the last family member I spoke to. That might've been a year ago. She and I were in Boston; we fought; I've'nt spoken to my family since. In my dream, my eyes were burning. I was trying to purchase a train ticket and my finger kept missing the button. My eyes were half-closed, or was it one eye was closed? I couldn't keep it open. Every time I tried to hit the button, I couldn't see it, and my finger moved away from it.

My mouth is full of popcorn kernels. Letting them soften in my mouth is a guilty pleasure. Given time, they go from inedible to edible, and they won't break your teeth. My father once broke a tooth on them. He lost feeling in his jaw for a few days. He had to make an emergency dentist appointment to get it figured out. Who knew dentists did more than routine dental cleanings and braces?

I went grocery shopping, I made scones, I went to work, I watched The Amazing Digital Circus, and I watched Michelle McDaniel's Barbie movie. The lastest episode of The Amazing Digital Circus flew by. Caine, the AI, is having a mental breakdown. Jax is struggling---his actions were real, all of this is real, there are consequences---so his mental breakdown is getting worse. I spit out the popcorn kernels, sick of the sensation. I put too many in my mouth. I am no longer overwhelmed. I loved the moment where Pomni 'turned' on Caine. She's not exactly lying. Her words give way to everyone else's bitter truths. The way he's made them feel is the perfect way to distract him from paying Kinger a visit. And what do they have to lose by antagonizing the omnipotent AI? They've lost so much already. They've realized there isn't a way out of the circus.

Kinger accidently deletes Caine. Jiminy Cricket, that's something. I loved watching the circus distort. Parts of it vanish, it turns to greyscale, and Caine is dead. Where is Bubble? I don't think Bubble is a part of Caine. Bubble is...another AI that wasn't granted the same privileges as Caine? Is Bubble another member of the Circus? After all, it does say that it'd rather abstract.

What's with the Truman Show reference in the thumbnail? I don't understand. In the scene, Truman has had a conversation with his creator, understands what his life has been, understands the choices he has---to continue living in the facsimile, or to enter the real world---, and chooses to enter the real world. Caine doesn't have a "real world" to enter. He exits his facsimile by force; he has no choice. Well. This was the consequence of his actions. He antagonizes them, so they respond. He doesn't know that he made this choice---he didn't intend to make this choice---but he did. That's not it either. Why did Gooseworx choose to reference The Truman Show? Caine was the star of the show, but now he's seen it all and he's left? There is no more Caine.

20260322

There are cruise ships which go to Antarctica. They are not cheap.

20260324

Finishing up two new videos. After the last was a flop I pushed myself to try to do, I'm happy to see some creative juices flowing freely. I'm finishing up an old idea and implementing a new one. I'm pleased with this. I am pleased with this, so why do I still feel like I'm not doing enough?

Thinking of today's meditation, where I noticed the thought that I will never be enough. There was nothing to prompt this. I was just fucking counting. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Watch the thoughts and don't interact. I'm getting better at that. I think I find it easy to meditate when I'm counting my breaths. Still, amongst the sea of thoughts recalling things that happened and things I want to do, a lone thought reminded me that I will never be enough. I'm recalling the affirmations section of Practical Solitary Magic. How many times have I been told that? How many times have I thought that? I wonder if I'm implicitly limiting myself by still thinking this. I put a sticky note on the wall beside my head: I am enough for myself and the people around me, for our mutual benefit. The book says I will see results in three months. That's not long at all.

As I was looking at the list of concerts at a nearby college, I saw a familiar name. Where from? Not a fellow student, per se. A bass clarinetist. I played bass clarinet. I search his name, and I find a youtube channel. His face is unfamiliar. I scroll---there, right there. His audition for the district band. That's how I 'know' him. I got the all-state audition and he didn't. He was very salty about it. Now, about seven years later---that can't be right---he's about to graduate with a b. a. in music, and focused on composition. And I have nothing. I'm caught off guard---that's not it. I see a road not taken. I think of wanting to study music, of obsessively pursuing it until I was told it wasn't an option for college. Now there's a clarinet I play a few times a year. I don't compose anymore. I don't have any music left in me. There's words on a page---what's become of me?

I'm ready to begin filming the film, more or less. I'm intimidated. This is bigger than the things I made last year. I don't feel ready for this. But if I wait until I'm ready, I'll be waiting the rest of my life.

I understand that I fail to script my true path through life. I write up a plan and do something completely different; something I didn't predict myself doing, or not doing. I abandon the plan, yes, but I do something else. How strange. I claim to not know what I want to do, yet look at what I do. I still do. Why am I not acknowledging the things I do? Or rather, how do I get myself to acknowledge the things I do, or rather, how do I see them as enough?

I am enough, I tell myself. I am enough.

I'm sipping on a glass of port. The taste is so strong. It's beautiful, dark, seductive. I love it and am completely unattracted to it. I'd seen some stereotype somewhere about how women prefer white wines and can't appreciate reds. If given a bottle of white wine, I would not practice restraint. I should drink more white wines. All I've drank as of late is soju, with a wee bit of sake. I've'nt been drinking much at all, since going to the liquor store feels like such a hastle.

I'm tired of going places and spending money. Am I, though? I feel so withdrawn from the real world. My intentions to push myself out to do something are abandoned without too much thought. I don't want to do these things. I want to stay home. At least I'm comfortable and can work on the things I want to do. Everything I want to do involves being on my computer; focusing on reading, focusing on writing, focusing on filming, focusing on creating. I can't do this work when I'm walking around the city. Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhhh.

Is the bag of onions the reason why my room smells off? I've had them since December, and they're still okay. Some of them have shoots though. I'm thinking of that onion steak that was in Food Wars. Soma uses a very cheap steak (it was even on sale) and a crap-ton of onions. Chaliapin steak. I should try it.

I want to sleep, but I'm not tired. I don't want to do anything more today. Everything I want to do is for tomorrow. God-damn me. Time to sleep.

20260326

I don't like this life. I want something to change. The urge to genuinely workout is here again. I want to write up a plan, a promise, some ridiculous routine like all the Youtubers have. I rewatch videos where people do crazy shit with no scientific backing. I tell myself: one hundred, one hundred, one hundred. Pushups. Pullups (if only). That upper body workout I had been doing. Burpees. What I want but don't work for. I don't think it's possible, so I don't do it. I can't imagine myself doing the splits either. It's no surprise I abandoned them again. There are so many things I've failed to do which I could do right now. Instead I stare into the distance and daydream of another life.

20260327

I feel anxious. Of my witch reading list, I've tried four books and abandoned three of them. Technically I abandoned all of them. I stopped reading Practical Solitary Magic because I felt like I'd gotten what I needed out of it. I have more respect for all of the symbols / correspondences / etc. because of it. I understand why they are a part of magic. I'm starting the Thelema book right now---gonna have to take notes on all the terminology and really sit with it. Hopefully I'll get something out of it. If not, well, I'm still reading the Roderick book. I have a guided meditation to do tonight. I appreciate the crash course in meditation techniques, but I cannot wait to move on to other things.

Won an advance copy of a book! It'll be here within two months lol.

Made pineapple cakes for a coworker's b-day. Kinda stressed about how he'll react to them. From Elements of the Qabalah, by Eliphas Levi:

By keeping to this method, the mind acquires a veritable infallibility, for it affirms what it knows, believes what it must necessarily suppose, admits reasonable suppositions, examines doubtful ones, and rejects those which are absurd.

Was gifted a curry with chicken feet in it. I see the hype. There's something fun about sucking stuff off of the bone. I do keep spitting out tiny bones though. I wonder if I'm eating this wrong.

20260328

The noise-cancelling headphones make my ears itch. Is that normal? Do other people understand this sensation? I swap out my headphones for my earplugs. As I lay here typing, my clothes start to feel like too much. Their warmth was a blessing. Now, well, the fabric itches. I ditch the shirt, but I keep the hoodie. I wrap another blanket around me. It covers my hands---I'm laying in bed at the perfect angle to type with my hands covered. This position is not optimal for drinking the open can of beer. Oh well. I can't have it all.

I think I spent the past 3hr doom-thinking about work. Whoops. Evidently, I need to expand the list of topics I can actively think about. I wonder if thinking about work takes place of thinking about a topic. I primarily think about life and things that are going on around me. I'm not repeatedly thinking about some academic, or less concrete, idea. There isn't much I'm turning around in my head. I go back to my life and my daydreams.

This morning, I read Uncharmed, by Lucy Jane Wood. This is her second book. Her first book, Rewitched, was a fantasy novel about a woman who needs to undergo a series of trials to prove herself worthy of keeping her magic. I think it ended in some larger-than-her plot which involved something drastic with the coven she's in. The sort of novel that's ostensibly about one person but gives way to something more sinister. Uncharmed was the same way---initially, you think it's about Annie and Maeve, and then you see the larger plot surrounding Maeve and a secret society (which Annie's a part of).

Annie is a middle-aged(?) witch who runs a bakery. She is a dedicated people-pleaser. So dedicated, in fact, that she hexes herself into being a people-pleaser. This involves necromancy---perfection comes at a cost, and its cost comes in the form of ghostly regrets. But Annie is perfect! She's well-liked, juggles everything, and doesn't say no to anyone. So when she's whisked away to a cottage to train a teenage witch---well, what choice does she have?

Maeve is the teenage witch. She doesn't have a good handle on her powers. She's a bit of a weirdo, and an outcast at school. She's an orphan, which is the reason Annie was called in to take care of her. She's witty, emotional, and smart. Has a comeback for everything. A pleasure to have in class---I mean, to read about. Oh, Annie's hex doesn't work on teenagers, so Annie has to actually learn about what Maeve wants/needs from others. The two of them form a nice bond.

All I'm doing is summarizing the book. Is this thinking about it? I doubt it. The book featured Annie's toxic friendships; the contrast between those and her newly-formed positive relationships is stark and pointed. Annie's toxic friends are judgemental, rude, narcissistic, and holier-than-thou. They make her feel like she isn't good enough for them. They push her, but for what? She will never be good enough. Being good enough doesn't mean anything for them or herself anyways. Annie's positive relationships grow throughout the book. She has to work for these relationships. Her usual strategies don't work. However, these relationships aren't based on her needing to prove her worth to the other party. They're based on her and the other party getting to know each other and working alongside each other in their daily life. Who she's supposed to be isn't a question; she is who she is. Her positive relationships challenge her to be a better version of herself (and she challenges them in return). The author is able to neatly contrast positive and toxic relationships, primarily of the platonic sort, and shows how these relationships impact people.

I loved the emphasis on platonic relationships! Found family tropes ftw.

Ahhh, I'm fading out of consciousness.

When I was younger, I used to listen to a podcast called By the Book. The hosts would try different self-help books for two weeks and reflect on them. I want to do this. I can't commit to it, or any other plan to change my life, yet I still want to try. For what? Maybe just to say I've completed something. maybe just so I can add more books to my been-read list. My eyes are closed as I type. Sleep haunts me. I awaits its kiss.

I set a haphazard challenge for myself: within the next three months, I will visit and clean a park near me. I will also take pictures of the park and leave a review on Google Maps. Like a normal person! Despite living in a city, there is greenery around me, and I'd love to be more aware of it. I like sitting outside. Some of this is even near me. Little patches of green which I'm ignorant of.

The park I visited yesterday was a .5mile stretch of pavement beside a river. There were a few informational signs about local history. It was a peaceful area. That being said, I can't help but think I was lucky that there weren't any homeless in that area at that time. So frustrating. want to sit alone in an empty park, my consciousness is evading my body---

20260329

Trying to read Liber ABA:

On investigating what is meant by these two things, we find that they are only one. For what is the state of either prayer or meditation? It is the restraining of the mind to a single act, state, or thought. If we sit down quietly and investigate the contents of our minds, we shall find that even at the best of times the principal characteristics are wandering and distraction. Any one who has had anything to do with children and untrained minds generally knows that fixity of attention is never present, even when there is a large amount of intelligence and good will.

I've set it aside already. I read The Message of the Master Therion after, which left me with a crude understanding of what is meant by "the will." Honestly sounds like some sort of transcedental meditative state that involves being at peace with oneself. Being attuned to destiny? It's funny...I feel like I can picture what he's talking about, but I don't know how to describe it. Of course, I may be entirely off-base in a manner which only reading and practice will solve.

I did return to Living Thelema, by David Shoemaker. After skimming past the Qabalah parts, I got to the core text. Thelema seems to be a mixture of, in no particular order: Jewish mysticism, the Ancient Egyptian pantheon, Christianity (? wait, are guardian angels also a Jewish thing?), yoga (in the breathing and other kinds of meditation sense, not the stretching sense), and other forms of meditation. Some of this stuff is probably from other occult practices I don't recognize. I wonder what the people who cry about cultural appropriation would think of this. Maybe I need to read more about Crowley.

I'm not sure if learning about, and adopting aspects of, Thelema is for me right now. I'm attracted to some of the ritual aspects that Shoemaker discusses. Reading about the pentagram rituals was exciting; like I was glimpsing into some forbidden world I now have access to. The Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram! OMG! It's real! I was struggling to get along with the use of the Egyptian pantheon. I don't vibe with it.

Shoemaker also touches on visualization of rituals---sort of doing them in your head. I wonder if I can apply this to parts of Roderick's book? I have yet to buy any of the supplies I'm supposed to buy for the first month. Whoops. I just...I'm not a fan of incense, or burning things, or making blends of specific herbs for magic purposes. I understand the symbolism matters. I understand that these representations help me understand a ritual at a deeper level---using things my subconscious understands and whatnot. That being said, I can't get behind the monetary and consumerist aspects of buying all that fucking stuff. I just can't. Everything I used for the Ostara ritual was a substitution, though, and it worked just fine! I used things I had on hand with similar correspondences to whatever I was supposed to use.

That paragraph got off topic. My point is that, when comes time, I want to try out doing the ritual in my head---seeing and smelling what I should be---instead of buying stuff. Shoemaker made it sound like that sort of work is beneficial. Damnit, I shouldn't have skimmed so much. At some point, I started filing the book under "information which would be useful if I had more experience with Thelema," so I switched to skimming.

Piri Reis map---rabbit hole for later? I've read nothing on maps before. An Amazon review of the book about "Ancient Sea Kings" worked to cast doubt on the author's claims---when the evidence is lacking, I'm inclined to agree.

I wonder if I have anything left to say. I stare at the screen. Where has my day gone? I made some lackluster cookies. I washed the dishes. I started working on recording the audio for the film. I read, mostly, so much lackluster reading. I think I should stick to Wicca and not dive into other occult / magic / etc. practices. Gain an understanding of one thing before incorporating other things into my life.

I look at the Youtubers with their perfect glow ups and think: I want that to be me. I write some goals, I write a plan down, I tell myself what I'll do for the next six months. I overcommit and say I'll eat enough food, I'll exercise, I'll make the movie, I'll read the books, I'll do it all with time to spar.

I observe my own desires. My urge to have company seems to be growing stronger; I can't make heads or tails of it. I suspect I'm dreaming of relationships because I'm not satisfied with my current life. I'm not satisfied with my current self, so I look for happiness in others. I imagine myself with a boy. I see us huddling around my computer and watching a movie; I see us relaxing together; I see him mocking me and me wishing I'd never opened my mouth.

20260330

From Uncharmed, by Lucy Jane Wood:

"Blood is thicker than water," Vivienne said smugly. "And magic is thicker again."

"Always hated that phrase, usually tossed around by people who've never been let down by someone who's supposed to put them above all else," Ruby said (...)

Just needed to save that before returning the book.

Notes on Girls that Invest, by Simran Kaur:

Are there actually "institutional and structural barriers" between women and money? Don't get me wrong; the wage gap is well-studied, and I'm not surprised to hear that contributes to a wealth grap. I suppose the question is about barriers to learning about money. There's a bit of a "bro" culture. Hmmm...to me, investing does feel like a guy thing I'm not smart enough to understand. Money goes where? Money makes money...how? Number go up?

she goes on to talk about how, historically, women weren't able to own and control property in every state in the US until the 1900s. She also mentions that women (in the US) weren't able to have their own bank accounts and credit cards until the 60s and 70s. Seriously? Seriously. (Aside: I am amused by how me not being in school & being reminded of this kind of stuff makes me forget about it. We know people who were born in the 60s and 70s---in some sense, that is a pretty recent development). She cites more examples of women needing some sort of male guardian for money stuff throughout the late 1900s.

"How can we expect to know how to invest when less than 50 years ago we couldn't even open up a bank account?" indeed.
"Money media not representing us"---what money media? I'm serious. "Money media" isn't a term I've ever thought about. Most of the people I see on Youtube who are talking about finances are women. They're talking about how to spend less and save more, though, and maybe mention retirement funds. They don't really talk about investing.

"Money media" referred to movies. I did not know that Clueless, Confessions of a Shopaholic, and Wolf of Wall Street were classics.
"A culture of shame around discussing money." Finally, something I agree with. Money is one of those things that everybody has to deal with but doesn't talk about. How much money we have and how we use it feels personal. And a lack of financial literacy certainly contributes to a sense of shame.
Talks about how money creates freedom---when you're financially free, you can make more choices which are aligned with your values. You can say no.

Part 1 - why invest

Some key reasons: beat inflation, take advantage of compounding interest.
Kinds of inflation: "demand - pull" when demand overtakes supply, so prices rise. "cost - push" when cost of product increases because cost of making product increases. "built in" is due to government involvement.
Inflation means the value of the dollar is decreasing.
investing in individual companies is more risky than investing in index funds.
her guideline: high interest debt is anything over 7% b/c the stock market typically returns 7-9% annually.

fail: forever alone; simon fail: thick as thieves.

i wanna new face right now / and i want it bad source

20260401

Oh, who am I to be? I feel my brain slipping, turning off, ejecting, not ejecting but numbing, disengaging itself while still being there. It's there and it's turning off. I become numb, separate from reality, but there's no brain to guide me to sweet daydreams. I am merely alonely.

In all honesty, what's the cause, or rather, what to do? I stretch, upper back, and then work on my splits, but it's all too much. I thumb through Youtube videos listlessly, the urge to do something so strong I have no choice but to give in. When I do something, it's too much. I give it a go anyways, then longer still, until I finally collapse, trapped in some bodily contortion until my brain lets me go. Then I click around for something else to do. Clean a bit. Read a bit. Game a bit. Nothing much a bit. I think of endless plans and get lost. The urge to be is so strong, but the need to not is stronger. I have energy, mind you. There's a brick where my brain used to be.

20260403

Referenced chickpea squash curry recipe for dinner. TLDR which I need to remember: buy curry paste, buy coconut milk, buy ingredients. Honestly you can toss anything in curry---I'm thinking of the chicken mushroom squash curry I made. Unconventional? Probably. Tasted amazing? Yes. Everything I wanted was in it. Now I have a chickpea / squash / potato / spinach curry.

20260404

While attempting to read a book this morning, I notice a curious spark of fatigue. I did not want to read. This is strange---the only reason why I got out of bed when I did was so that I could continue reading. I'd started a book and wanted to see where it went. After a few pages, I noticed my brain disengaging. But I wanted to read, or so I thought. I wanted to read the book. I wanted to understand the ideas within it. I wanted to engage in what the author had to say. Then why was my brain shutting down and refusing to see what was in front of it?

My eyes drifted closed---not, I noticed, because I was still tired. I was alert. I was wholly awake. Everything else I could be doing wandered through my head. There was a music video, a script, a film, yoga, the pullup bar, the backlog of website writing, cleaning, showering, baking, eating, groceries, coffee, planning...everything else but reading. No form of content consumption truly crossed my head. I contemplated watching more anime with disgust---midnight occult civil servants was fine, but it is not what I want to spend my time on right now. Nothing! There was nothing!

And why not do something? The slightest note of further discomfort thrust me into a shower, where I overcame my overwhelm for the day's possibilities. I needed to do laundry, that much was true. I would've been fine without more grocery shopping, but grabbing a few more groceries did benefit me. Now I'm eating breakfast, ignoring my phone's relentless buzzing---oh, coworkers---, and typing this.

Why do I not want to read? I feel as if my brain can't take in any more new information. Everything has blurred together. Memories and facts and daydreams and ideas have all blurred together. Cut out the despair and dramaticism, self. Maybe I'm finally recognizing that my reading does not benefit me as much as I want it to. I don't look for books because I want to read something in particular. I read to pass the time, to---well, there are nobler reasons, but I mostly read so that I can say I've done something. Isn't that it? I reach for books to fill in the cracks of time. If I'm not reading, what am I doing?

Idle tasks, such as housekeeping, hygiene, and eating, don't count as having done something. They're necessities. I cannot look back and say "well, at least I kept my place clean." It's true, yes, but it's not tangible. These tasks enable my peace of mind and maintain my wellbeing, but they aren't meaningful to me.

I do more than read. I've noticed my growing interest in videomaking; I bake excessively (and read about it); I'm developing an interest in Wicca; I continue to try to exercise. None of these are all-consuming or passive. I don't reach for most of these in the way I reach for books. Baking is an exception---If I had more people to bake for, and more money for baking supplies, I may be baking as much as I read. Huh.

Maybe my issue is with what I value. Reading has always felt valuable to me. I have always been a reader. It's a long-standing part of me in the way none of my other interests are. I'm tired of this. I do something and think: I could be reading right now. Do I want to be reading right now?---not now, but every time I think that. Is reading what I truly and genuinely desire?

I do not know if my problem is with reading, or if it is with content consumption in general. I do notice myself having withdrawn from choosing to watch Youtube videos. Aside from the couple times a month binge rewatch, I mostly use the platform for ambient noise when my roommates and neighbors are too loud. I drag myself to watch anime, mostly when I'm tired but not exhausted. If not for the anime-loving coworker, I doubt I'd have a Crunchyroll subscription. I don't scroll through subreddits. I feel an itch, occasionally, but visiting a subreddit makes this itch worse. I hate the compulsion to keep scrolling. I hate how it makes me feel. I hate how I remember nothing and absorb nothing and and and. The itch only lessens when I close the tab. I hate it there.

I've noticed myself feeling as if I have to consume something while creating something. There's infinite content to catch up on, after all. Countless books I could be listening to. There's so much information out there---I can't filter through it all for what is and isn't valuable, so I must ingest as much as possible, lest I fall behind. Fall behind of what?

As I write this, I think of confining myself to a reading list for each month. I can pick eight books, I think; a shockingly small number. They will be a mixture of fiction and nonfiction. Then I reject this. A reading list is still a requirement to read. I want to forgo that requirement. I don't. This idea terrifies me. If I am not a reader, what am I? A lackluster mosaic of the other things which occupy my time? A collage of wasted hours? An entity which learns nothing? At my despair, I realize I must not require myself to read. I must allow myself to sift through the thoughts that run amock. I have so much else I want to do, after all. Why not give myself the opportunity to do those things instead?

I wonder where the failed login attempts come from. Who was trying to get into my Facebook account yesterday? I've changed the password, again, and signed out from all other devices. I went through some privacy settings as well. I'd only created the account to find a place to live, after all. I'm not using it.

My fear is that the login attempts came from family members. I haven't spoken to them in so long. This fear eats away at me. I want to be left alone. There were failed attempts to login to the linkedin account, too. I want to change my name. I keep disconnecting that email, and I keep learning of new accounts it's connected to.

20260405

I am perpetually amazed by how many hours there are in a day. I am writing this at 8pm. I've done so much and so little. I drew a bit, I exercised, I danced, I worked on a video, I cleaned, I did the dishes. I didn't bake a single thing.

20260407

We have already completed the first week of the month. I am contemplating skipping a few days of the year and a day book---nearly a month, in fact. These meeting the goddess/god exercises are so repulsive to me. It's like I'm being told not to work with them. I wonder if that is the case. Am I to push through according to plan, or am I to say that I am actively avoiding these exercises and should move on to something I won't avoid?

I don't feel like I'm getting anything out of these exercises. I sense myself being pushed away from something. Certainly, this is an issue. How best to solve it? Well, what's the actual issue? I don't feel entirely comfortable with the idea of the god/goddess. I understand these concepts as aspects of the earth's energy and aspects of divinity. I don't understand the polarity of it. This polarity is not for me. The whole "three in one" shit aggravates me. a) it reminds me of christianity (god the father, son, and holy spirit (amen)). b) it feels like these are supposed to be specific beings who demonstrate these aspects. I do not believe in some overarching divine being. Forces of divinity, sure, but a being? No.

The next section of the book looks at the seasons---I think I may find more relevant information there. The practices he's been describing this far really are not for me. Maybe I need to create my own study plan? While I'm mostly concerned with the earth's energy, I still feel a draw to Hellenic Polytheism. I think this is because I was obsessed with the Percy Jackson books in elementary school---there's an element of "realness" to the Olympians because I grew up reading their myths. I'm not fluent in Greek mythology, but it's not alien to me either.

Slightly worried I overexerted myself while working on the splits. I was doing a series of exercises from a Youtube video. I completed all of the exercises for my right side. When I started working on the exercises for my left side---all of which have my right leg extended or bent behind me---my right leg started shaking excessively. I thought I'd read that your limbs shaking when you're trying to do yoga has something to do with how you haven't built up the muscles to support yourself in a position. I spent a few minutes trying to do certain exercises, then dropping my leg when the shaking got to be too much. The concerning part was when I stood up and my right leg was still shuddering. I will take this to mean I shouldn't work on my splits tomorrow. Definitely need to pay more attention to how much I'm exerting myself---if I have to abandon a workout video (which I used to be able to complete) partway through, I have probably pushed myself too hard.

In other news, I have muted the work chats on my phone. 96% of the time, messages sent do not require my immediate attention. I am too stressed out over the 4%. The 4% can go fuck itself. I feel more at ease than I have in a while. There's no relentless stream of phone notifications and buzzings to unnerve me. I don't give a fuck. They are all supposed to take care of themselves, and when they don't, it's not my responsibility (if i'm not on the clock, obviously). Might've taken me too long to decide that, but. I will be fine.

Doodled a bird and followed a belly dancing workout---is this all it takes to count as "trying a new hobby?" I spent eight minutes on each of those things, yet they mean more to me than "tried a new anime." I was right to focus on creative & active hobbies.

20260408

I cannot convince myself to give isekai anime an honest chance. "I was reborn in another world" seems like lazy storybuilding. Just write a hero, or villain, or whatever the fuck you want. Tell us a real story. What's with the obsession with being reborn into another world? I suppose there could be a relatability factor---degenerate weebs who long to be something else (god forbid they put in the work) project onto a degenerate who is thrust into another world. Is that why there's so many perverted MCs?

I cannot understand why my coworker regularly watches isekais. Are they truly worth the time of day? He has continuously failed to sell me on watching many of them. All the ones that don't sound like they're a "hero with a harem" kinda thing sound like they're some sort of "what if I was a side character in a video game" kinda thing. My RIBdiculous Reincarnation is the first isekai he's mentioned which actually sounded interesting. It's being aired this season. The animation style is wacky---the first episode featured typical contemporary anime style, early 2000s style, something else, and something I can only describe as Disney Greek. Something about it distinctly reminded me of Hercules. I really hope there's more of this mix of styles in the upcoming episodes---I'm imagining a different style for each reincarnation.

The plot: you can choose what world you're being reincarnated into. Fun reincarnations (ex. hero with a harem) have a long wait time, so the MC finds a loophole. What's to stop him from choosing to reincarnate as the hero's rib? Nothing, apparently. That's the first episode. It ends with him dying (by being ground up for use as fertilizer), and finding out he'll be reincarnated as a hermit crab. Ummm. The show looks like a train wreck. I'll certainly tune in to see where it's going.

Started watching Samurai Champloo, an early 2000s anime featuring---you'll never guess---samurai. (Champloo is a reference to an Okinawan stir-fry (per reddit)). Fuu, the female MC, is aggravating AF. She is written as a whiny, irritating girl who annoys the guys around her and is clueless as to why. You can't bitch about two strangers not immediately doing your bidding, nag them about it, and then be surprised when they run away from you. I am only three episodes in. WHY IS SHE WRITTEN LIKE THIS. I hope she contributes more to the plot. In the first episode, she sets off some fireworks, which help free the two samurai from their execution. Episodes two and three feature her acting like a, pardon my language, useless, clueless bitch. I can't deny that her personality seems to be what's creating the plot. The other two guys would not be around each other without her. But did she have to be so annoying?

To be more concrete: I wish she had a sense of responsibility and more agency. She has, for these first three episodes, chosen to put her life into the hands of two strange men who are more interested in killing each other than finding "the samurai who smells like sunflowers." She fell asleep in a strange place, was kidnapped, and immediately befriended her kidnappers accomplice (just by being nice to him). She isn't looking out for herself. In the next episode, she is looking for food (and maybe the men who abandoned her? her goals are unclear!), breaks some vases, is told she needs to pay for them, and is promptly forced into working her debt off in a brothel. It looks like this is going to be how the trio reunites. Also, wtf. She is being dragged from one thing to the next. I don't like how she's written.

20260409

I read A Witch's Guide to Magical Innkeeping, by Sangu Mandanna, today. Cozy fantasy, found family, respectable ending. I loved the eccentric cast of lodgers. Nicholas, one of the lodgers, is a 23 y/o who has parted ways with his own family. The backstory is unclear, but the gist of it has something to do with them being rich people, him not being alright with how they got their wealth, him not being interested in inheriting the family business, having a poor relationship with his parents, and setting out to do his own thing. I love that for him. Also, he works as a knight at a local medieval fair, and is invested in being a knight in his own life. He wears a suit of armor at all times, for crying out loud. He's invested in acting like a knight---being chivalrous, respectable, loyal, and putting other people first. Awesome character.

Unfortunately, this left me thinking about my own poor ties with my family. It's been a year since I made excuses not to see them for Easter. I remember my panic. If I saw them for Easter, I would have to attend Easter mass---there was no way around it. If I was at church, I would not be able to wear a beanie, and they would see my hair. I cut my hair after a poor Thanksgiving with them. While I was able to try to hide my lack of hair for Christmas (a beanie and a thick scarf did the trick), there would be no way to avoid hiding the truth from them. I no longer had long hair. I no longer had shoulder-length hair. I didn't even have a respectable bob cut. I had a buzz cut.

I remember reading V for Vendetta for the first time, and seeing the scene where Evie's head is shaved. I was in fifth or sixth grade. She looked, and seemed, to be so free. The hair was symbolic of her freedom, and had greater meaning to the story. To me, though, it meant that women could shave their heads. I never knew we could do that. My mother and sisters all prided themselves on their long hair. They were envious of my hair, and would always remind me that they wished their hair was as thick and full as mine. I hated my hair. It tangled easily. I had to brush it multiple times a day to keep it in check. I hated ponytails, too; they felt so heavy. My hair was a literal and figurative headache to have. There were times when I used scissors to remove troublesome knots from my hair. Curiously enough, my family never noticed the absence of hair until I got sloppy (as a seven year old) and didn't hide the removed hair well enough. They punished me, and I learned not to do it. This goes to show how I have always despised my hair. I wanted it gone. If only there was a way out!

Evie made me think there was a way out. My parents would have none of it. In middle school, I asked my mother if I could cut my hair shorter at my next hair appointment. How short, she'd asked, and I was delighted to show her pictures from Pinterest and comics of women with men's haircuts. I was punished for this. I remember trying to get answers out of her and relentlessly asking what the problem was. People will think you have cancer, she told me. I pointed out that nobody thought my brother had cancer; can't I have a haircut like his? (a bowl cut). You're a girl, she said, that'll make people think you have cancer. You can't have short hair. You're a girl. (Later, I also had reason to think they believed I was trying to look like / be a boy, and this was another reason why I couldn't have short hair). I was told that I'd understand when I was older, and that I'd regret having short hair, and that children aren't old enough to make their own choices, and that she wanted what's best for me, and that not having short hair was what's best for me.

My memory of that fateful Thanksgiving is pretty dim. I remember waking up and finding out that they'd thrown out some food one of my coworkers had made. Said coworker's dish was delightful, I was looking forward to having it for breakfast, and they tossed it because day old rice wasn't safe to eat. (Since when? They'd be disgusted if they found out how we make rice for fried rice at my job---hint hint, rice needs time to dry out). I think we had the usual arguments. They wanted me to leave my job, move back in with them, go back to college (but online), and stay with them until I was a full-time, tenure-track professor at a local institution. They might even find the time to teach me how to drive, they'd say, but you have to move back in with us for that to happen. Bollocks. When I got home, I hacked off my hair. I had to use a knife, which wasn't the safest choice, nor were the results particularly sightly. My hair was uneven. And that was pretty obvious, given how little hair I now had. But I felt so free. I could make choices for myself, and fuck my family for making me believe otherwise.

So. Easter of last year. I don't see a way out. Do I take my hat off when I see them? Do I not wear a hat when someone comes to pick me up? Do I---what do I do, can I avoid the mass? But my mother will require a nice Easter photo, and we're not allowed to wear hats for that. Shit. There's no way out. I felt so sick. Sick enough to remind me that an illness would be a convenient excuse. I'd had food poisoning a few weeks ago---yes, nobody would doubt that food poisoning, soft-launched on Saturday, could be bad enough on a Sunday that there'd be no reason for me to see them. They bought it. And then, when they texted me a few months later to invite me back for a birthday, I realized I didn't have to respond to them. They didn't do me any good. I seemed to only harm and inconvenience them. Why should I make excuses and lie to them? They have no power over me.

Nicholas ends up getting a final say in his relationship with his parents. His father wants to meet up with him. He agrees, because he doesn't think it was fair of him to ghost them without any explanation. He doesn't seem to go into the conversation expecting to improve the relationship. He's decided he owes them an explanation, and then that's that, bye bye family. I didn't give my family an explanation because I thought the arguments---and my resistance to their demands---was enough. Look at how much we've fought, I could say; what more do you need? Is there anything left to say? Two decades worth of damage was done. Until I moved out, it felt like the problems were unending; until I realized I was free, I felt like there would never be an end to it. Giving into their demands never made them happy. My temporary happiness from rebellion never felt worth the consequences.

I watched the rest of my siblings have a happy relationship with my mother. They were friends. She'd take them out to Target, or to the mall, or Dunkin, or Ulta, or they'd sit on the couch and go clothes shopping together, or they'd watch home improvement shows, or they'd sit around the kitchen and gossip. I wasn't allowed to do any of these things. There was no happy relationship for me---just arguments, and the relentless repeating of how she was tired and stressed and busy and didn't have time for anything I had to say. I swear, she dedicated more time to seeing me when I moved out---a whopping 40minutes---than she had my entire life. Why should I give in to their demands to throw the life I've built for myself away for their relentless bullying and the life they want me to have?

I want to get a new phone number. I could move again, just to be safe, just so they don't know where I am. I want to change my name.

20260410

I hate listening to my mind overthink going to an event tomorrow. There's a woodworking demonstration near me which is open to the public. Perfect. It's even before I go to work. Yet I experience habitual stress: of having to be around other people, of having to do things, of not living in my cozy little bubble. This means there's a second reason for why I should go: then I will deal with my internal problems.

The fishy smell in my fridge is getting worse. I swear it infiltrates containers. I'm worried it's coming from the freezer. One of the roommates freezes half-used containers of raw meat---she doesn't put them in plastic bags or anything, she just cuts open the container, takes out part of the meat, and shoves the rest into the freezer. I dislike this. I feel like there's something wrong with this. This could be the reason why everything smells like fish. I don't know what to do or say. I don't want to be rude---who am I to talk, when I have been the reason why the kitchen smells? But the smell is getting worse. I'm worried something has gone bad. The roommate cleans out the fridge sometimes; most of her food goes into the trash. I am concerned.

The rest of the curry I made went bad today. This was sad. I am disappointed in myself, for not eating it soon enough, and the food, for going bad after six days. This reminds me that I have potatoes I need to use up. I am trying to go back to a low-carb diet this week. I used google Gemini to help create a meal plan---aka remind me of obvious things and steer me towards what to eat---and will be following a modified version of this. I am at ease. Hopefully, this will make a difference in how hazy my head feels. I'm certain it will. This is assuming the haze comes from something physical which can be alleviated by diet. Something else would be beyond my control.

I bought groceries. I went out for dinner. I watched some anime---there's two alcohol-focused anime coming out this season, both of which are okay; one is cutesy and the other is dramatic.

20260411

After spending fifteen minutes making shadow puppets, I have discovered a new way of feeling sore. My hands aren't used to this kind of manipulation. I have seen three different ways to make a rabbit. I twist my hands and wrists around each other, noticing new aches and pains, and welcoming new aches and pains. I am intrigued by the possibility of telling stories with a light and my hands. I had never thought about how important the light itself could be---how one angle vanquishes the puppets and another compells them. I stare at the wall and will my figures to appear the way I wish.

20260412

I am staring at my Amazon shopping cart. The total is just shy of $50, and I shudder to see it. Most of this is products for my 'hobby challenge.' I want to try embroidery---the kit I've selected is $13. I like the three designs. It'll keep me busy for at least 3hr, which is my minimum length for trying a new hobby for this challenge. The wordworking kit is $10; it comes with nine blocks of wood, which sounds like more than enough. These purchases are not something I hesitate over.

Then, tea-making supplies. $4 for 100g of loose-leaf black tea is not something I'm sweating over. I think I only need a few grams per recipe---I found a book full of tea recipes, the majority of which start with black tea. This was the smallest quantity I could find at a reasonable price per ounce. Cardamom pods, on the other hand, were $7. This is something I am sweating over. I suspect that 2oz of cardamom pods is more than I need. I occasionally see ground cardamom at grocery stores. Ahhh, fuck it. I'm going to make a tea shopping list and go to the grocery stores for it. I'm just trying to remember if the Asian grocer closest to me has cardamom pods---of the ingredients I need, this is the one I'm most likely to need to order online. I just wish I could find it in a smaller quantity. Like half as much.

Because my order was a fucking dollar shy of free shipping, I added a frying pan to my cart. This is $11. Why a frying pan---because the one I have is too big. It's a pain to wash. I keep thinking about replacing it, and then backing out because it's perfectly usable. And then---and then---

Back to the tea book. What do I need? Cardamom, rose water, black tea, cinnamon sticks, fennel seeds, and star anise. Rose water only appears in one recipe. Cinnamon sticks and star anise are both typically available at both grocery stores---and in small quantities. Fennel seeds---what's the difference between fennel and carraway? The subtleties of their flavors. Fennel is sweeter. Carraway is more bitter. They are not the same. I discard the idea of using the carraway seeds I have. Have I seen fennel at the grocery store? I'd like to think so, but my memory is foggy. I don't know. Fennel seeds appear in multiple recipes. And, according to Amazon, they're only $3---a far cry from the $11 frying pan. After this, my total was just shy of $40---perfect. I did not hesitate (much) to finish placing the order.

Filming myself is strangely tiring. An hour of work, another hour of editing, and all for what, ten minutes of video, at most? I'm not putting in much effort. I'm trying to get the shots right the first time. I filmed the footage for two scenes today (bar one clip which I need daylight for). Tomorrow, I will acquire the daylight clip, and then I will edit the next two scenes. I wonder if filming on Sunday will become a habit. I don't need to work on the movie every day.

I have a habit of expecting myself to do (insert task here) every day. I expect a hobby to become a daily effort and declare it a failure when it isn't. I expect a habit to occur every day, in excess, and am upset when it isn't. No wonder I fail so often---I create opportunities for it. Granted, it's easier to measure my rate of improvement by doing something every day. If something is not done every day, how often must it be done? I need a measuring stick or else I will doubt my success. And yet---

The other day, I took photos of some ducks I saw. The following day I drew those photos. The day after, I drew one of them again, this time in color. As I was walking today, I regretted not being able to get pictures of any of the small birds flitting around. I want to create references for myself. I vow to take pictures for myself to reference. I love the duck photo where its head is pointed down and the bill nearly covers the neck. This makes it look more alive. I welcome the chance to copy from pictures of animals as they are, instead of only working from Youtube videos. Sometimes I see swans at the lake near me. I want to capture a picture of one with its wings open. I imagine the challenge of drawing it. It won't be still; I'll be working from a disadvantage to begin with. I am setting myself up for failure, but I welcome the prospect. Imagine having drawn that----me, having drawn a living animal?

My consciousness is flickering. I fear it has become bedtime.

20260414

My brain is vibrating and can't focus. Was shredding veggies today; told P we only needed to peel 25lb. When I was able to start helping him, he said he hadn't been weighing it out; I weighed everything and told him he only needed to peel 4lb more. He kept peeling, but he wasn't weighing out what he was peeling; when I went to weigh it (while he kept on peeling), I found out we were 2lb over. WHY THE FUCK WASN'T HE WEIGHING IT??? boss was clear we only needed 25lb, and I confirmed P knew we only needed 25lb. Now there's an extra 2lb in the fridge. He's going to yell at us tomorrow, and for some reason this is going to be my fault. Yes, I understood what you meant by 25lb. We only shredded 25lb. I don't know why P wasn't weighing it. I don't know why he peeled another 6lb instead of another 4lb. I don't know. I'm not throwing him under the bus; I literally told him how much we needed and how much more he needed to do. I was specific. There was no room for misunderstanding. I do not know why he did that. I'm glad I got to stop him when I did, because he was going to make it worse. Did I mention P has been working here for twice as long as I have and is one of the trusted mature adult folk. Why. I am not looking forward to seeing my boss tomorrow. I understand it's been a busy week and having one more example of why I can't be trusted to do my job isn't good. I can't do this. I don't know how to stop P from doing this in the future either. fuck fuck fuck. I TOLD HIM TO WEIGH IT. WHY THE FUCK WAS HE IGNORING ME. And it's gonna be my head for it b/c why would P deliberately do something wrong, no, no this is because Nobody wasn't paying enough attention and doesn't care about doing her job right and just does whatever she feels like doing.

I really don't care that much about how they finally gave me a dollar raise. I'm thinking of some time last week where my boss started to correct me over some minor thing about a customer; I became visibly anxious; he stops himself and makes some passive-agressive comment about why he doesn't see why I'm getting so distressed, then leaves. "There's nothing to be anxious about" I can't count the number of hours you've spent yelling at me for making some mistake when interacting with customers, of course I'm fucking stressed! I think you're about to blow up at me again! In the middle of a rush, when I do not have the ability to talk to customers AND make food AND deal with you yelling at me! If I don't acknowledge you, you'll get upset and the situation will be worse, but if there's problems with food not being made and sent out promptly, you'll also yell at me more! These are all things which have happened before! Of course I'm anxious. Of course I'm distressed. How am I supposed to know this instance is going to be different from four other similar instances?

20260415

i am gorging myself on words. i read compulsively, not questioning "why" to read before diving into the necessity of reading. after all, reading is all there is. every thing can be reduced down to words. (to the tune of skeleton appreciation day in vestal, ny): words words words / let me read your words / i just wanna know what you're sayin' in your brain / words words words / hell, we're all alone / if i open up my pc, will you show me your / words words words / you can see my words / i don't wanna know if you're reading them or not, but / words words words / let us write our words / if i touch that screen, will it show me your words?

all writing starts as dreams / these words are eating me / give me my drug of choice, so i can feel at home again / please let me gorge myself / so i can start to digest your / words words words

but what else have i done today? i read words and respond to dead people; i say the writing's good, it's succinct, i dislike the topic but i read anyways. i torture myself. i don't know what i'm learning and i don't think i care. i need the words to feel whole again.

i can't breathe. i need something, but what? i feel as if the answer will be hidden until i have no choice but to have the answer. i need to hit the bottom. i stare at---what am i staring at? the screen? the abyss? lists of books? i am becoming more and more amazed by the reaches of the internet. finding contemporary books bores me. it's predictable and effortless. the digital editions always exist, so there's no struggle. but finding significantly older books has left an impression on me. i am surprised by how much has been digitized---i may be limited to a scan, many of which are on archive.org, but at least there is a scan. someone digitized it. finding a typed-up version is more surprising, especially when it doesn't read like it was scanned.

so i started to make a project out of reading all of the books in gerald gardner's library. this is going to be an interesting exercise.

i have abandoned the year and a day book---as i kept writing, i kept seeing how much the author's writing stopped resonating with me. the meditation section was useful. i appreciate getting to try new forms of meditation in a structured manner, and i've incorporated some of these into my life. i strongly dislike the body scan meditation, but i keep doing it because it can help ground me. i think this is another case of "i got what i needed from the book and have decided to move on." i am also tired of doing this. i feel like i'm embarking on and abandoning things constantly. did i try enough? did i do enough? did i actually get enough out of it?

i don't think i'm done with wicca, though. i decided to read through gardner's library as a new syllabus. this is my new study guide, i tell myself, and i'll structure it by the publication year. this will help me see the evolution of magical practices over time. gardner is the founder of wicca; by reading what he may have read (having a book in one's library does not mean one has read it!), i believe i will have a better understanding of what influenced the development of wicca.

i have started with texts from the 1600s. i am genuinely surprised by how readable everything has been. demonolatry, by nicholas remy, is genuinely engaging; the author's passion for the topic shines through. unfortunately, his passion is for accusing people of being witches and executing them. i appreciate getting context for how the french judicial system worked at the time. i have a better understanding of how little evidence was needed to make accusations about others. i am also intrigued by his understanding of why so-called witches behave the way he do. he argues that witches are coerced into witchcraft---once the devil has decided to convert them, the devil will stop at nothing to keep them in his clutches. he is careful to emphasize how little choice so-called witches have. however, since witches do the devil's bidding, they are servants of the devil, and must be eradicated thusly.

what i read of chiromantia, by johann rothmann, was relatively well-written. the author is short and to the point. this seems like a straightforward reference manual for palmistry. this is why i did not read the entire thing. i cannot stand fortune-telling in any capacity. i feel like fortune-telling indicates a definiteness to life which becomes irrelevant. if we can predict the future, then the future is set in stone, so there is no need to predict the future. if we cannot predict the future, then fortune-telling can only predict possibilities. that's what we have brains for...the 'predict' word bothers me. i will sit here and say tarot is a way to think about things, but this is because of how much of tarot is up to interpretation. tarot is a lens for understanding a situation. it lacks definiteness.

palmistry has an implied definiteness---these lines on your hands are related to these things. x relates to your temperament, y relates to your health, z relates to...and so on. this says the lines on your hands represent aspects of your life. if x, then y. z means a. but x and z cannot mean y and a. because if the lines----arrrgh, i lack the energy to keep writing. i hate fortune telling. i strongly dislike most variations of it. i cannot continue to write about it, dear reader, and i am sorry for this.

unfortunately, i have two books of prophecy on my docket for tomorrow. prophecy! how absurd! at least they're both short. also, an interesting thing about reading pdfs of books from the 1600s and 1700s is that they contain the "s" that looks like an "f"---is it called the long s? yes.

i built a bedframe out of cardboard. this seems like an exaggeration. i put four large cardboard boxes next to each other, a few boxes under some of them (for stability), and placed a pillow and blankets on top. this is my bed. i also acquired enough boxes to create a nice set of shelves. this was done by taking leftover boxes from my workplace and stacking them on top of each other. altogether, this represents my "cardboard-chic" aesthetic. it may be plain, but it is cohesive. unfortunately, it is too cohesive. i need to deliberately introduce more color. i have an idea: now that the weather is warmer, i will let one of my blankets act as a rug. i don't know if this will work well or just be annoying (ex. moving around too much), but it is a +1 for interior design. or will be if i do it.

20260416

Tried out a lentil recipe from "Sync and Savor," by Paige Lindgreen. Definitely like it. I'm eating it with biscuits, which is a nice pairing.

From The Great Beast, by John Symonds:

Much of his early youth was spent in reverie, which is the rule and not the exception for this time of life. He was an emissary of the Devil. he was a knight on the quest of the Holy Grail, He delighted in his chastity as well as in his wickedness; he lived in the land of faery and took every line of poetry for the literal truth.

20260417

Having grown tired of my own antics, I have banned myself from using internet browsers and, in particular, from downloading new books. (This includes borrowing books through the library app). To ensure access to a dictionary, I was able to recover one of my dictionaries from the school's library. The second one is not where I left it; it appears words after "marksworthy" have ceased to exist. I'll find a solution later---perhaps looking for a second dictionary from the same library. (For the record, the one I took did belong to me; I left it there last year as an experiment. I'm surprised one of them was still there, since the librarians were going through everything on the shelves last summer. Why is one gone, and not both? They were right next to each other.)

I allow myself to slip into fantasy:: at ---'s side, an arm wrapped around him, my head against him, him putting up with my antics; peering over his shouler and laughing at what he's doing, then laughing more as he bursts into explaining himself. I feel cozy and loves. Yet this is the real world. I sit alone, atop a mattress made of cardboard, in an over-priced bedroom. I have no plans for tomorrow or Sunday, other than to work.

I wonder

20260418

I opened my mailbox and found a frightening envelope: sensitive information, per the static on the back; "time-sensitive" according to the front. What is it? Who do I know in Nevada, the address it came from? I take it inside, idly wondering if it's related to my parents. I'm quick to open it---

It's a credit card offer.

Fuck. Off.

Before recycling it, I scan the papers for some way to opt-out. My options, according to the piece of paper, are two addresses and a phone number. I have never been so quick---or non-hesitant---to call a phone number as I just was. The robot tells me to press 1 to opt out, and then it says that it needs my social security number.

"The fuck?" I say, reflexively.

The robot kindly informs me that it does not understand what I have said, and that a social security number is a nine-digit number---

I engage in the appropriate response, which is to hang up and search "credit card opt out +reddit."

Redditors agree that anything that asks for your social security number is sketchy, and redirect me to a website. The website asks for, but does not require, a social security number. My name, address, and birthday may suffice. (Of course, all nine digits of your SSN are the best way to ensure you're actually removed from credit card offers). Permanently opting out requires printing out and mailing in some paper, so I manage to opt out for a measly five years.

A five-thousand dollar credit line, with a 30% interest rate, sounds like a scam. a) I do not need that. b) who the fuck needs that. I feel like the only point of that is to prey on people, give them the option to accrue an egregious amount of credit card debt, and then profit from the high interest rate. This is a recipe for getting someone to drown in credit card debt.

I stare at the screen. My internet-abstinence has been broken twice today, but I do not see this as the end-all be-all "failed after three days." Today, I looked at baking recipes and substack on my phone while using the bathroom; later, I checked emails, the guestbook, and neocities. There was nothing of note, which I will remind myself the next time I reflexively check these things. (I do not count the search for opting out of credit card offers as breaking my ban; it was short-to-the-point and a genuine necessity. I had something which I needed to do---I didn't plan to use the internet until the phone call went awry---and I did it.)

I do not feel like I've been banished from doing things I want to do. Rather, I feel as if the scope of things I spend my time on has been refined. I do not have limitless options for entertainment. I have all of the books which I downloaded. I do not need to open Youtube or Crunchyroll or whatever-the-fuck. I have a limited selection of books and pamphlets. Would I have made a cup of tea this morning if not for the ban? I'm unsure. My process may have been more distracted. Often, I find myself looking for the perfect thing to do while doing something---what video to listen to while making something, what songs to listen to while doing exercise, whatnot. This is no longer an option.

I'm allowed to listen to music, though wary of spending too much time choosing music. I've replayed Legally Blonde more times than I can count; I am amused by the fact I'm allowed to listen to it but not watch it. What else...I can play video games which I've already downloaded or have copies of. I spent a few hours replaying Saint Spell last night. I ended up looking up a playthrough guide---failing the ban again, but without it, I get the "forever alone" ending. Ugh. I got tired of playing it last night. Following a guide takes away the fun. The interactions with different characters seem jaded---do x to get y; rinse and repeat. Trigger this interaction here, and that one here, and then you'll receive your desired ending. There's no surprise. There's no feeling as if I've solved a puzzle. I'm just parroting what I'm told so I can see the character I want to see.

The Great Beast, by John Symonds, is a biography of Aleister Crowley. This account of Crowley's exploits has shown how valuable engaging with life to its fullest extent is. While Crowley is known as a magician / occultist, one can't ignore his exploits in mountaineering, his volumes of poetry, and the time spent traveling. And one can't ignore the influence of women over him, many of whom seemed to prompt him to explore one way or another, if not write more poetry! While my initial introduction to Thelema left me skeptical---he's just mashing different ideas together---seeing what influenced him leaves me less annoyed with him. He studied yoga, so that appears; he spent time in Egypt, and this is what brought him to Horus; he was part of the Golden Dawn (knowledge of which I am sorely lacking), and parts of that blatantly appear in his works.

I honestly thought the Golden Dawn was after Crowley's time...I am now ashamed of my ignorance. I see how it was fundamental in setting the stones for Crowley's life. I'll admit to not understanding what the argument between him and Matthers is over, and information about its structure is lost on me (all these grades and societies and---I have a headache). Why did I think the Golden Dawn was post-Crowley: I associate the Golden Dawn with Israel Regardie, whose works I thought were published in the 1950s. Apparently I am illiterate, as the one Regardie book I downloaded starts by discussing works of his which were published in the 1930s, and notes he was a student of Crowley.

I was surprised to hear that he did not recognize the value of Liber Legis, AKA The Book of the Law, when he authored it. This is what he's known for, so I thought---yet to him, it became a forgotten manuscript. (I abandoned the biography before he rediscovered it. His exploits became boring---oh, Crowley's just being Crowley).

I think I'm trying to read, but I'm tuning out the words. I'm quite allergic to studying, it seems. This is a problem. I will solve it. And yet, I feel my brain disabling, my eyes closing---it is time for bed.

20260419

I am forcing myself to go out today. I do not need to be holed up and staring at words all day. I will take the train---and even without my earbuds, it will be fine. I also need to get around to depositing cash. I have 34 1s---hopefully I can refrain from gaining any more today. My only plan is to see a labyrinth---gotta copy down directions---and avoid using my phone. Oh, I just need to walk down the street...perfect. I am going to wander around and fucking enjoy it. I'd like to find a bookstore, and buy coffee and pastries, and maybe a new shirt. A museum? Mayhaps...okay. I've bought the ticket. FINALLY.

Internet binge. I am not surprised. I am compelled to restructure my website. For one, I love the black-and-white "headache" design which I've been trialing on a few pages. While I briefly enjoyed a "oooh i can do different css with every page" phase, I have realized this is a headache, and I do not enjoy it---especially when I have to keep saying "yeah ignore this on this page" from the main style sheet. Aggravating.

I like the breaks between boxes, but sometimes the page needs to be one, continuous thing. Maybe stop formatting "main" and only format divs with the class? Then main can have a class if need be...yes, I see what I mean. I need to ditch the variety of layouts. I also need to reorganize the files on my end---what goes in what folder. Cleaning up everything. I'm beginning to welcome the variety of pages, but I need to organize them so they stop annoying me.

20260423

From The Man Who Was Thursday:

“I have a suspicion that you are all mad,” said Dr. Renard, smiling sociably; “but God forbid that madness should in any way interrupt friendship. Let us go round to the garage.”

After completing the book, I fear I did not understand it, as is typical of me. So the men were recruited to be policemen, all by Sunday-as-police; they were recruited to be anarchists, at least one by a true anarchist, and became part of the Anarchist Council, which was headed by Sunday-as-anarchist. What does this represent---the duality of men? We are well-intentioned, but led astray by similarly well-intentioned people. The universe is made of opposing sides. And so on...yes, I lack comprehension.

Feels as if I woke up and chose chaos. Today, I went grocery shopping, I tried another tea (the Ethiopian tisane, which is so-so; I think black peppercorns consistently outshine all other flavors), I found some uses for food waste (drying and grinding orange peel; will make bread pudding with the leftover beer cake), I did a bit of meal prep (overnight oats), finished reading a book, read a pamphlet, and wrote an essay on said pamphlet. I almost forgot I have work today.

To think about:

Study plan for Golden Dawn
Editing next two scenes of movie
Tomorrow night: SALMON!!!
Make sure National Grid acct is actually there
Debit card was ordered
Finish reading Demonolatry next, then do something else
Reorganize website---standardize with bracket background, sort out writings, just have one coherent CSS sheet without any additional fuckery.
Dinner: eat the weird instant meal and translate instructions
Update can page
Add bags to tea page
What other teas do I want to make? Think about it...write it out...plan for it...
Am I going out on Sunday or nah?