notes from another side

one more confession / discretion's not what i need to sell
(from 'masterpiece theatre iii' by marianas trench)

20260501, or 02; such is time.

a conversation i did not have:

"see, you're not that guy, but i can imagine a parallel universe where you are that guy. maybe you saw a cute fashion magazine, or you saw an episode of a cute animated show, or you were more immersed in kpop. like. instead of ---, kawaii was at the front of your mind. and adult-you would dress in pastels, be like a fashionable gay guy, but straight, but omg he's so cute. like the ladies who are obsessed with animal crossing? that kind of cute / soft / chill thing, you see what i'm saying?

"so you've got an obscene number of cute, fluffy stuffed animals. you're always wearing a sky blue vest over a white button-down, maybe tan pants or some shit...but your trademark colors are light blue and white, and they're in immaculately good condition, despite the obvious. and your hat is a light blue-green plaid affair; something cute that matches with your outfit. your outfits are super-coordinated; this kawaii you is really into fashion. and cute stuff. all i can see is you playing cute games, scrapbooking, playing cozy ttrpgs, and hosting cute tea parties. you bake, too; like the real-life equivalent of all of the adorable asmr baked goods. you still have a heart of gold and off-the-charts charisma.

"oh, and this kawaii!---- has a girlfriend. she's super into gothic lolita, and also does taxidermy. a lot of taxidermy. it's her job, but it's also her hobby; she taxidermies cute animals. she's really passionate about it and talks to anybody who listens. anywho, you share us the strangest photos of your joint tea-parties, where it's like. cute food, with skulls on the table. pictures of your friend group are like a j-fashion party. but the stuff with you and her is weird. there's something about the way she looks at you that doesn't seem right. you're obsessed with her, but sometimes she says stuff that gives the rest of us pause. we get the impression she would like to add you to her cute taxidermy collection; you get the impression that she's the best thing on this green-ish earth.

"so one day she sees a few of us talking, and she tells us to savor you while you last. weird. and then a different day, way in the future, she tells us that she's 'going to show him the time of his life tonight' and we 'will never see him again.' i look at the coworker i'm talking to---'you heard that, right? do you think she's really...?' 'eh? i tuned out after the first half of the sentence; i did not need that mental image.' 'yeah, but should we call the police?' 'and say what, we think our coworker's girlfriend is going to taxidermy him? i mean, what if he's into that shit? besides, all of this is hearsay...'

"next week, you're 'on vacation.' the following week, we receive an invitation to the weirdest funeral we will ever attend. yes, indeed, kawaii!---- is taxidermied by his girlfriend."

---- stares at me. he is at a loss for words. -- says: "ewwwwwwwwww." ---- opens his mouth and says: "wow, you really put a lot of thought into that one."

needless to say, it's for the best that i kept my mouth shut.

20260502, as written on 20260502!

my pillowcase is beginning to get worn out. one part of it---the part which my head tends to inhabit---is threadbare. i turn it over so i'm not using that side, yet it somehow keeps getting turned back to the threadbare side. do i use it that much? well, yes; i turn it perpendicular to the floor and lean against it. this is my beloved layer of padding between my back and the wall. truly cozy. there are two of the cheapest pillows from target inside it. one is from four years ago, and the other is from last year. the first is incredibly flat. the second appeared to be full, but flattened out within a week of purchase. this is why there are two of them inside the same pillowcase. i would like to replace the pillowcase. i'll buy a color that isn't gray, too.

my bed is made up of four boxes which have been taped together. these boxes used to contain papaya---when i saw them, i knew i had the answer to my problems. most of my furniture is made up of boxes from my workplace. i sat on a box before taking it home, and was pleased it did not seem to collapse. cardboard is sturdy. the two 'inside' boxes have smaller boxes inside them---i believe both of them were edamame boxes. on my first day using the bed, i'd noticed that the box i was sitting on---the one beside the 'top' one where my head lays---had an indent, likely due to my sitting, so i added the second box to prevent potential cavings-in. as i write this, i notice that the head box has begun to cave in too; thankfully, there was an extra box in my closet which i could shove under it.

due to the indent in the second box, there is nothing under my upper back when i lay down. this is unnerving---i should feel something, but the slight difference in height between the edges of the box (which i can feel) and the inside of the box (error, does not touch back) means there's a gap between my back and the box. however, i usually sleep curled up in a ball, so all this does is ruin my dreams of being able to sleep on my back.

i've covered the boxes with a queen-size maroon blanket which has been folded up. it drapes over the boxes, providing the illusion of an actual bed and not a collection of boxes. this also provides a slight cushion which makes the boxes more comfortable to be on. then there's my two blankets, and of course the pillow which prompted these ramblings. i am quite comfortable sitting and sleeping here. i spend all day 'in bed.' idly, i wonder---if i had a comfortable chair, would i be there instead? the answer is: potentially. i'd need an ottoman, though, since i alternate between having my legs criss-cross-applesauce and intertwined before me. honestly, a bed does provide the best real-estate for a variety of sitting positions. i can also lay on my stomach and prop myself up with my arms---you can't do that in a chair! sometimes i have one my legs folded in while the other points out; my computer will sit in the free space beside the leg, and the slight fold forward from my back stretches part of my leg. indeed, the bed provides me with the much-loved ability to comfortably stretch while doing something else. you can't do that in a chair!

changed the stylesheet again...okay, all i updated was the background image and the font. according to wordcounter.net, this page has 51,223 words. the file is slow to appear in my browser. i split the page at may. the downstairs guy is being annoying, even though i'm wearing earplugs, so i'm blasting brown noise from my phone again. i am surprised by how quiet it genuinely is---if i leave the room, i can't hear it; from the other side of the room, i'd never guess my phone's volume was turned up all the way. it'd be different if what i was playing wasn't noise.

i'm contemplating places to go tomorrow. i'm not going to try to buy lunch; i'll remember to eat a proper breakfast. so much shopping. my embroidery mis-adventures leave me with the desire to try to embroider something on my own clothing, or on a bag, or...well, something. could be fun. i'm becoming more comfortable, even though i'm also embarrassed by how little i've achieved with my time. i like working with my hands. i'm getting a hang of it. will this be something i continue with? rather, do i want a hobby to continue with?

i've made countless plans to change my life. i open canva and shudder at a slideshow of goals and plans to achieve them. all of this is quickly abandoned. "the only constant is change"---yes, that's my life philosophy. i am an ever-shifting mass. ideas pass through me; possibilities are all that remain. i am in a constant state of flux. i grasp new ideas as easily as i forget them. rather, my interests are constantly evolving, as discursive as my thoughts. we wonder and wander and rebound from reality. here is a world of my own, i say, with a structure only i know.

see, i've been criticized for my lack of serious nature, for my lack of coherent interests, and for my lack of consistent personality. also, for the way i jump between topics without an apparent rhyme or reason (though ask me why i do a thing and you'll learn there is a method to my madness).

i am always reinventing myself. is this because i'm young? or is this me being me? only time will tell. people seem to take my constant state of change as evidence of my femininity; she isn't serious about anything, she doesn't care about her life, her actions make no sense, she isn't putting in effort, she's never genuinely tried to do something. i enjoy my explorations. why not? i try things and develop opinions on them. i tried making tea blends. i learned: these look like potions, tea is a craft which i can engage in, black pepper is interesting, star anise is strong (i smell it every time i walk by the open bag), and ground cardamom is $6 at whole foods. i've learned i'm not interested in shadow puppets, but i still think they look cool. i've learned drawing birds is fun, and i could see myself making a habit of it. i learned that drawing doesn't need to be complicated, and it is something i can do without being as truly horrible as i thought i was. i can recreate images in simple detail---nothing great, but my attempts resemble what i'm trying to draw, and that matters! what else have i tried lately...

my only genuine worry is about how i have nothing to show for my dabbles. i can't say "i spent five years studying this" or some shit. i'd like to have that sort of thing to show for it---commitment, i think that's what i'm searching for. instead...instead i what? i sit here and daydream about how else could i transform my life?

i hope i find some clothing i could use for mori kei. i'm a bit scared of buying more clothes, and trying to find used clothes from the right places, and new stores in general. i see a future where i learn to sew, and then i back down into my current life, wher ei do not k sew and have no interest to.

20260503

nearly done with 'doing our own thing.' i'm sick of it. the author isn't convinced by his own argument---he has the shape of an argument (language has changed, probably due to our attitude toward our history / government, and the 60s were the turning point). he's failed to make an argument about 'why we should, like, care,' which was the subtitle that sold me on the book. ARGH.

went into boston today. i used to be afraid of writing down my location, but something about going to boston makes me less afraid of saying that's where i was today. of the---what, thousands?---non-bostonians who were in boston today, which one was me? would you know me if you saw me? i can think of precisely one ex-neocities user who would have a chance of having recognized my face, except there is no fathomable reason for him to be in the US, much less boston...my point being that going into the real world leaves me unafraid of doxxing myself.

the public garden was the highlight of the trip. i captured numerous photos of ducks, pigeons, and geese. mallard ducks are among the prettiest wildlife i've seen. the vibrant dark-green heads truly capture my eye. so do their black, beady eyes. and their bright orange-pink feet; that brilliant color, and its spindliness, seems so anachronistic to their white/gray/black/brown bodies. i glimpsed one with its fluffy white ass in the air, and was too busy chuckling to take a picture of it. i also watched another one pruning its feathers; i managed to capture a photo where its feathers were all spiky and fluffed out in a complete state of disarray while it stared at me.

i had to keep telling myself not to try to touch the birds. i want to pet them. i want to hold them. i want them to eat out of my hand. i do not want to catch a disease from them. i do not want them to hurt me. i think i want a pet duck, if such a thing is possible. a backyard with a pond and some ducks to inhabit it. how beautiful.

in opposition to the peaceful, relaxed ducks was a quartet of agitated geese. these four failed to glide through the water, as many of the other geese were, and opted to stretch out their necks and hit each other while honking at each other. they spread their wings and rose slightly, as if attempting to evict a member from their group. is that how geese work? my observations gave me the impression that two geese were fighting two other geese. this was amusing. the volume of their honks impressed me; i'm in awe of my fellow pedestrians' ability to ignore them. perhaps the tulips which so many were taking pictures of / with were just that captivating. while the colorful array of flora were pretty, i felt no such kinship with them. why look at flowers when you can look at birds?!

while most of the pigeons i saw were the same beautiful birds as always, there was one anomaly: a white pigeon with grey-speckled wings. was it even a pigeon? the train station was inhabited by a sea of pigeons; this white-gray bird waddled alongside them for a few seconds before it disappeared into the aether. (it looked like this, though i don't recall seeing furred feet). unfortunately, i failed to capture a photo of this bird. (i asked google gemini if this was a pigeon; it said it probably was, and pointed me to this lovely page of pigeons)

birds aside, did i get much out of this, by what measure, and do i care? i visited three or four anime-related stores on newbury street. all of them were small, cryptic affairs whose items could only be purchased for a steep price. i was hoping to obtain a poster of a show i liked---preferably samurai champloo or madoka magica---but failed to. the one place which did have posters was limited to something called "re:zero," some wanted posters (the reference is on the tip of my tongue...), and two posters which might as well have been pinups. i was amused by the collection of books at newbury comics---they had some standard penguin classic books, a few self-help books, and...what else? i'm blanking. that being said, their stuffed animals were genuinely tempting. i contemplated carrying a piranha plant around all day before deciding against checking the price. maybe in another life.

muji was pleasant. the immediate wall of notebooks and stationary appealed to my sensitivities. the two notebooks i purchased---one pocket-sized, one the size of a small planner---are simple and pleasing to the eye. they are exactly the kind of no-frills basic-bitch notebooks which i wanted. i nearly bought a clearance pillowcase---so soft, so high quality---before deciding i'd rather patch up or embroider the threadbare section of my pillowcase than spend $11 on a nice pillowcase. i tried to eye the clothing, but the styles i'm looking for are frivolous and the exact opposite of their kind of affair. i was surprised by the variety of storebrand snacks they offered. baumkuchen, which i'd learned of from "the food diary of miss maid" (i think that's what it was called; it came out this season and is forgettable), caught my eye. they had some instant latte/tea mixes, which i will buy in the future.

the sheer volume of stores catering to the running population explained the volume of runners; with this many places selling 'running gear,' one has no choice but to become a buyer of this gear, and perhaps even a user of it. the annual marathon might have something to do with it too...i did pass by a memorial for the marathon bombing. now that brings back memories---the sudden fear, one minute the marathon's playing on the tv, background noise for the running-obsessed mother, and the next the room is silent. there was a bomb. i don't remember that part well. the more vivid part of my memory is that a classmate cancelled her birthday party, and that there was an aura of fear in the air. i was too young to really understand why---in my child brain, a bombing in a city a few dozen miles a way shouldn't have anything to do with our small town. i have no memory of hearing news about the following manhunt, though scrolling through the wikipedia page does leave a chill. right. that...happened.

the two bookstores i visited were sorry, crowded affairs that did not facilitate the contemplating of purchasing books. beacon street books was primarily fiction; also it is tiny. trident had a noticable selection of nonfiction, but the place was too crowded for me to look properly. they also had a lot of zines from microcosm publishing...interesting.

my final requisite stop was the garment district. originally, i'd hoped to attack all of the used clothing stores to begin to build a mori kei wardrobe. my fatigue and lack of advance planning meant i only visited one store, but it ended up being a worthwhile place which i would happily revisit. they sold a large selection of clothes which was carefully organized by style; the racks of 60s/70s/80s-style clothing were close enough to what i was looking for. i obtained a lovely dark-blue calf-length skirt which is covered in patterns of blue, gold, and purple. i've never had much affection for my clothing---clothes will be clothes---but i've never felt as at home in a piece of clothing as i did when i put on that skirt. i love it. i am glad i purchased it. i will re-explore their selection in the future, when my wallet more inclined to support clothing acquisition.

is that all there is to say? when i was reached the train station, the amtrak was boarding, and i was amused by how many times the announcer reminded people that it was boarding. he was very adamant that people make sure they have all of their belongings on them and do not miss their train, and to remind people that only ticketed passengers will be allowed to board. ofc this makes sense, but the contrast between it and the typical announcement of which train to board five minutes before the train leaves is amusing. the DESTINATION line is now boarding on track X is accompanied by a flurry of movement; everybody has been staring at the screen and now we're running towards the right terminal.

i visited somewhere and thought about how i broke off from my family a year ago. i thought of my sister and i getting into a shouting match, with her being controlling and guilt-tripping and saying she was only here because she felt bad for me; her saying something about how "she'd take me home now" (where?) and me saying i wasn't going with her. my home is not her home. hell, i had a place to live which didn't feel like a home, but it was more homely than her idea of home. i thought about this as i wandered through that place where we yelled at each other---how could i not? that was the nail in the coffin. she was only there out of pity. the entire day had been off-kilter; her rambling about herself, me trying to make conversation, her ignoring me and leaving me feeling like a dog on a leash. i hated that feeling. i'm not surprised i left.

i wonder what they think of me, if at all. do my siblings remember me? do they wonder what's going on in my life? they didn't contact me after i moved out, and they tended to ignore my attempts to contact them. funny how you can live with someone for eighteen years and then forget they exist. --- should be heading off to college this fall; is she? what's --- doing, and is --- still working at that camp? who is doing what? did my mother decide to go back and study teaching, is she employed now; do her and my father argue less or more? have they divorced? does anybody miss me?

there's the occasional text from either parent, which i ignore, which each sign off as "love, mom/dad." the passive-aggressive tone might not be evident without context. still, this reads as a weapon---we love you (what does that word mean to them), so you should do as we say. i will not do as they say. that's why i'm here and they're not a part of my life. they spent eighteen years making it clear that i am not a part of their family. they made it clear that they need me to do as they say, that i need to make them happy, and that they will never be happy. miserable people breed miserable people.

i think this bothers me. i am lonely. there, i said it. i check my phone and hope someone texted---who would? i check my email, then my other email, then my other email. my inboxes are devoid of even newsletters. i check websites and hope for comments, or likes, or signs of life; their wastelands mock me. in my desperation, i contemplate internet relationships, and yearn to text ----, though what for? that bridge, too, is burned. i don't know how to be a friend. i feel as if i'm doing something wrong, and i'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. i remember how anxious his lack of expectations made me---when i don't have to prove i'm worthy of someone else's attention, how am i supposed to behave? i remember one phone call, where my anxious brain was spiralling and thinking about how you had to be on your way to asking me to send you inappropriate content of myself. you'd given zero indication of that, by the way; this was me thinking of previous interactions with someone else and being stressed by how you weren't acting like him. where's the "send tits or we're done," where's the dread as i force myself to comply with sickening requests, where's the anxiety and sadness and misery, when am i going to be left with the impression you've been jerking off to our conversation, when are you going to ask me to----?

ofc, you did none of that, because you're not a creepy 30y/o who expects a random internet girl to satisfy his porn addiction. we just talked like normal people, or maybe what we thought normal people talked like, and then i went and screwed things up (like i always do). you were so non-demanding; if a conversation doesn't depend on me contorting myself into something i'm not, then who am i supposed to contort myself into? what am i supposed to do? i need the drama, i need the theatrics, i need the "we're never speaking again" followed by the exact opposite, i need someone i want to impress, and that takes having someone who expects me to impress them, and that impressing must be done by molding myself into the person they want. how could i impress anyone by being myself?

i shouldn't be inflicting myself onto others, i think/write/believe.

if i contacted you, what would you do?

i want to go out again. leaving the house was nice. wandering around a large city---so many sights and sounds---was the breath of fresh air i needed. it wasn't enough. it was, and it wasn't, and i feel the urge to start walking, even though it's 2am, past the turn of the day. the air is cold; the chill in my room causes me to shiver. i think about going to target, or downtown, or---well, i don't know where, but i want to go out and do something. this room has suffocated me. when i leave it, i can pretend to be free. in here, the only monster is me, and god am i my demon.

you need to grow up. you need to move on. you need to---what? idly, i consider enrolling in community college and earning an associate's in english lit. it's an option. i'll need to make sure all of my classes are online. having credentials to my name would be nice. right now, all i have is a high school diploma, and i doubt that's worth much.

a memory: english class at college 2, some writing thing; creating resumes, and the professor being adamant about us needing to list our high school diploma under education. i thought that listing the degree / college / expected DATE was enough of a credential; my classmates took the professor's side and agreed that we must prove we graduated high school, or else nobody would hire us. it makes the resume look better, or it's something we've actually earned and not just something we're working on. oh how the tables have turned: if i were to update my resume, i'd delete the college, and regal the paper with my high school diploma. oh, to have fallen so far---and to have so little to show for my time. i must hold on. i must hold out. i believe: i must stay in one place for long enough to make up for my lack of education. funny how an abandoned education is tantamount to none at all; either you crossed the finish line or you didn't. how close you were doesn't matter.

my eyes grow weary.

20260504

i am trying to enable autopay for the verizon account. i was mistaken to believe this would be a quick, easy thing i could get done in the last 15min before i leave for work---my phone has been "looking up my details" for seven minutes. using my computer yielded better results. unfortunately, i am not a student, so the wifi bill is $20 more than it used to be...

i do not want to be at work. depending on how today goes, i might talk to boss1 about how --- and --- don't do the dishes. at this point, i just want to know if they're expected to help out; if not, then i will accept the fact that they will always be on their phones. cite how --- works the exact shifts they used to; while it's busier, she always finds time to hit the dishes during the day. also those two spend less time on their phones and do the dishes when boss1 is covering for the other guy who usually works during the day, so they clearly have the time. if he says it's because i don't communicate, i will point out how i did talk to ----- about this, and blaming it on "oh you just need to communicate with them" seems like he's pinning the problem on me, when in reality those two do refuse to do the dishes when i ask them. if they're the exception, then so be it, but i want to know that they're the exception. this feels like it will backfire miserabley. on the other hand, boss2 did listen and agree that it's a problem, but talking to those two about it (when he's never around...) probably isn't at the top of his mind.

an event which didn't happen: i see a pair of young adults---students, mayhaps---standing behind a small table. the sign hanging down from it reads: copper engravings. this is a park. is this code for a religious group? are they going to try to recruit me for something? the two of them stand there, their bodies angled towards each other, and do not call out to the passersby. i arrive at my conclusion: they must be artists. i approach the stand: "so...what's this about copper engravings? are you artists?" there's a pregnant pause. "yes," says the man when the woman elbows him. "i'm wesley parker of mobile designs. we sell...commissions, well, and i also sell copper-based artwork on etsy. would you like a business card? do you need something engraved?"

"sure, i'll take a business card; then i'll actually remember to look you up on etsy. what kind of ready-made designs do you sell?"

the man freezes. the woman draws near, and stands slightly in front of him. she meets my eyes, and her gaze strikes my soul. i inhale sharply, alert for the oncoming chance of mis-stepping.

"mbta maps," she utters.

another nonexistant conversation: "like salt and pepper," i say to him, referencing the color of his thin facial hair. "it's kinda..." i trail off, returning to the task at hand before i can finish the sentence. yes, stir the soup, i tell myself. add the last can of coconut milk. stir...stir...STIR!!!!!

"was there an end to that sentence?" and i swear he knows what i was hesitant to say. my embarrassment fails to overpower my urge to take on his dare. i bite my lip, then huff and look at anything but his face. wow, bamboo shoots. chicken. onions! oh, right, steve. "cute. ihhh----it's kinda cute."

he snorts. "you're calling me cute."

"i'm not calling you cute," i say as i roll my eyes, then go back to making eye contact with the soup i'm still stirring. the onions aren't translucent yet. "i said your facial hair is cute. it's like---a decorative element. something about it enhances your face. brings out the...fullness of your cheeks. that and the hat frame your face."

i can feel him staring at me, just as i can feel the hot handle of the wok burning my hand through the rag. the onions are on the path to translucency. really, they should hurry it up already. what is this slow-and-steady bullshit. "i'll take it."

the onions are translucent. i turn the burner off and have no choice but to stare at him. "you'll...take it?"

"most people opt to call me handsome," he explains. "your brain is messed up, so you think i'm cute."

"that's---what?!"

20260506

i feel as if my brain is falling apart. words cannot describe how much i do not want to go grocery shopping. i am struggling, that much is clear. i will make a devil's food cake. speaking of devils, i have am creating the dichotomy of witchcraft: classical and contemporary. (i believe gardnerian wicca is a bridge between the two). i will also note that contemporary magic and witchcraft have become one and the same, while classical witchcraft and classical magic diverge. why does this matter to me---i must direct my attention to classical magic and other spiritual practices which emphasize attention. this is where the vajrayana book fits in. the practice is very psychological, that's for sure. i am reading the book in steps, a few pages at a time, trying to ensure my understanding.

to pass that understanding onto you---there are two approaches to buddhism: sutra and tantra. sutra emphasizes ignoring the body's natural tendencies (thoughts, sensations, movements, experiences). tantra emphasizes focusing the body's natural tendencies (focusing thoughts on a specific subject (deity yoga may come into play here?), using movements and props to become one with a specific concept (again, deity yoga)). unlike sutra, which is exoteric, tantra is esoteric; there's a significant amount of symbolism. it must not be taken literally. there's still a basis for interpreting your experiences, so it's not a "diy spirituality" kind of thing.

vajrayana refers to tantric teachings; it relies on vajra, one's inherent true-natural (potential for buddhahood) which cannot be destroyed. our buddha-nature has been hidden, and we can reveal it by using sutric and tantric practices. sutra and tantra are two sides to the same coin; they're two approaches to the same problem. a key part of vajrayana is deity yoga. (here, yoga means integration). deities represent facets of ourselves---oh, the psychology! and now, i must continue reading so that i can understand what deity yoga is.

i cannot focus.

i want to do a puzzle.

i want to not be here.

i am becoming increasingly convinced i must engage in absence from the computer. the web browser offers me a sickening volume of possibilities. what would you like to read now? it cooes. there are more options than time; would you like to skim? it offers. i take a bite from the food i hold in one hand, while the other hand continues to scroll.

i believe i crave strict rules and structure. i want a start and end date---i can use the web browser on june 1. i wonder if i will listen to this. i continue to elaborate: on my phone, i close the tabs (genuinely terrifying; how much did i just lose?). i re-open the browser to look up something. huh, is earthlink kinda like aol? i close the browser. i close my eyes. oh, to be asleep right now...

20260507

words cannot describe how repulsive the thought of eating the matcha chia pudding is to me. however, i may have a solution: turn it into a smoothie. yes, that will be my lunch. i'll add a banana, more almond milk, yogurt?, and chocolate protein powder. the goal is to use it without tossing it.

i think about creating a list of all the song lyrics which float through my head, and then i cancel the idea. i am no longer letting myself choose to listen to music---i am so tired of earworms eating my thoughts. let me think, please. i notice the urge to listen to specific songs. alas, i am but one week into this dismal experiment. i think. i'm not strictly tracking it. when i think "i want to listen to [song]," i cancel the urge and find a new distraction. a few days ago, i decided watching videos which feature songs is a violation of 'no music,' so i have banned myself from youtube, and anime, and. well. that's it, really. granted, my workplace plays music at all times, but i will not let myself have a say in the music (except for skipping songs which play at dramatic volumes). i will also ask myself to not pay attention to music i hear. this is all there is to it. i think listening to ambient noise which isn't brown noise is illegal, too. the laugh of my downstairs neighbor would be illegal if i could make it so.

work was good today. the pace was slow for a bit, and then we had some last-minute rushes (better a last-minute one than none at all!). we're in good shape for tomorrow. boss1 asked me if boss2 had talked to me yet---i didn't know what he was talking about---so no. he said it's nothing bad. i'm now anxious; wtf do they need to talk to me about?

i am addicted to looking at google maps. this is half a joke. i wondered why all of my "places to go" were in my state, and then face-palmed. then i saw the commuter rail does go down to rhode island. i immediately began fantasizing about taking a trip---honestly 3hr each way wouldn't be too bad, as long as i got the timing right. i just need something to do. none of this matters right now. i find myself becoming fixated on travelling despite the costs. i long to be free. this frightens me, oddly enough. what precisely is this longing? what am i wanting for? what am i wanting to?

the day has turned. before i say more, i must read.

20260508, but it's the 9th

work was slow, so i was granted permission to abscond my duties 2hr early. due to this, i completed my pre-requisite tasks for sunday. now all i have left to do is not buy anything tomorrow---easier said than done---and keep my room / kitchen clean. i am pleased with myself for finally finishing some things i'd been putting off.

i am anxious about sending my current roommates the wifi bill. it's higher than it had been, because i don't get the student discount the previous roommate had been getting. i'm thinking of just asking for the money she'd been asking for and covering the extra myself. besides, both of them are moving out, so charging them doesn't sit right with me. UGH i just need to ask them for the money next week. i must get used to being this person. also i finally checked on the utility accounts, so maybe national grid will stop calling me. "you should pick up" they keep calling while i'm at work and not hearing my phone ring. i am not avoiding the calls. oh, the frustration---i'd pick up if i saw it!

speaking of frustration, i ended up listening to youtube videos for 2hr, then watching for another hr. why? "didn't you ban yourself from the internet" yes and then i wanted something to listen to while doing embroidery. listening to an internet trend analysis video while embroidering felt like the lonely lady's equivalent to engaging in gossip while doing embroidery/mending/etc. it's the same kind of mindless riff-raff for the understimulated mind. i'm pleased with the progress i've made; overall, i think i'm halfway done with the pattern. (i've also well surpassed my minimum 3hr---i will not track the volume of time i've spent on it). when i thought i was done with the computer, youtube suggested two jaidenanimations videos---oh, how can i say no? the chiikawa park video was adorable. shoutout to people who are passionate about their interests; listening to them talk is my favorite thing. her video makes me think japan has it right---america does not have an equivalent to the cute creature (living a weird, probably depressing, very adult) life fandom.

i remember watching---oh, what is the egg called? gudetama? i'm trying to remember what about the show was genuinely weird. my---at the time--2 or 3 y/o brother loved it, and i remember thinking something about it didn't seem to be aimed at children. i also remember watching rilakkuma and kaoru when it came out. the episode where kaoru keeps ordering things online---thus becoming broke---because of the cute delivery boy is still stuck in my brain. the bear is adorable. why is he getting dragged into these depressing episodes of this woman's life? ahhh, well, i'd take a cute bear in my room who keeps me company.

that's really all i have to say for now. i'm tired; hopefully i read well tomorrow. and cook lunch. and eat. and...well, the ands are endless, but my ability to stay awake is not. farewell, sweet friends,

20260510

i have but five minutes and i must use them to write. i believe abstaining from music has, ironically enough?, inspired future endeavors. i see more possibilities for engaging in songs---a vision of future creative projects. i long to discuss this section of my life here. the things i could say---my creative process, why i made each choice, what went into each project---and yet i don't, for sake of remaining anonymous. why should i be anonymous? this may seem counterintuitive. the contents of my site should not be connected to my offline self. and yet, others have exposed themselves more, and for what harm? i think back to anais nin---compared to her, i am a closed book. her diaries are more open than i know how to be. granted, i think she had requested her lovers abstain from reading her diaries. while i have no lovers who must abstain from reading, i would dislike my boss and coworkers knowing---there's the alarm.

i am slightly upset with how i went about cambridge. maybe i must be whacked in the head a few times to notice a pattern. i do not enjoy shopping. visiting used bookstores seemed a waste---the prices are so high. the universe may as well be telling me to stick with my local bookstore, which sells some used books for as little as a dollar. i did not enjoy having the seemingly infinite possibilities of the bookstores with wide selections. i do not want that! thankfully, i found some of anais nin's books at one store. that one will be appreciated.

next week---leaving so soon?---i must go to the art museums. this is what i genuinely get something out of. or i could stay home---oh, i don't want to stay home. i need to get out. i need---i don't know what i need.

a text message which never happened:

> [3 photos attached] while you will be disappointed in my eating habits, i think you'll be interested in the ube cream puffs i found. happy mother's day, old man :D
< ..........................
> i appreciate your confidence in my ability to eat three meals.
< order takeout.
> i was tired....at least i actually ate the entire meal!
< that's an improvement. ube sounds good.......
> it's almost like i bought extra for a reason
< how much of a reason
> ?
< they'll be stale tomorrow....
> sir, are you asking me to bring you dessert?!
< it'll take you, what, five minutes?
> i'd be more tempted if there's a bite of seafood boil in it for me......
< haha no.
> LOL
> on the train now, will let you know when i'm near your place

matanzas creek winery - 2024 sauvignon blanc - smell: bread dough. taste - pear. ooh, there's something else to that. i saw a grocery store ('broadway marketplace') which said they stocked natural wines; sure enough, they had multiple shelves worth. mental note---they also had a section of wines from georgia; i remember the author of "you had me at pet-nat" speaking positively of that region. i will go back when i'm in the area. oh, this is good. there's a funk which i don't know enough about to describe. a high note of pear, and in the middle, vanilla and what? barely vanilla. what is that low note, other than acidic. grapefruit---that tartness and umami. each sip reveals something different. i can't stop drinking it.

the most worthwhile parts of the day:

i stared at the ducklings for long enough that the goose started aggressively flaring its wings and honking. still. DUCKLINGS. IRL DUCKLINGS. they looked unbelievably fluffy---the evident downiness cannot be understated. if only i could hold one. earlier, this pigeon was standing still as i approached it, and i had to fight myself from trying to hold it. yes, i want to hold a bird---oh, those tiny, fragile bodies! i want to pet them, too---the ducks in particular. i saw two which looked like they were sleeping, or near it. one lazily turned its head in my direction, as if it could barely be bothered to acknowledge me. you're not coming anywhere near me, it says, and we both know that. i want to be left alone, and we both know it. stare as much as you want, honey, but recognize this: my body will never know the touch of your human hands.

yes, i believe the wildlife is the highlight of the city. this seems like a paradox. ah, they have fuller-bodied birds. on my walk to work, i typically see finches and chickadees; tiny things which flit about. the larger birds are noticably absent. i've seen a few swans (or loons?). speaking of---

a few days ago. i'm crossing the bridge to work. the river is peaceful today, some waves gently rippling alongside its surface. against the lower water level, once-invisible rocks have become prominent, speckling the once-furious surface. i spot a white patch against a gray one---is that a bird? i squint, peering past the stone ledge; i must hold onto my hat, lest the winds steal it from my head. i'm certain there is a swan resting on the rock. certainly, my phone can confirm its presence.

my phone's zoom feature seems fruitless---even at 8x, i can't enlarge the speck in the distance. is it truly that far away? for the first time, i consider how high above the water i am, and how distant that possible rock and bird must be. i take a picture. i delete the picture. there's nothing to see. i consider holding my arm out past the ledge, but am fearful of dropping the phone. i doubt the extra---what, yard? not even!---would make a significant difference. idly, i consider climbing past the guardrails separating the road from the steep descent to the river. i'd be rock-climbing, roughly, and my lack of experience would indubitably injure me. i'd be late to work, too, and for what? if that patch is a bird---my confidence decreases with each passing minute---it could move on while i grapple with nature. and if it's no bird, well...i shan't waste more time. i must continue my trek. not every bird can be a photograph.

20260511

i ban myself from more things. my rules are a cage which i mistake for structure. i say no x, no y, no z; what do i really mean? what am i actually trying to do here? i tell myself i can't go out every sunday, but what's stopping me? who the fuck cares? i don't even need to spend that much money out there. no, it's not about money, it's about time. my time is limited. sunday is a day of rest, and i spend it walking 'til my feet and thighs are about to give out. i want to walk more. i want to walk now. i want to go through an abandoned building; i want to wander along the railroads; i want to keep going until i'm somewhere else and someone else.

yesterday, i visited the labyrinth at harvard divinity school. it was a surprisingly popular area. while i sat and ate lunch, a group---including a mother and daughter---found it and had fun with it. one started in the middle, and the other outside, and they said they'd walk until they ran into each other. they ran through it---twirled, really---determined to spend as little time as possible. they thought they were walking it wrong; they didn't realize there was only one path. at the end of their conversation, they tried to remember what it was called---not a maze, but a labyrinth. hearing them say that word put something right in the universe. "labyrinth." the beauty of the word cannot be dismissed. it is mine, i say/think/feel.

as i walked the labyrinth, i enjoyed watching the way i walked along the path. i couldn't help but connect my feet to each other as i walked, placing the heel of one foot against the toes of the other. unfortunately, my needs to use the bathroom and find more water made it difficult for me to truly focus on what i was doing. i was getting tired and grumpy, and i'd only been there for two hours. still, i'd done what i came for, and did not regret seeing it.

as an aside---there was a plaque discussing the labyrinth, which included a statement about traversing it by foot or wheelchair. i suppose the statement was meant to be inclusive. but, uhhhhhh, the thin, narrow path was likely not designed with wheelchair users in mind, thus defeating the point of the statement.

countless references to mother's day abounded. i sigh and move on. i wonder---i don't wonder. i shan't wonder. wondering is for other folk. i must move forward. i must keep wandering until i reach the center.

i need to do something. but what?

an event which did not happen: shit, i missed the turn. i see a vacant walkway---yes, surely, there is another way to cut through. there must be. turning back would cause me to risk missing my train, and i can't have that. there's a warning sign---something about how the walkways move, use at your own risk, etcetera. a yard to my left is a well-fenced off area with countless NO TRESPASSING signs. well, i'm on the walkway, and there's no NO TRESPASSING sign where i am. having bypassed the overturned WALKWAY CLOSED sign, i break into a run, alarmingly unaware of the massive ship which is approaching. i need to get home. i can't miss my train. i fall against a rail as the walkway begins to move. shit, shit, shit. i leap, thinking it's but a few feet, comically crashing into the water as i learn the next walkway was farther than i thought. my neck snags on something, tearing a hole in my. thankfully, the fall causes me to hit my head against some wooden structure, leading to me being blissfully unaware of my death. my last thought? well, this is more interesting than missing the train.

i wake on the sandy banks of a river. where am i? i can't be sleeping in public. it's just not proper. someone will think i'm homeless, and then there's the police...i push myself up from the ground, cringing as the sand makes its way into my wounds. my hands aren't bleeding, but the skin is torn up. so torn up, in fact, that it looks like my hands went through a meat grinder. patches of skin on my arms are as torn up as my hands are. meat grinder. i shudder at the descriptor. why am i not in pain? what happened?

there's a crackle of thunder in the distance. i look up, noting the black sky, then my surroundings. this is not boston. i've washed up on some strange shore. there's sand as far as the eye can see, and a howling black river beside me. i stare at it. that is no ocean runoff. i squint, thinking i see a figure, realizing it was the lightning. i must not panic, i tell myself. i must walk---i stumble forward, palms hitting the ground before the rest of my body. i push myself up again, yet when i put my right foot forward---there is no right foot. i fall again, incapable of breathing, desperate for the air to reach my lungs. if only i knew what had happened.

i'm aggravated by work, again. saturday night was a shitshow. we'll get an earful and deserve it. i say i have only myself to blame; i should not listen to the others when they tell me that they have everything handled and to stay out of the kitchen and just keep doing what i'm doing. i need to be more assertive, and so forth. yet---well, those two were not paying attention. they don't. the worst part is that they don't even know that. i hope the way their mistakes will come back to bite them---since i wasn't covering their sorry asses---makes a difference.

i really want to ask if i can work 10-6 instead of 11-7. the same work would get done, just sooner in the day; if anything, things being out of stock would be less of an issue. closing doesn't need my help for anything; all i'm doing is the dishes they aren't. unfortunately, my boss would probably take this as a sign he can change my schedule to 11-5...fuck, i just want to be home sooner. i hate getting home at 7:30; it's so late, and the day feels so long. funny how much mid-day eats away at my day. all i'm told is how useless i am. funnily enough, boss1 seems to be the only person who does appreciate the work i get done. coworker1 just grumbles and wants me to stay out of everything. boss2 says there isn't enough work to justify having two of us on during the day, yet the moment his favorite is available, we suddenly have three people during the day. "oh it's because xyz" except we could do xyz on (certain days), you just don't plan for that...and so on and so forth. all i hear about is how useless i am. just do the dishes, check the veggies, and let the guys do all the work.

when i was at that marketplace, i should have grabbed a basket and raided the fridge. i saw canned bubble tea (there was matcha with coconut jelly) and a local? brand of canned coffee (four different flavors!). i opted for their cold brew, but it wasn't good...i think it was for people who don't want extra things in their coffee, but not for people who want the coffee to taste good by itself. it was comparable to dunkin, which is not a compliment. yes. on sunday, i will go to the art museum and that grocer. my priorities make sense.

another conversation that didn't happen: "i don't pick up strays," he says.

"yet you attract us anyways. come on, i'll slip into your pocket," i plead. "like a pet hamster."

he eyes me. "you're not that small."

"nah, i shrink down. i'd read a book where people climb inside each other; they unzip each other, and as they get inside each other, they shrink down so they actually fit. so like if i put my hand in your pocket, i'd pull the rest of myself into your pocket. i'd be no larger than your phone."

"and then you'd fall through one of the holes you're always eying."

"i'd get a concussion! you can't let that happen to me."

he hums. "yes, that's why i'm not putting you in my pocket."

"aww, but it'd be so cozy."

"right, because i'm so squishy."

"and warm," i say. "firm, padded, and warm. i'd be snug as a bug in a rug."

"and what'd i be, chopped liver?"

"no, you're the rug."

asked --- if he wanted help with the catering order. he thought --- was scheduled early...nope. "like hell i'm doing that on my own. if i was, i'd start it at (2hr before the pickup time)." yay, i'm useful. i do not want to keep writing about work. i have twelve hours until i need to think about it again, and i will take those for myself. what shall i do instead---embroidery, once i'm done with writing, and then reading. i keep thinking about checking back in on the hobbies page. i've abandoned it, what a surprise. no more!

on wednesday, i want to look for seeds and plants. hopefully i can find them. i want to make some of the teas from wild witchcraft. rather, i want to play with teas made from specific plants---i guess they technically aren't teas, they're what, tisanes or some shit. i expose my lack of care.

from hand me my shovel, i'm going in:

this is not enough
this is not enough to prove it yet
no i need to hit the bottom

what would it mean, to see one's neuroses through to their end? how would one do that, and what would it look like? this would be a deliberate choice, i'm certain; well, a series of deliberate actions, taken over time, escalating---the end not obvious from the outset, but the only possible result.

i had, vaguely, been reading about accelerationism. (i saw a book called 'cute accelerationism' and needed to know what it was about. i did not comprehend it, and abandoned it after a few pages). my takeaway was that accelerationism is about seeing something through to its end. typically, this has to do with capitalism---instead of resisting capitalism, how can we see it through, thus transforming it into the post-capitalist society of our dreams (or nightmares, depending on who you're reading). so instead of usurping society immediately, you give in to capitalism, accelerating it, thus seeing it through to its end and transformation. kk cool, but how about we take a step back from this? lettuce abstract even further: accelerationism, irrelevant of capitalism?

my surface-level understanding of accelerationism led me to believe it is about seeing something through to its end: the only way out is through. what does this look like for an individual? how might an individual accelerate themself?

for my purposes, i will call this a discussion on individual accelerationist tendencies, or i-acc. proposed varieties of i-acc:

addiction: addiction is a form of transformation, no? one does not choose to be an addict, but they make a series of choices which result in them being an addict. this fixation on a singular object/habit/subject is the process of seeing this thing through to its end. the addiction is a vehicle of transformation; one can only embark on this via addiction.
habit: habits are the cornerstone of i-acc; every example of i-acc stems from a habit. repeatedly engaging in the same behavior is a way of seeing it through to its end. if the behavior continues indefinitely, what will it become? what will it wraught?
hobby: low-hanging fruit, but per my definition, any form of repeatedly doing the same kinds of tasks is a form of i-acc. by repeatedly engaging with the hobby, you will see it through to its end.
hyperfixation: let your life be consumed by it. there is no fighting---should i continue to engage with this---only the relinquishing of the life to the fixation.
neurotic: neurotic i-acc (n/i-acc) is the pinnacle of i-acc. what happens when you see your own tendencies, beliefs, fixations, interests, behaviors, anxieties, illnesses, and neuroses to their end?

from this, i see we are always accelerating towards something. we are the sums of are habits; our being is a way of seeing them to an end. consider the asymptote: instead of approaching infinity (or a number), i-acc asks us to think of our habits as the number. by engaging in a habit, we grow closer to it; hypothetically, we can consider ourselves capable of reaching it, and then what?

then why n/i-acc? to deliberately engage in n/i-acc is to recognize we are always in a state of i-acc. however, to better participate in our inherent state of being, we must become active participants in our state. by choosing to engage in our state, we increase our acc, thus bringing us closer to whatever we're accelerating towards, which will transform us. so. how do we engage in n/i-acc?

i propose (a/n: i am falling asleep)---

paying attention to one's thoughts. knowing your thoughts will help you see them through to the end.
working with intrusive thoughts instead of ignoring them. c'mon, chug that oil!
a/n journaling and meditating are a fantastic way to grow closer to your thoughts.
strictly engaging in what interests you. (???)
encouraging fixations.

this is incomplete. further research must occur. further attempts at n/i-acc will occur. why is this here---as the readers may have noticed, some nervous breakdown feels inevitable to me. instead of 'coping' with it and trying to 'get better soon,' i have decided the only way out is through. i must give voice to my thoughts, give life to the intrusions, and see myself to an end. only once i have brought myself to the breakdown and completed it can i be transformed by it. however, i do not understand how to see it through to the end, and so i must write my way there. perhaps that is part of it---oh boy, i am about to fall asleep. night-night!

20260512

nonexistent: on a couch beside someone, his arm wrapped around me, my head on his shoulder, him using his phone for something-or-other, he might've been showing me another anime clip, me asleep, napping, the most restful 20min of my life.

aligning the pre-self with the post-self. i want to bastardize the lrp---no longer aligning with the universe, but with oneself. so stop drawing on kabbalah and start drawing on---personal gnosis, i suppose. i leave in ten minutes, so i don't have the time to think.

another note on n/i-acc: the trouble with trying to structure this is that i cannot predict my future whims. i can only follow my current ones. there is no timeline for completion---there is not enough structure! i flail, then realize: i need only track my current whims, beliefs, fixations, ideas.

20260513

IT IS DONE.

20260514

i remember enough french from middle school that one of my coworkers believes i can speak french. (apparently, being able to respond to "how are you?" en francais is equivalent to fluency). consequently, adding "study french" to my list of things to do is what i have done. (rolls eyes). "how many languages have you said you're learning / reviewing / etc?" stop. no. exit conversation. i would like to have read sartre's works in their original language, though. i wonder if the school library has a copy of nausea? that place will be my best bet. mayhaps tonight...ahh, but i must finish my other books first! of my unread books, i am partway through three of them (vajrayana, a spy in the house of love, and the four quartets). i think i'll finish anais nin's book tonight. i'm so glad i spotted it at that bookstore---her writing goes down easy. i must locate paper copies of all of her writing. what i read of her diaries was exquisite, but i've grown weary of digital books. i cannot parse the on-screen word.

i have been sticking to paper books which i can write in. i love the tactile experience. when reading a more difficult text, i love being able to write my notes alongside the text---i summarize each paragraph, ensuring i actually know what i've read (and can go back and relocate ideas easily). yes, no longer reading digital literature---pirated or not---has helped me better appreciate my reading. not to mention it makes choosing what to read easier---gone are the infinite choices. i pick up a book, look at the price, skim a few pages, and decide whether or not to buy it. well, unless i'm 'borrowing' from the school library, but it's not like anyone uses the books there...their digital catalogue is woefully innacurate, and the contents are frequently mis-shelved. it's not like anybody knows what's gone missing.

got to mince onions the other day---hooray! the amount of time it took me to do 5lb shall not be repeated. however, i am no longer being discouraged from trying, which is enough satisfaction for me.

i think i need to ask for a saturday off---the blessed two-day weekend! i have too much to say and do, and so little time to do it with. i am losing time to my own interests, and i feel so very far behind. part of me wants to brain-dump and organize every longing; the rest knows there's too much, and the only way out is through. i crave and resist structure. what's worse, no matter how much time i fill, the loneliness continues to eat at me. at work, i felt it so heavily---why does it weigh so much? i must out-run it. i must read. i must write. i must do.

20260514, 15, yes it's yesterday and now it's today!

i thought i was starting to feel alright, except now the reverse is true. i can't focus. i can't breathe. i can't think. the time passes senselessly---i stand and stare and drag myself to make decisions, actions, choices. everything is too much right now. i want to hear someone else's voice. i want to be held by someone else. i wish i knew how to stop feeling so alone.

20260515 for realsies

my "buy fake food so i eat" plan is working. i made myself a sandwich.

i'm so tired. i slept better than i have in days, yet sleep stalks me anyways. i went to bed a little after midnight, too. i recall my sluggish shower, yet i feel as if i have not showered. maybe that's the humidity.

this loneliness is eating me. what else could it be? i crave something i don't have, can't have, and mayhaps isn't real. curse my people struggles. i must lose myself---not in the music, but in the moment, in my work. dwelling cannot exorcise a feeling. i must flee.

i can't keep doing this i can't keep doing this i can't keep doing this i can't keep doing this i can't keep doing this i can't keep doing this i can't keep doi---

must i go to work? a headache creeps into my body. i reject it---there's no time.

20260515

i have so much to say and so little time to say it. drinking renders me incapable of doing---my thoughts run on, i have so much to write, yet i'm too busy chasing my thoughts to let them out into the world. i'm only talking to myself.

what i didn't say: "that's my parade that's getting wet..." "yes, it is;" his face does not give away what he's thinking. i want to run my hands over his face and pull him down to me. i want to press my lips to his and share one of the pieces of me he's created. silent and voiceless 'til i reply: "would you like that?" after baring so much of myself, i can't bear to hear a rejection, so i imagine the conversation ends there.

another thought (even though some thoughts should be kept inside): i want to feel a man running his hands over my body. i can't pinpoint why i think of a man, and not a woman, until i remember that i can only imagine a man embarking on the damage i need him to do. there is a pent-up urge: i need someone to hurt me. i want imaginaryMan to punch me, to slap me, to leave me battered and bruised and regretful. i tell him to pin me up against a wall and hold me there; to watch me struggle until i realize i can't be free; to watch the terror set in as i realize i am subject to his whims.

20260516

i wonder what'd happen if i told --- what i want to do with him. how would that come up, in what conversation? i give him an opportunity for a joke, i let him push it farther, i play off of his connotations and double-meanings; i say, again: "careful, i'd let you," and i want to think he'd hesitate and even tease a glimpse of vulnerability, albiet with a joke; in my response i'd lean closer, put a hand on his shoulder to betray my intentions, watch his response with the utmost care; will we play all this off as a joke, a show to fool with others?; i imagine telling him its not a good idea, but i don't need much convincing; we'll compartmentalize, his lack meeting mine, our wants converging, a near-compromise with the oath of this not meaning anything, not in an insulting way but in a freeing way, an experiment we shan't dwell on; my prayer that i won't dwell and knowledge that neither of us can afford to, that this won't get out and all will stay the same.

could i even? could he?

i thought i'd stay in tomorrow. "weren't you planning" yes, but i think i need rest, a day inside, then i was asked if i'd gone to that ramen place last weekend: no, it was optimistic of me to think i could eat two meals, but i might go this weekend. the latter part of that statement was a lie until i said it. now i've sworn an oath: i'll go to the art museum, i'll get ramen, it'll be cambridgeQuest ii: electric boogaloo. having vanquished the unsatisfying foes, i can conquer the satiating ones. will they be more inspiring than the last? last week compelled a new video, will this manufacture the same?

i'm reading "a spy in the house of love" and can't stop myself from reading a passage aloud:

Why am I loved by him? Will he continue to love me? His love is for something I am not. I am not beautiful enough, I am not good, I am not good for him, he should not love me, I do not deserve it, shame shame shame for not being beautiful enough, there are other women so much more bbeautiful, with radiant faces and clear eyes. Alan says my eyes are beautiful, but I cannot see them, to me they are lying eyes, my mouth lies, only a few hours ago it was kissed by another...He is kissing the mouth kissed by another, he is kissing eyes which adored another...shame...shame...shame...the lies, the lies...The clothes he is hanging up for me with such care were caressed and crushed by another, the other was so impatient he crushed and tore at my dress. I had no time to undress. It is this dress he is hanging up lovingly...can I forget yesterday, forget the vertigo, this wildness, can I come home and stay home? Sometimes I cannot bear the quick changes of scene, the quick transitions, I cannot make the changes smoothly, from one relationship to another. Some parts of me tear off like a fragment, fly here and there. I lose vital parts of myself, some part of me stays in that hotel room, a part of me is walking away from this place of haven, a part of me is following another as he walks down the street alone, or perhaps not alone: someone may take my place at his side while I am here, that will be my punishment, and someone will take my place here when I leave. I feel guilty for leaving each one alone, I feel responsible for their being alone, and I feel guilty twice over, towards both men. Wherever I am, I am in many pieces, not daring to bring them all together, any more than I would dare to bring the two men together. Now I am here where I will not be hurt, for a few days at least I will not be hurt in any way, by any word or gesture...but I am not all of me here, only half of me is being sheltered.

i wonder, tomorrow, could i bring myself to have a conversation with a complete and utter stranger? what would the context for that be---how do people talk to each other?

if not for dropping out, i would have surely been graduating today. i panic at the thought of my future. no, best cloak myself in words and see what follows. if not for this website, how would i write? would countless reams of paper be filled with my print? would i be pushed farther---with no internet by which i could exorcise myself, would i sink my teeth into being published? would i meet more people? this is a quest for later, i think. i'd like to spend an extended period of time without technology. bar as the necessary crutch---the work schedule, all things work related, and verification of travel-related shit---what would i do? how would i evolve? without technology, what would i find?

the pxxxxrxxxnts --- i can't say the word --- reached out. i can't read the message clearly. details upon details upon details about who is visiting and when and what parties are happening and i will be there. there is no question. a statement: i will be joining them. maybe i should go out of town. where to? there is no place i want to spend a week at. i cannot be seen by them. i don't want to leave; i don't want to deal with the complications; i will not be there. i can not be there.

why haven't i changed my phone number yet? i'm worried they'll call the police on me, like they've threatened to do. nvm. no need to change the number when you can just block them. it's done. i'm not doing this anymore, and damn the consequences.

i pick up my phone and look at the dunkin app: i just want to feel loved. how will a cocoa mocha signature latte make me feel love? why do i think that will fill the void? well, it is a special drink, a treat, really, that i never allow myself to have---so much sugar---yet $4 is significantly cheaper than any other fancy latte i can find elsewhere. maybe i'll give in.

i close the curtains. the "be here" date is not for another month. i need to close the icloud account---i hesitate to lose all the data for games i no longer play, but all i can think is that i don't want to return to that part of my life again. if i need to cope with something worse in the future, so be it; i will not be drowning myself in gacha again. oh, shining nikki---i've loved you, and i've moved on from you.

seeing a pan full of food in the trash can has pissed me off. what, you're moving out, so you're just throwing away everything? the pan was perfectly useable. i couldn't help but take it out of the trash can (the pan, not the food), washing it up, and adding it to my meagre collection of pots and pans. it fits the "small sautee pan" description which i've been wanting to fulfill. but this is the tip of the iceberg. the fridge was half-full of food, most of which had been sitting there for the past month. all of it disappeared, causing the strange smell to vanish, much to my annoyance. why put all of that there in the first place, when all of it is going into the trash?

someone is moving in tomorrow, and the freezer is nearly full with food. most of it has sat there, unmoving, for the past few months. i did throw away two open bags of frozen veggies which had been there since i moved in in august; they were shrivelled and discolored. i'd hesitate to eat those peas and corn. thankfully, everything else is from the current year. roommate no. 1 isn't being replaced for a few more days---maybe all of this is her stuff, and she's cleaning it out? doesn't explain everything else. the dish-bin is full of dishes, some of which were left by the girl who moved out today, who didn't seem to think twice before throwing away so much else. is this how you live, i wonder, leaving messes everywhere you go?

ugh. i could just ask: "hey are you guys taking this stuff with you? did you forget about this?" but i am too socially anxious to do so. i'll take photos. come june, i'll deal with all of it accordingly. "hey guys, all of this was left here by previous roommates; please feel free to help yourself to it!" fuck knows all of this was going in the trash can anyways.

i am going out tomorrow. unlike last week, i'm giving myself a budget of $40, ten of which will be spent on transportation. i tell myself this will be my last day out for a while. i need to lay down and take a true day off, but i want to be out and about, to roam, to absorb new sites and sounds and pretend i'm living life. i'll peregrinate and gain picayune knowledge of the sliver of earth i inhabit---fill in the blanks, there's a good girl.

i spend so much time alone i struggle to imagine how i'd spend it with others. what would going to a museum with such-and-such be like? would we wander around it together, talking to each other about what we're seeing, reflecting, going from place to place, arguing about what we want to look at and what there's time for? he'd say "why do you want to go to another bakery" and i'd say "dude i bake, chill;" he'd say "where do you want to go for lunch" and i'd list three options, none of which appeal to him. he'd say "so what's next on your list" and i'd point to a grocery store and then he'd be irritated because who tf comes out all this way and goes to a grocery store. i imagine someone who continues to shoot down my interests.

what would the opposite look like? "oh, let's go to this cafe too, they have interesting drinks" (after having already visited three other cafes); me responding with "i'll catch up with you after i stop by (the bakery the street over); want me to grab you anything?" and them saying "nah, i gotta save room for lunch, but i can grab you a coffee?" me saying "one more and my heart will stop, but if they have an interesting tea, i'd go for it." my three options for lunch are met with an ooh, that place has (this dish they wanted to try), or even "i was looking at X which sounds like (place from my list), how does that sound to you?," better yet "okay i'll get take out from Y, you hit up Z, let's reconvene at (this spot)." the grocery store is met with interest; maybe they needed to grab that one ingredient they forgot when grocery shopping, or they want to help me look for what i'm looking for, or they decide that they need to restock their fridge, or they want something tangential to what i want, or they have amusing commentary on the store's organization / structure / architecture?, or they run around trying samples, or or or...so many options, what's not to love?

now that i think of it, spending time with others, to me, sounds like myself and another person continuously parting ways, doing reconaissance, reconvening, and exchanging intelligence. "i saw this." "hmm hmm! and i saw that." we don't need to be doing the same thing, or thinking the same thing, or enjoying the same things; all i need to be in their orbit while they're in mine.

non-jokingly thinking about asking --- if he'd be willing to help me beat that final boss for deltarune chapter 4. i got stuck at the fight with the dark knight back in july or so; i've given it another try here and there, but i suspect it's just too hard for me. not gonna go over how many hours i spent trying to beat it at first---more than five, which is more time commitment than i want to give a video game. it's a good game, but i hate it when a game eats away at my time and demands serious investment. casual is good. some effort is good. high effort? naaah, i have a life (and no skill). good night!

20260517

today, in summary: my final visit to cambridge. visited the harvard art museum and realized i truly have no interest in art museums. how does one engage with art? my instinct was to bypass the art and focus on the paragraphs accompanying the art; to absorb, for a brief moment, the context, the creator, and the potential meanings. i didn't care much for the art itself. i saw bold paintings; bright colors on massive canvases. in another room, i saw some works by famous people---yet if picasso and degas cannot hold my eye, who can?

how does one look at art? do they stand back and watch it? do they take in each detail? do they read it like a book, tracing each brush-stroke with their eye, from the top left to the bottom right? do they observe each color? do they try to make sense of it? is their eye fixated on the largest, or most eye-catching aspect, only for them to mentally traverse the less conspicuous details? how, exactly, does one look at art?

if i could, i'd love to run my fingers over it, to observe all of the textures, to take in something i genuinely understand, if only for a moment. this is impossible, unsuitable for the public, contrary to the museum. i can only look, but at what? when do i move on from each painting? do i read the description first, or the painting, and how? i observed my eyes glancing at a canvas only to be entranced by the words accompanying it, the pattern holding for every thing i saw. it's an art museum, yet i care more about reading than the art itself.

how is one compelled to express themselves like this? i write because i must; if art is an expression of the human soul, than these pieces were created because the artist had to create them. a woman saves her syringes and forms a cello from them; why is this the expression she chose? why the visual, and not the textual, or even audible? a massive canvas---why did the artist fill it? what did they need to do?

i am repelled by visuals. i look at art, but i cannot see it; my brain is not wired to understand it. look at how i avoid films---i detest them!

for a change, i subscribed to two community calendars. methinks i doth be too optimistic. what to do---i need to go grocery shopping tomorrow night. this shit ain't food. people argue outside. oh, i'm hungry again. nothing i'm eating is satiating.

weird experience with one of the security guards at the art museum. apparently how i hold a small bag can be a security issue? the entire incident felt power-trip-y to me. there were a few other people in the room with large bags slung over their shoulders, either on their backs or on their sides, and he didn't harass them over it, even though he's telling me that i must hold my small bag in front of me when i'm in the gallery. the handful of museum staff who kept walking by me before in other sections of the museum didn't have an issue with it. the worst part was how it felt like he was following me around until i left. i'm standing in the middle of a room, a very safe distance from any art, and he's giving me the side-eye. dude also exited the gallery he was watching and was standing by the entrance as i was leaving. really weird and uncomfortable. finding reviews from people with similar experiences was reassuring---okay, some of the security guards are just like That, and i don't think there was anything genuinely wrong with what i was doing. (again, pointing out how he didn't have a problem with anybody else who had been carrying a bag the way i had, or in the ways he prohibited). trying not to dwell on it, but the way i felt he was following me around was what really put a damper on my experience. what was this, "practice trailing suspicious visitors?" again, none of the other museum staff had a problem with me having a small bag slung over my shoulder. when he approached me about it, i was quick to cooperate and verify i was now holding my bag appropriately. i am overthinking this and need to stop dwelling on this. i'm annoyed by how my leisurely visit to a museum was cut short by "wow i feel unsafe and get the impression this one staff member really wants me to leave." didn't inspire me to return, certainly.

honestly there wasn't much else to note about the day. the ramen spot was good; i devoured my bowl with ease. sent a pic of the food to --- and he immediately identified the location and the dish i'd ordered, which put a smile on my face. wandered a bit. someone was blasting "call me maybe" from a graveyard. what an interesting choice of events. i've now dealt with---either by visiting, or realizing i do not want to visit---every location in cambridge which i had bookmarked. hooray! i also culled a significant number of other locations which i realized / learned i'm not all that interested in. two weeks ago, i had over 60 spots bookmarked, now i'm down to 20-something, most of which are in boston's chinatown.

my urge to wander distant locations has been satiated. do i turn my sights to my own town? i could explore more local restaurants, or parks, or goings-on; summer is coming, so i might as well be aware.

i am distracted and unfocused. i need real food. i'm eating a peanut-butter sandwich---high calorie, sure, but good? or edible? debateable...now i'm remembering i have protein powder. that's it. that's what i need.

the new roommate has moved in. i walk into the kitchen. on top of the trash can (which has a lid on it), there is a large piece of cardboard and a bra. the paper bag for recycling has a plastic bag of takeout trash stuffed into it. sigh. okay, nobody, she just moved in. i'm sure she's had a long day. and, hey, she did close and lock the doors! she hasn't immediately been noisy either. granted, please don't leave your bras in the kitchen isn't something i usually think about saying to someone, but she probably had a box of stuff and it snagged on something, or some shit. y'know, it's---

nah, WHY THE FUCK IS THERE A BRA IN THE KITCHEN.

yeah, yeah. anyways. a plan for this week. the books i want to read, and the watercolors i want to do. going to the museum reminded me, perhaps ironically, that art doesn't have to be good, make sense, or be of a particular object. i can put a brush to paper and try to recreate anything, even if that anything is nothing at all, even if my anything is a series of warmups from that one book i'd been following in december or so. there was no sense. i did not try to do anything; i merely did what i thought i needed to do. i am pleased, mildly satiated, even, by my 15minute exercise. i've dared myself to do watercolor for six days this week---will i succeed? my structure is a daily task, my freedom is how i do the task; my goal is to try a new medium, and to give myself something else to reach for when i'm bored. i don't want to start on a new embroidery project yet. well, i want to, but i don't want to grow weary of embroidery too quickly. i want a longing, an urge to engage, the satisfaction when i finally take the time. it's there. there's no rush to start it. i know i will start it. when? well, i'll leave it up to me. for this week, though, i'm daring myself to try watercolor painting when i'm bored. i have the supplies; why not play with them? i stare at the page and contemplate doodling over it tomorrow---nothing refined, but black scribbles ripping away at the bright colors, giving them new shapes and destroying them in the same breath, ruining my own work and letting it become something else. yes, fun will be had.

i feel dis-satiated. was today not refreshing enough? i realized i have my sought-after two-day weekend next week, courtesy of memorial day. yay, i don't even need to take a day off. no, that's not what i need to write...what do i need to write?

i don't feel like enough. that's not it, either. i meander too much. in the morning, i'll add quotes from the anais nin book to this page---she succinctly articulates my thoughts. in this moment, turning on a light, even the orange-tinted reading lamp, is too much for me; i cannot leave my screen until i've decided to embark upon sleep. i fantasize about feeling wanted, but who would want me? i want a hug, but there's nobody there. maybe i need an oversized stuffed animal. i fantasize about curling up in bed---a real bed, mind you---next to ---, but nobody in particular, just that imaginary archtype of someone who has chosen to be around me. who would!

must i ground myself? is finding a way to anchor myself the right choice for me? true, growing solid would be a salve for my pains; i'd be more real, less shifting, more myself than any other woman, and yet---well, to ground myself sounds like a denial. the more i try to define myself, the more i escape confines of a definition. "these are my hobbies" except they aren't. nay, i read and write, and the rest is fecal matter. "about what" myself. no wonder i'm unmoored.

i crave a bit of drama. i'd like a theatrical argument; i want to scream and let loose, while someone else bites my head off. i want to be hurt. i want to be punished. i want to be talked down to, like a child; i want someone to lay their hands on me with malicious intent, if only for a moment. i want to reach up to my face and feel where the bruise will form, and will anybody question it? who would? i want to be beat and brought down to the earth, into the earth; penance for my crime, which was to want, to crave, to beg for definition, to reject definition. i need fingers wrapped around my wrist, a hand holding my waist, a palm hitting my face, my hands held back as ---- watches me, eyes me; sees me cry and moves not an inch, me sniveling and pleading, him not budging until he can catch me off guard. what is this, he says; whatever we will it to be, i reveal.

i will exercise tomorrow. i must, must, must!

20260518

the last few minutes before work---i had abandoned an agenda, and now i'm using it again. i must create beacons for all i'm trying to do. i add a sticker, peeled off from packaging, a quote---a reminder for dreaming---, and notes on trashy girl habits from a video i was listening to. i ask the oracle cards who i will live as today, and they grant me a victorious person with an abundance of half-finished tasks---how fitting. i was struck by the urge to live through oracle cards, so here i must begin. we'll see how long this lasts lol.

so much to do. i hope i don't let the loneliness eat me alive today.

20260519

i feel as if i'm in the middle of so many things. i got out of bed because i realized i was running out of time to bake---indeed, likely out of time for one recipe, but just enough time for another.

i....

what am i?

i think i must anchor myself, but why? anchoring creates consistency and stability and reliability. to tie yourself to some principles means you have principles, or guidelines, or ideas to turn to to guide you.

i crave being unmoored as much as i crave its opposite. i cannot be tied down. do i want to be tied down, figuratively? in a literal sense, the answer is yes, i'd enjoy being subject to another; conversely, to be subject to another in a figurative sense, i can...what is the opposite? the way to obtain a literal loss of control is the way of figurative control. the shape of an idea: being figuratively tied down is the opposite of freedom. figuratively means exploring your constraints. oh, the constraint may be set by another---MAY---and i've half the sentence. what am i saying, what am i doing; searching for a freedom that comes from uniting myself with my whim.

oh, down with traditional logic! traditional logic dictates i tie myself down, i stick to something, i follow a path, my moves make sense to others, and my emotions and feelings and impulses---my human self---does not come into play. my new logic claims i am tied to my impulses. i engage with my impulses, actively; i shall be a slave to my whims. (i write this expecting something drastic. in reality, nothing changes; in my head, i accept my tendencies without guilt or doubt). i vanquish the mold, i defeat advice, i conquer societal standards and rewrite them with my own.

why have others been so scared of my internal logic? ---- comes to mind. he always criticized me for doing things for no reason---for choosing books at random, for choosing classes at random, for choosing how to spend my time at random. for such a stickler for definitions of words, he had no problem misappropriating the word random. i pick up a book because the description sounds interesting, because it sounds like it contains an element i'll like; the elements i like aren't random either. "right, you like childish things." yes, you read extreme horror for extremely dignified and Literary reasons, while i read for stupid idiot child revenge reasons where i'm so mad at so-and-so for yanking out my hair in first-grade that i must read books with pedophilia so i have someone to project my emotions onto. (the sentence is intentionally gibberish, like his so-called logic). make it make sense!

come to think of it, he was attacking me for reading incorrectly---as if projecting onto me, as he didn't frequently read in accordance with his rules. though that was because he was depressed and needed cheap hits (the same material that was supposed to be so dignified and literary), and i, the not-actually-depressed time-wasting student, had no reason for cheap hits, and must only read---well, books by men (famous Literature, preferably), or books closely related to each other, serious books only, perhaps to cure my idiocy, or because i am female and must be fixed. funny how much the events of years past haunt me.

i am content with what i read. i am content to not taking my reading seriously---i don't need to make reading a job, or have a tbr, or to dedicate hours to it every day, or to use it to justify how i spend my life. or to be a pretentious bitch who only reads big literary serious books for adults 2026 edition (remastered from the original 1804 text, now with non-discriminatory descriptions). i don't need my reading to follow some set plan. i am genuinely okay with what, and how, i read, and curse you for leaving me with doubt.

ugh, i thought i'd stopped thinking about you, and i thought i'd finished writing about you. here you are, a judgemental ghost who refuses to leave my side. how much more time 'til you pass?

i hate how you still exert your power over me. i should not have let you into my life.

20260520

hey, i've done more watercolor painting. so at least that is going well. i am looking forward to doing more embroidery once i've used up my watercolors, though. my doodles may look like nothing much, but they're mine, and that's what matters.

sometimes i think about going back to college. i have access to free community college (since i don't have a bachelor's, LOL)---but none of their online options appeal to me. i'm not confident i could commit to an in-person program either, due to distance + work. also, lack of interest. the only programs i could imagine myself completing are literature or creative writing, but, uhh...i don't need to go to college to read or write. also, i've taken those kinds of classes before. i have seen the kinda shit that gets a passing grade, and i have seen how low the standards are, and i've seen how downhill assignments have gone and how low expectations are. i think i'd just get annoyed and drop out again. and for what, to say i have an associate's degree? to who? for what? i'd never get a bachelor's for that shit---i'm not teaching, i'm not going into academia; it'd only be for personal enrichment. idk, i got hobbies.

i just want to feel like i'm doing something with my life. i want the sense of having completed something. or i'm seeing all of the recent graduates around me and envying them. they have careers. they know what they're doing next. i'm just here, in the void, in the labyrinth, spinning my wheels until something makes sense.

except i'm also fine with this. yes, i feel as if i should feel like i'm doing something wrong. i don't think i'm supposed to be content like this. "are you content with what you're doing, or are you pretending to be?" i don't know what i want. i want what i currently have. it's---hard to describe, hard to explain, hard to pinpoint what, exactly, is wrong. if nothing was wrong, then i wouldn't be writing, would i? but something is wrong, and so i'll keep writing. why am i not fine with saying i'm doing what i'm doing? how can this not feel like enough?

where does it go?
pick out her heart
with a kitchen fork

or something or other, from a song called "kitchen fork." my heart has been ripped out, by what/who i cannot say. i have lost myself in the annals of yesterday (pretty words, little (personal) meaning).

i don't know who i am
or how i got here
but i'm a subtle hint
best forgotten

20260521

honestly using google gemini to write the code for something feels dirty. yeah, i did not want to put in the work to figure out how to do what i wanted to do properly. i only wanted the thing done. use ai to generate a structure, and use myself to add the content. and yet, i feel a little ill. but did i need to be able to do it on my own? i'd've just been grabbing snippets of code from the internet---copy-pasting things i barely understood until i had some janky product that worked. it'd be an exercise in problem-solving and frustration, but that's not what i want. so. be. it. i dunno, i'm just feeling weird over the whole thing.

haven't had an energy drink in so long---i swear i can feel how much caffeine was in that thing. and not in a good way. i'm more focused than usual, or is it less hazy, but i don't like it.

overall, i'm pleased with the wishlist / todo page. staring at all of the ideas which float through my head is making me happy. on top of this, i'll use the same js/css parts for a different page i wanted to make. hey maybe i can do that tonight.

leave for work in seven minutes. say bye now.

bye!

20260522

met new roommate last night. she is normal. yay.

last night, one of my coworkers asked me if boss2 had told me they'd switched my shift for this saturday. of course not! i appreciate him letting me know; if not, i'd've probably found out via a phone call---

"hey are you okay? you were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago..."
"ehh? no, i'm closing, i'm not coming in until 3..."
"no, you're working 11-7. didn't someone tell you?"
"this is the first time hearing it...you're lucky i just got home. i'll be there in half an hour. (sounds of her putting shoes on) hey, when did they change the schedule?"
"tuesday."
"yeah, well, nobody asked or told me. do they pull this shit with everyone else, or am i just lucky?"
(answer tbd because i will be asking coworker1 about this. 'cause what the fuck)

i don't know if i should bring this up with my bosses or how to. like: hey, i understand you guys are busy and have a lot on your plates, but if you change my schedule, i'd really appreciate it if you let me know, so i don't have to rely on hearsay from my coworkers. this is the third time you guys have done this in the past few months. don't get me wrong, i'm able to work that shift on saturday, but in the future, i'd appreciate it if you guys asked if i'd be able to work a different shift, or even if you just gave me the heads-up that you need to change my schedule. i'm flexible, but...well, everything i'm saying feels self-explanatory. (i mean, i can't show up on time if i don't know when "on time" is...)

sometimes i wonder if the whole "them not telling me; schedule change comes from coworker" is them being embarassed---they forgot so-and-so couldn't work that day, or someone had something urgent come up and genuinely can't make it, and now their only choice is to move me, and if they don't directly bring it up with me, i can't say no. "better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission" or some shit. this is really pissing me off. three times in six months is a habit, not a coincidence. i understand boh is a small group and we can't just ask each other to cover---if everybody who is available to work is scheduled to work a certain day, then someone calling out means someone's shift has to change (unless they're really short-staffed and i'm dragged into working a double, but that hasn't happened for a year). i'm just AAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGHHHH can't fucking FOCUS need to punch SOMETHING.

spoke to boss1. so what's actually happened is, roughly, my coworkers are supposed to be asking me if i can swap shifts with them, OR saying that they need someone to cover for them, but that person would be working slightly different hours. the slightly different hours comes from boss2, which is the only reason why he's being involved with these changes in the first place. unfortunately, the coworkers have taken boss2's involvement to mean boss2 has decided the schedule has changed, when this isn't actually the case. the coworker checking to see if boss2 told me the schedule changed was supposed to be asking about my availability and seeing if a) i could work a different shift, thus covering all of the hours where they need the extra set of hands (while being down a person) or b) i could come in an hour early. boss1 thought coworker had asked me if i could come in early...boss2's confusion now makes sense, because he. didn't. decide. that i was working a different shift. his only involvement was knowing that someone had wanted the day off and was trying to figure out how to get coverage.

to round things out, boss1 also pointed out how they're not inclined to change my schedule without letting me know in advance---evidence of this being me being caught off guard when they give me a heads-up about a schedule change before it was sent out.

so now i'm annoyed with my coworkers for telling me instead of asking me. i have always been okay with covering or swapping shifts, so they should know that i'm most likely going to be able to say yes. why "see if SOMEONE (not nobody in particular) can do this shift" turned into "bosses said you're doing this" is beyond me. maybe they're just desperate, or tired and not understanding something, or or or. idk. the point is that these were very poorly communicated requests to swap shifts, and not orders from the higher-ups. so next time i get the weird "bosses said you're working this shift now," i know that that is near-certainly not the case, and can ask for clarification---did they say that, or did they suggest that that was an option because reason? because if it's the former, they would have told me; it being the latter means you're asking me, and i'd appreciate it if you asked instead of telling and assuming. maybe i have a hot date. (<-- has no plans of having a hot date, much less one this weekend.)

20260524

i was thinking about how much i crave a home and how much my room doesn't feel like one. what would it take? i was thinking about sinking into a comfy, well-padded bed and how rejuvenating that would be. planting my head on a plush pillow. falling asleep the second i lay down. waking up and making myself eggs; having a cup of tea while i sit on a balcony. i am alone, so i do not feel self-conscious about wearing pajamas. it's a little chilly outside, but the cup warms my hands. i am at peace. when i go inside, i take a moment to get dressed, then read until work. maybe i paint, maybe i bake, maybe i work on something, but it is a moment to myself, for myself, with myself. i do not put on headphones to tune out someone else's noise, because there is no "someone else" who is making noise. i do not second guess myself. i get home from work and collapse on the couch, fifteen minutes of nothing until i'm satiated and the itch to scratch of an urge to do something, anything, turns into cooking dinner, or heating up leftovers, and writing for a bit. so much writing. in time, i decide to exercise, and do some tidying up. there is nobody singing downstairs. the only drunk is me, on the rare occasion i feel like it. this mess is mine. this noise is mine. everything is mine.

why am i not satisfied? why is what i have not enough? i am acutely aware i'm renting a place. this bedroom is not mine. i want it to feel like mine.

i don't feel like writing. being at an arcade was too much for me. the noise was intense---first i couldn't hear my thoughts, and then i couldn't think at all. so many flashing lights and colors and people and NOISE. some people reeked of smoke, too. still, it was interesting, and i didn't regret going. i lost at mario kart 8, and then i kept beating my boss at a much older edition of mario kart (n64). doing mario kart as a group of 4 without any computer-run characters was interesting. i liked how you could know exactly who was throwing a red turtle shell at you.

downstairs guy talks to himself all the time. the volume of empty liquor bottles in the recycling bin made me wonder if he's an alcoholic. he hoots and hollers and belts out songs, and then he goes back to talking. and talking. and talking.

20260525

someone dribbles a basketball down the street; a slash of envy pierces my heart. i want to be him. walk down the street, bounce a ball, running around an empty parking lot, laughing at myself as i struggle to play with a fucking basketball. dribble, dribble, dribble. i'm happy for this guy. i don't know if he's part of a team, or if he's trying to be, or if he's recently taken to solitaire basketball. i still wish i was him.

and why can't you be?

i can. i haven't chosen to.

i try to follow a shadow boxing video, yet all i can do is think about how someone told me i punched weird. i punch straight, she told me. i didn't understand what she meant by that, and she couldn't explain it to me either. i punch the way i learned in wii fit boxing. i think i'm copying the guy in the video; he's a professional, so surely copying him will yield normal, correct results? yet all i can hear is her telling me i punch weird. this was one incident. i don't want to be that weird. i decide to give up on the shadow boxing video; the anxiety is too great. i go and follow a stretching video instead. this is all i feel comfortable with.

i'm hungry. i need to cook the chicken, but it doesn't appeal to me. i wish the shrimp were defrosted by now, and i hope they haven't gone bad. my fridge is lacking. i have yogurt, but nothing to put in it. i want olives and artichokes and berries and chocolate. i want cheese (i'm weird for preferring ravioli to lasagna. idk, i'm just here for the cheese and pasta. especially the ricotta. all hail ricotta).

how do i relax on my day off? how do i actually rejuvenate myself? finished asatru for beginners; no satisfaction. typing and getting nowhere. thumbing through "the apophenion" and wonder if i've picked up ramblings of a schizophrenic---physics and magic? phht!!! there are no reviews on librarything, but the inhabitants of goodreads express appreciation for it. i turn my gaze to the book: "a chaos magic paradigm." hmm.

once i've completed reading the books i own, i'll ground myself in a reading list, a syllabus for occult philosophy, if i may. history will be my friend. my gardnerian reading list was ill-conceived; i must filter, aggressively, so i don't drown myself in accounts of supposed supernatural happenings from the 1600s. not that they were a complete waste of time, but i do not benefit from them overall.

or i abscond the occult and return to house of leaves. i wonder what it was about it that used to entrance my so. i have options. either way, my physical tbr pile irritates me. i will push forward. this week---the apophenion and sagittarius rising will be my conquests. yes, aiming for two books a week seems doable. i must remember to not rush my reading.

keep thinking about ordering something online to commemorate my upcoming birthday. i did nothing last year, and it really bothers me. yet---what? what do i want? what would be 'special' for me? i did eye some marzipan, but. hmm. i want a piece, not a box of it. i scroll through a website---by jove, i want nothing. lies! whatever.

i usually sleep shirtless. the weather led to me sitting around without a shirt on---yet this feels wrong, somehow. i am immediately inclined to cover myself up with a blanket, discarding the benefits of my lack of shirt. oh well. i've work tomorrow---curses! blasphemy! damn the foul beast! it's aight, i suppose. today felt like a vacation. no obligations meant i was able to get some odds and ends done. i'm glad i figured out the "hall of song" page. that's been haunting my mind for a bit now. i still feel weird about using ai to make it. i dislike the encouraging comments ai makes when it responds---dammit, just do the thing! but the thing was done, and i have the creative product i wished to make. i removed the labor of creating the mechanic and was able to focus on the idea. i should be pleased with this, i think. instead, i feel like i've removed myself from the process, even though the only thing i've removed was the potential for endless frustration of copy-pasting code from stack until i got something that did what i wanted. that frustration was why i put it off---i didn't want to get bogged down in writing js, so i didn't do the thing i was thinking about. maybe i'm annoyed because something i'd contemplated for so long was reduced to a short afternoon of work. for the amount of time i spent thinking it'd be to bothersome to figure out, well, the end result doesn't feel worth all of the avoidance.

the contents of this site feel overgrown. my thoughts are festering, creating offshoots of greater complexity, attracting new weeds, some of perpetual growth, some which make themselves at home and change never. like succulents. i feel like i've tainted this pure page. mold is growing in every corner, creating new possibilities for rot and decay. "you are too much for this!" no, that's not it. "you have disrespected the site!" yes, that's it. i've brought mold into the labyrinth. i've summoned the growth of plants in the cracks of the floor and walls. even minerals have taken their places in the ceiling. i am waging a war on my underground territory. i've allowed my decay to fester throughout its pure path; i'm invading my sanctuary with my rot. what say it?

20260527

a soul cannot "do." we lack evidence of a soul "doing"; we say it does be, but if what we say as "being" is the sum of what something "does," then what is the soul?

i feel so fucking brain dead right now. it's embarassing. what am i supposed to do to wake up?

does consciousness focus on itself? what would that even mean? well, if we take consciousness as a sum of its phenomena, it can only direct itself to the phenomena; remember, there is no is. i feel as if the apophenion is half wordplay half point. i don't find his concepts disagreeable, but it does take me a second to re-wrap my head around how to think about things the way the text thinks about things.

20260531

fun fact: this is the first time i'm touching my computer since that last entry! on thursday, i grew so fed up with infinity i vowed not to touch my computer or any other significantly entertaining mindless media. this included embroidery---the mindlessness is nice, but i don't know how to microdose it, so i abuse it. consequently, i must abstain before i reach levels of brainrot i believed were limited to tiktok / twitter / etc. (i consider running a mile before realizing that going for a run when i am a bit tipsy may not yield desired results).

fun fact no. 2: i was planning on embarking on an experiment to gauge the spending difference between buying all food/groceries locally (i. e. farmers' markets) and my normal spending habits. 'may' was my control group---i spent normally, if not in slight excess due to my boston-cambridge adventures. today, i visited the farmers' market for the first time in 1.5 years. i learned that the artisinal farmers' market and food farmers' market have gone their separate ways; they now appear at separate locations at very different times. unfortunately, the artisinal vendors are easier to access, and the farm vendors' target audience is people who do not have to be at work at mid-day during the end of the week.

fortunately, the farm responsible for the farm farmers' market offers shares. i have impulse bought a small share, which will provide me with food for 2-3 people for the summer season (june through october). a month of the farm share costs about as much as much as i typically spend in the week (disclaimer: have not actually averaged how much money i spent on food for each week in may. a month probably costs less than i spend in a week). the main reason for this was because i learned this existed, watched my curiosity climax over the span of three days, and realized i would regret not buying the farm share. so i paid up my grocery / spending money for june the day before the month started. (i do not want to view my current credit card balance.)

burning questions: how much food is "food for 2-3 people" for two weeks? why is one of my house-mates rearranging the recyling bins so they're in front of his car? what food is grown locally? how many carrots will i receive? what does it mean to "burn so bright it blinded"? what kinds of recipes will be in the delivery newsletter? is there squash? did i just volunteer my credit card info in exchange for an egregious volume of salad greens? why do i simultaneously want to be single and want to have a boyfriend? do i enjoy reading? what the hell am i going to be cooking with / eating for the next twenty weeks? have i made an expensive mistake? will i go to a grocery store before the first delivery? if i decided to make you my religion, would my household gods be kind? which key just enabled airplane mode, and should i open my last bottle of mead? (there's cinnamon in it.) do i want a few spots of rum? (i have lime juice). why didn't i clean my coffee mug earlier? am i going to eat more food tonight? what's for breakfast? how much money will i spend this summer? will i need to go to the grocery store, and how much, how often? do i need to say hi to the new roommate today, or can i just get drunk? will i go to the library tomorrow morning, and do they actually have anything related to derrida? could i convince --- to star as lude? am i going to go play slay the princess, read house of leaves, or do something else entirely?

20260602

today was a shitshow. offsite catering order "was a hit," even though "everything that could go wrong did go wrong." circuits can't keep fucking tripping, though that wasn't even the worst of it. that was a nuisance, not a problem. a table that we were storing most of our equipment on collapsed. we later learned that this table has a habit of doing that and that it's supposed to be replaced. ??? honestly that was the major problem. everything else went smoothly. just the god-damn table collapsing genuinely threw off the lunch rush part of the service.

yeah that's it. i feel like i need a week off of work. my head is reaching a limit. i can't take that much time off---until new hires who do their job and don't need constant supervision occur, we're all working full-time, which will only last until the fall, when the college kids will have classes. the shock, the horror. they've said they're working on hiring more staff, but it's a slow process. "good / decent / acceptable cooks are hard to come by" and what not. this wouldn't have been a problem if barely-coworker committed to learning to do his job, but he's been here for what, 8-9 months and is still a "new hire." ffffffffffuuuuuuuuuucccccccckkkkkkkkkk me.

if not for my temporary ban on purchasing anything i'd take an energy drink addiction right now. i need to be awake and have clarity and feel an urge to do something. i'm telling myself "i enjoy exercising." i will repeat it until it's imprinted. what do i want to do? honestly at the top of the list is "curl up in bed next to a living adult human" and "i really want someone to pat me on the head and hug me and let me hug them and tell me it's going to be okay." then "sleep for a week," shortly followed by "spend a week doing things i want to do that require effort without going to work at all not in the slightest not even checking my phone."

playing "slay the princess" and connecting it to the model of the self that was presented in apophenion. all of these voices---including the supposed decision-maker---are seats at the table. the voices gain prominence---appear to become conscious?---as the consequence of certain events. these "voices" are always there, but something else brings them to light.

gameplan for tomorrow: write something, you miss it and need it. uhh. can i cook something with the lentils? i am low on food. maybe the can of tomatoes and black beans can work with it. okay, i think that's the trace of something. finish the --- video. yeah, i know you already forgot about it. here's the reminder.

connection model of self to ifs therapy---yeah, what if there isn't someone in the center? the parts make up the whole and so on and so forth...i'm tired.

20260603

i don't think i have anything to say.

20260604

not buying groceries is definitely pushing me to try interesting things. in just one day, i've made a significant dent---used up six stray bags of pantry stuff. ooh, and i keep making batches of iced tea to keep in my fridge. i'm making more chai blends. i'll remember to add them + my thoughts on them to the tea page at some point. i like how i know how to customize a chai blend depending on what i feel like drinking. i might not've discovered an endless passion for tea, but i have learned enough for it to be something i do now.

re. being---which voices are too prominent, and who isn't getting a seat at the table? arguably he-who-doesn't has been surpressing the others; she-who-does occasionally fends him off; the others vote for a compromise, hence the body's half-doing of half-attention tasks. their arguments take up so much space and time that the others don't get a say. he-who-doesn't must learn to find pleasure in doing; perhaps he-who-doesn't is better said as the pleasure-seeker who is content with escapism. i see that.

from where comes the obsession with pleasure? well, all at the table see it as the goal. while one has spearheaded it as not-doing, the others seek it in ways-of-doing. he-who-maintains-the-vessel strives for exercise; a base activity which the pleasure-seeker has denied. why do when you can not-do? must there be extra steps for one goal? must it be complicated? muss es sein?

es muss sein! we* must seek a democracy, an agreement, a cooperative nature for this vessel. only then can the pleasure of all be sought and obtained. the pleasure-seeker's dictatorship will both end and succeed. all's pleasure is his!

but whose pleasures shall we* obey? who's there? the hearth, certainly, has spent enough time screaming. the archivist identifies himself as the learner, the wisdom seeker. the hearth notes herself as an inhabitant and artist "at home in creative thought." the journey is how the archivist screams; the hearth, the cleanse. even now, she seeks to organize the place by dealing with the excess. the pleasure-seeker lies in all of them, infecting them with sloth---is there a pleasure-seeker, or is it only the vessel? the archivist winces, seeks to explore the room, to catalogue all we* are and he is---then knows enough has been done. for now, this is all there is, though shadis---the destroyer---lurks in his periphery. he has been cast aside and forgotten. we* theorize the destroyer as an outburst---perhaps shadis is he-who-maintains? the archivist casts the question aside, not wishing further thought.

truly unaware of my own writing and thoughts. what is all of this. what has my life come to. recharacterizing my idea of selfhood? remembering being told i have no personality, no identity, am not a person. not understanding why i'm not a person. not understanding why i seem to lack a personality and act robotic. not understanding how to characterize myself---a reader, someone who is interested in learning, shy, awkward, to-the-point, stubborn. how are these not part of my personality?

relief: this is no longer a key part of my life. i can explore my being without consequences---no-one writes back, judging me, at how wrong my idea of my self is. we* are allowed to merely be. already falling back on the hearth, the archivist, and shadis. those three appear to have the strongest voices (catalogues, i suppose, the archivist).

i've returned to the house. all roads lead back to it, or so it seems.

20260605

i indulge in a fantasy, if only to rid it from my head: laying in bed on my back; --- on top of me because that's the only way to fit both of us on these boxes. turning my head to the side because your face is too close to mine; what are we doing here? my arms resting on your back, pulling you closer to me; your face against my neck and the way your hair scratches, tickles. looking up and letting you kiss me. crying. this can't happen. we can't do this. none of this is real.

i don't need anything more than a warm body who holds me and lets me cry; a chance to be a child in need of comfort, an honesty with myself, the unabashed need for companionship and the knowledge of how alone i am. it's almost---; --- asks if i want the day off. i want to be at work so i can see familiar faces and be around people i'm friendly with; a little less alone. i will be alone and it will not be by choice. i have nobody to be with.

you are on a path in the woods. at the end of the path is a cabin. in the basement of the cabin is the wanderer. you are here to slay her. if you don't, her world will end.

how could that be? doesn't killing her end her world? and who is this wanderer, anyhow? why are you guiding me to her?

you have little time. be quick about it. walk.

i set out, and yet. who am i setting out to kill? who is the wanderer? why?

you ask too many questions.

i must understand what i'm being told to do. why should i kill someone?

she is trapped in a prison of her own design. break her free from it, and contentment shall be hers.

i don't want to kill someone. is her life truly worse than her death?

oh, look, a cabin. there's the basement door. on a table sits the pristine blade. you'll to take it to complete your task.

why am i here?

i told you, you need to put the wanderer out of her misery. take the blade.

i don't think so. something seems fishy. i'm going to open the door---aren't i breaking and entering? shit, this is illegal, i---

rest assured, the proper authorities have granted you permission to carry out this task. the fate of her world depends on you.

i don't remember signing up for this. did i---shit, who am i? what have i been doing? is this some weird government program? nothing here seems familiar. why am i on a path in the woods?

will you stop dilly-dallying and pick up your pristine blade already?

i don't like this. i'm opening the basement door. "hello?" i call out. "is anyone here?" i pause, hoping to hear an answer before i continue breaking and entering.

a voice calls back: "a visitor? it's been so long...come down here so i can see your face."

the wooden stairs creak as i steadily walk down. i reach the landing, then step down the final stairs. "who are you?" i say to a woman. her room is barren. a window, covered with bars, reveals the setting sun.

"you can call me the wanderer," she says; the skirt of her baby-blue dress fans out as she twirls around. there's an unmistakable glee to her voice. she is excited to eat you.

eat me?

yes, she's very hungry.

you didn't say anything about a cannibal.

yes, well, i didn't think it was necessary. you wouldn't have stood in front of her if i didn't tell you that.

20260606

tried to read ts eliot's "four quartets." gained: confusion +1; this is not for you +8. listened to a lovely lecture:

poetry is akin to a bunsen burner; it's a distilled form of language (and not a bonfire)
eliot doesn't use symbols, but he uses "cases in point." ex. horseshoe crabs are themselves, and they are an example of the passage of time.
"four quartets" is about the riddle of time. other animals aren't bothered by time, but we are.
how do we live in time?
"distracted from distraction by distraction."
"in my beginning is my end" --> "in my conception is my destiny." once we're born, we will die (eventually.)

music is poison. art is poison. literature is poison. everything i see before me is poison. infinite possibilities stretch before me---i could learn french, hebrew, solomonic magic, demonology, japanese history, wordworking, embroidery, grammatology, architecture, philosophy, literature, and on and on and on! i could exercise, i could run, i could obsessively study language, i could master tarot, i could embroider, i could garden, i could think, i could cry, i could read, i could dream, i could watch movies, i could draw, i could paint, i could clean, and on. and on. and on. i forget what i do and revisit what i don't. life stretches out; distractions upon distractions. for what end? to what end? on what can i focus? new paths stretch out before me, reminders of more possibilities---

no.

focus.

magic has permanently tantalized me. it's always haunted me---something i want to learn about, something i want to work with, a mystery i want to grasp. i see a relation between it and philosophy, and a bit of language. (secretly, i wonder how i could apply math, and then i think about mis-using graph theory and linear algebra and that fling with the two of them). ahh, with so many possibilities, i lose sight.

first, i have learned the runes, so i must read a book to further my knowledge. begone, other sources! or, rather, stay; so many books began with meditation exercises, so i must pick a course of action. quareia, golden dawn, chaos, or otherwise? it's too late in the day, more accurately: too early, to determine.

the second objective has made itself clear: i must learn a tad bit of hebrew. my haphazard reading keeps guiding me to qabbalah and whatnot; jewish mysticism appears to matter. being able to read it will give me a leg up.

the third is to actually fucking read a primary source text. and, better yet, work with it. that next step terrifies me. an undercurrent of belief runs through my veins. i have no choice.

i must filter.

we* contemplate a structure: two days for the hearth, two days for the archivist, two days for shadis, and one day for all three. no, that's not it either. i must retreat to my notebook; pencil and paper shall not fail me.

20260607

sat with ourselves to focus. shadis asks to complete two straightforward, genuinely accomplishable tasks: working on maxing out the grip-strength trainer, and doing the two-week ab challenge. he believes these are easy victories which will support the frequently failed long-term goals. the hearth asks to tidy up the room---it's too stressful!---and finish the embroidery. the first of these has already been accomplished. we* even managed to list an item on facebook marketplace---FINALLY. hopefully someone will take it. the archivist began by suggesting runework and hebrew, contemplated a particular edition of the abramelin grimoire, and then began listing the other ideas he is overflowing with. evidently, his unrefined energy has created an imbalance.

checking in with these on sunday (instead of bullldozing ahead into "finish all the books now why are you procrastinating you stupid idiot girl") left us with a feeling of satisfaction. everybody's needs have been met. what we want to be working on in june has been addressed. having learned the runes, i* am prepared to begin working with them and their magic. proving i can, indeed, learn a new alphabet left me confident i could get a handle on hebrew. instead of diving into duolingo, i watched a youtube video and made myself a set of flashcards. once i get a handle on these flashcards, i'll check in on the duolingo course and confirm i've actually learned the alphabet.

ahh, but occultism! well, i understand the abramelin grimoire matters. this translation came recommended by the internet over the matther's translation, so it is the one i will begin reading. well, right now, i've spent enough time learning today that my focus has frayed and exhausted. i need a moment to rest, and this is why i am writing.

i like the ideas of the self that i got out of the apophenion. i think that continuing to use them will benefit me, so long as i strengthen the habit of returning to them. i can picture myself as a trinity of aspects which grew out of balance; at this point in time, at least, referencing and acknowledging each of them has made me feel at ease. i think i'm understanding my motivations and my problems in a way which works for me. continuing to reference them in an organized manner will help me bring the structure to my life which i so desperately lack and seek.

so many roads stretch out before me. the possibilities are infinite, and i start to hate it. in time, i may take all of them; at time, i may only take one. some, i've trod well; others not. and so i guide myself to the occult. for a few years, at least, i'd like to make a home there.

boss sent out two messages about the schedule, yet no schedule. i gather some people are being really difficult and requesting time off last-minute. or not looking for coverage. yet another "y'all are screwing over the people who are committed" and whatnot...i know of multiple people who have expressed annoyance with their schedules being at the whims of whoever called out last-minute and how they feel like they can't make plans because they have no clue when they're going to be working.

why do i not feel at home? i stare at the window and witness the rain. i start to panic and drown in bad memories. i want my head to be wiped. i can't keep thinking about work. i am so mad about so many things. i can't forget: that time coworker1 kept telling me to stay in the back and not worry and he didn't need help anywhere and i can just keep doing what i'm doing, and then the boss spent 15min yelling at me and the rest of the week making passive aggressive comments about me not paying attention. YOU TOLD ME TO STAY IN THE BACK AND DO THE DISHES AND IGNORE WHAT WAS GOING ON IN THE KITCHEN. WHY THE FUCK WERE YOU YELLING AT ME ABOUT THE GOD-DAMN KITCHEN. this wasn't even the first or last time coworker1 screws something up and i'm the one who has to face the consequences.

also can't forget the night when they left. (at this point, i spoke to myself for fifteen minutes. or more. why the fuck do i do this. i am so pissed off about things that have happened. i need to stop thinking about this. maybe)---

a conversation that did not happen, again. "you know, every time i go downstairs to do charts, and foh looks like they'll be done before us, i think about how i'll come upstairs and find out that all of you left. again. i still don't understand why it's okay for them to refuse to do the dishes or help out the kitchen. and i don't get why it was okay for the other cook to leave without finishing. i really wish you guys had told me you were leaving, and i wish he had told me that he didn't finish closing. finding out that you drove him home, while i stayed for half an hour after you guys left and then spent another half hour walking home in the dark at 11pm, really hurt me. and you made this worse when you said that it was because "i didn't communicate well enough." over the course of six hours, i repeatedly asked foh to help us, and they refused. they kept staring at their phones and talking to each other. i don't understand why this is my fault. i am tired of the way you defend so-and-so and say his behavior is my responsibility. as he consistently reminds me, he has been here for four more years than i have been."

(i am kinda glad that so-and-so is leaving. he has screwed me over more times than i can count. and then he says it's funny.)

haunted pillow beneath my head

i wish i wasn't reminded of work. i wish i didn't care, or that i cared the right amount, or that life didn't end up being unfair or my brain didn't spiral out of control. i wish other people were decent and not trying to take their emotions out on me. i wish emotions didn't exist. i wish i could punch --- in the face, and ---, and --- too for good measure.

i want a text where --- says he's nearby, why would he be?, and i say "screw it" and drop everything to meet him. he's angry, and rightfully so; i say what needs to be said, genuinely meaning my words, him crashing at my place for some reason or other, us creating our own hell. trying to hide the fourth person from my roommates for a few months until we get our own place. him getting a job, after struggling a bit, and probably hopping between jobs because nothing quite works for him. me trying to please someone who is pleased with me for being there. listening to his strange ramblings.

i think we would've gotten along in the real world moreso than the internet one. i think, if you read this, you'd be upset; why couldn't you have just spoken to me like a normal fucking person? and i'd agree, because i was an asshole and i don't have a good explanation for my actions. there was no good reason. the only reason---which does not justify what i did!!!---is my own immaturity, i think. i want to say it's because i was scared of you. and i was, but that's not the reason either. i mean, i should've said that! i should've told you that you were kind of frightening me---not that you were doing anything wrong, but that i do not know how to talk to someone who doesn't hate me. that's not it either.

why was i so scared? you didn't want much from me. all you wanted was for me to pick up when you called, if i could, and respond to what you said. and i couldn't even do that, which is kinda the bare minimum of getting to know someone. you didn't expect me to turn into someone else.

i do know that i felt like i was leading you on.

(i really am bad at being around people.)

(i feel so broken. the only way to get better at people is to be around them. except being around people impacts them, which eventually hurts them. i don't know how to not hurt people. or i do know, but i can't act on it, because that's a form of honesty i can't engage with. i am fundamentally dishonest. about what? i feel like a liar. a crying, burning liar. i don't know what i'm lying about, or who i'm lying to. maybe the lies are woven so deep within me that i can't reach them.)

worthless may be my middle name, my first being "completely inadequate and," and my last being "; a piece of shit." i stick with nothing, so "i know nothing" becomes too true. i do know nothing. i force myself to forget, in hopes i'll forget the right thing. "distraction from distraction by distraction" rings increasingly true. (dear reader, i do not read poetry. that line is from somewhere in ts elliot's four quartets, or a bastardization of a line, remembered from the lecture i listened to last night in an attempt to understand the volume of poetry i bought, failed to read, and abandoned halfheartedly (should i care about my sentence structure? do i want to? i abhor the run-on, i once thought, though i now embrace it)). i can't stop checking my phone. where is this week's schedule? i set an alarm; i'll ask in an hour, the time when the schedule must've been sent out. i suspect it was, and that there was a problem with my email service again.

where does it go?

do i want to cling or discard? i want havok. havock. havoc. words flee from my brain; spellings abandon me. (i write in a text editor. spell-check has left me behind as well). i twist myself and fall into emotions---maybe this is in my nature, me being a female and all. i say nothing and mean nothing; i mean every word, or so i think. i wonder what i'm trying to accomplish here.

who reads this? one man reaches out, says he's read what i post, even mentions his motivations; all i can think is do you really, and is that the full story, and i don't understand what you want to accomplish here. or maybe that's the insidious voice in my head which doubts life's every move. again (and i put up a shield) i don't know how to talk to people, or understand that species, and maybe it's in my confused nature to feel confused and act confused a seek a twisted sort of...i don't know what. reassurance? no, that's not it; now i'm spitting out words.

internet people don't feel real. this is a problem for me. i want to know other people, and i don't want to. is it the question of effort? perhaps. uncertainty is key---where does it go. (i'm looping kitchen fork right now. i've seen countless posts, or fanfic, where someone says they wrote this "while listening to this" or to "listen to this while reading." i ignore them---i want to focus on your words!---yet i understand them. i think the music matters more to the writer than to the reader. a counterargument: people do speak of reading house of leaves while listening to haunted, by poe. but these are deliberate companion pieces---err, two parts of one whole?---so that doesn't quite work.)

LOL now i see why the schedule has been sent out so late and why --- was annoyed with boh specifically. you can't just ask for the week off last-minute. wonder how --- is going to handle having to pick up all of ---'s shifts; he's a good worker, but doubling his hours is going to challenge him. maybe that'll be good for him, but it's also pretty rough. also hey, i got my favorite shift back! i gotta make --- that thing he asked for. i feel bad for him, and can expect him to be a bit pissed off tomorrow. or more pissed off than usual :D or D: b/c (valid reasons).

i want that which cannot be named and must not be named and goes beyond naming and being. i want to be drowned in something greater than myself; to be reborn and make myself a whole, coherent person; to impart upon myself a vast body of knowledge, to work in a specific field, and not the general one; to rise above my failures and incoherencies and to become the sum of all parts. oh, what was i writing about before i got distracted? ah, yes, my weird relationship with others.

the question could be: what's up with my weird desire, and (not or!) lack thereof, to have relationships with others? i envy the friend group, but do i wish i had a friend group? i want to fit in, i think, and then i realize i don't want that, or if i do i have a very strange way of showing it. i want others to accept me? but i don't need friends for that, i've learned. i'm fine with myself. i really don't care whether or not other people are fine with me. what is it about the friend group which i envy? they're close with each other---there's a degree of intimacy to their connections which acquaintances lack.

i do not understand this closeness. words cannot create it. i tap my fingers against the keyboard and think i've hit the nail on the head: i do not understand what it means to be close to other people. am i incapable of feeling this? that's a strange thought---to think that a basic characteristic of human connection is inaccessible to me.

what does it mean to be close to others? the internet may offer an insight:

the open dictionary: "To have a very friendly and intimate relationship with one."
cambridge dictionary: "If you are close to someone, you know them very well and like them a lot"
What Does It Actually Mean to Feel Close to Someone? (vogue): i'm not sure what the point of this article was. the author didn't answer the titular question. she does show how different kinds of relationships exist, some of which are formed out of proximity to one another. people go through life...together.
Sources and Characteristics of Close Relationships: emphasis on trust. respect, reliability, forgiveness.

is all of that something i want? i really, really don't know. i suspect i want this on some level, but i'm also confused by it. what do i actually need to say to others that i can't say to myself? how do i trust other people? what makes other people trust me? are you sure everybody won't abandon me at the drop of the hat, and i won't end up alone?

20260608

the introduction to the dehn & guth translation of the book of abramelin left me feeling bad for s. mathers. the french translation which he worked off of was by a translator who seemed to struggle with the german text which were likely due to the german script. mathers' took great care to translate this rough french edition. as the authors point out, this did result in many innacuracies in the magic squares, all of which were unbeknownst to him. that's rough, man.

rotten pillow beneath my head / why am i here?

staring in vain
at something i cannott see
i'm certain if i strain
it'd be in front of me

"if it were a snake,
"you'd be bit by now."
if only i could take
my final curtain bow

and say:
---"i've learned of what i searched"
alas, i depart without
i've lamented and whined
gone on with my pout

nothing lies before me;
nothing lies ahead;
there's naught for thee to see
inside my rotten head

my agenda says to "figure out interior design" today. i want my room to feel like home. why does it not feel like home? what would it take for me to decide it is home? i lay here in bed, on my side, and feel my arm falling asleep. i am aware of my need to brush my teeth. i'm half-awake and displeased for reasons which are beyond me.

does the displeasure come from work? it typically does. the pace was good, today. rushes existed. catering orders occurred---two for this week, and another for next. --- let me help with part of a catering order which i don't typically do. this is exciting! however, --- is pissing me off. i left specific instructions for closing in the group chat. one out of two of them gave a thumbs-up, and then promptly ignored what i said. i can see this in the inventory they sent out. --- said he hasn't even bothered telling --- about every mistake he makes. information has to go in one ear to go out the other, yet for him, information doesn't even enter that first ear. funny how people have gone from saying "oh he has a lot of responsibilities; that's why he makes these mistakes" to "hey dude, cut the crap (seriously, does he have genuine mental deficits which go beyond brain-addlness?"

what does it take to make a house feel like a home? i have art of the walls. there are things beside my bed. i'll admit the gray pillowcase and blanket are not adding anything. i'll buy a colorful pillowcase.

is it the temporary nature of this dwelling? are "temporary" and "home" mutually exclusive? i write myself to sleep!

diary (202605 - ?)

one more confession / discretion's not what i need to sell (from 'masterpiece theatre iii' by marianas trench)

one more confession / discretion's not what i need to sell
(from 'masterpiece theatre iii' by marianas trench)