notes from another side

my head's a gun (from "kitchen fork")

20260609: what i meant to say: "i'm just so tired of being myself. it's the perpetual identity crisis, the perpetual nervous breakdown...i'm so exhausted and i don't know what else to do. it's like i don't know how to not have a nervous breakdown, and i don't know how to stop having an identity crisis, and i don't know how to have an identity. i feel like i'm reaching my actual limit, though, like a breaking point for all of this. but that means i break, and i don't know what that means.; "i mean, how do i break? i don't know what i mean, well i do...the words fit, but i can't hold on. but that's enough about me...what's your diagnosis, doc? does "you need therapy" sound about right?"; the other one: "i'm getting worse, but maybe that's what i want? i'm tired of being myself, so if i keep making myself worse, i'll eventually break myself, and that could be enough to fix the problem. 'the only way out is through.'"; i don't know what's left to say. can i say anything anymore? what's left to say, to think, to do? i can't do this anymore. my head has frayed. i will lay here. my eyes are closed, my fingers move.; to say, to say---- my head's astray,
thoughts left to fray,
beyond the state for which i settle---
nay, nay, nay!; i'll let this self go. i'd write the day but can't; so much and nothing at all. i should feel happy. i should be celebrating, with friends.. thinking about --- had so many people taking him out for his birthday. there is nobody who i could take out for their birthday, much less anybody who'd think to take me out for mine. i wish i was of value. i wish i weren't so sad and alone.; i am depressing. i have always been alone (speak the fact into existence). there is a poison in my veins---one which others can detect, even though i fail to. why was i poisoned? how am i?; i jokingly say: "no, don't leave. everyone abandons me." it's a joke, but there is a ring of truth to it. i don't feel abandoned by --- living his life, but there is a sensation---the only coworker who puts up with me, the only person i speak to, has left. i can feel it. i hate how i put so much value on a person who doesn't quite think twice about me---someone who is friendly and decent to everyone, including me; which is to say i'm just another person and i know this and i'm tired of projecting onto strangers.; i feel so very alone. i am not fit to speak to another right now, because i have nothing to offer. all i need is to sap energy from somewhere, someone else and contort it into something that can make my strings dance for a second, even though we both know damn well i need more than a second. i need a lifetime, a year. no. i need to know that you won't leave me. i need to know you won't come up with excuses to not talk to me. i neeed to know that you won't be mad at me for living. i need, i need, i need!; what do you need? not me, surely; the perpetual crisis. aaaaaaaaaaaaaa kkkkkkkkkee l d w a w e d j k l kkkkkk lllllll ooooooo pppp nnnn a sanklasd klsaf kkkkkkddddddd lllllllffff qqq z jasklf
20260610: i just feel so alone and so shitty and so perpetually half-miserable; not full-miserable just a half-hearted sort of existence, of non-commitment; after all, sometimes everything feels all fine and dandy and all of my so-called problems disappear for a moment. and then i feel something and the world comes crashing down again.; you're weird. you're over-reacting. you're being overdramatic.; it's a yes to all three. i'm caught in the perpetual spiral; a death-cycle of my own being. i feel like death, sometimes, and when that hits no words can capture how truly terrible i feel. that one is physical and mental; i'm weighed down while being torn apart; i'm caged in while my very being is at stake.; i've never intentionally cut my self, but the underlying urge still inhabits my head. i can't shake it off. i need to express something, and i need to get it out of me. i need a release.; maybe i need to exercise. honestly, those hiit workouts do *something* for my tumultuous emotions.; huh. that's a thought i've had. that's a thought i'm choosing to act on. that's new.; i need to burn down the house. i need to get rid of everything. every part of me must go. i want to start walking and never come back. could i? i keep forgetting who i am and have been and want to be. life goes in one ear and right out the other. work keeps me stable, half-stable, a broken stable, a vacant stable, a desolate stable, a lost stable, a forgotten stable; a stable that has been but will not be again.; if i were to walk, how far would i go? would i forget everything i've known? would i leave it all behind? would i build a new life, or would i have begun a new cycle of learning and forgetting; half-lived lives and emptiness? life is not so easy. i could not just "find a new job" and "find a new place to rent." i'd be effectively homeless, and i'm not ready to live like that unnecessarily.; though maybe forgetting is what i need. i can't stay in one place. i'm getting restless. i've lived in this house for almost a year. i've lived in this city for a little over two years. i don't want to retain anything. i just want to walk and walk and walk until i'm alright.; i suppose the fantasy of "if i just write enough, i'll figure it out and i'll be okay" has turned into "if i just wander enough, i'll figure it out and i'll be fine." but what is it?; i feel like i have too much stuff. i start to clean, but that's not the answer. this is not about my stuff. this is not about my things. this is not a physical problem. except i want to be free, and i hate what having belongings does to me. i stare at my bookshelf. the lights are off; i am not wearing glasses. i know what is on it. my filled notebooks occupy most of a shelf; the half-filled ones lay beside them. there's alcohol. there's q-tips and clippers and other hygiene what-have-you-nots. there's my backup writing utensils. wow, so much stuff. clearly this is the source of my distress.; i write all of this with sarcasm, but i am thinking about pulling out everything i own tomorrow and going through it. unfortunately, my goal would be to cut the volume in half, which is a problem because i just don't have that much excess stuff. i know what i have. i know stuff is not the problem. i wish it was.; when i was younger, i had some hoarding tendencies. i collected granola bar wrappers and cards and other crap. legitimate trash. i was scared of the school trash cans in elementary school, for anxiety-related reasons about the ritual of throwing stuff away at the end of lunch. i can't quite explain it and the memory is too vague. my parents got a copy of "the life-changing magic of tidying up" when it was all the craze. i liked the cover, so i read it and experienced the life-changing magic of not having drawers full of garbage.; back then, getting rid of crap genuinely made a difference. i never realized i could just *not* have the garbage; i'd been so fixated on organizing it that i forgot i had other choices. i think this is part of way i still get fixated on getting rid of things. back then, there was that 'high' from decluttering and suddenly being free of all the garbage i'd managed to accumulate. i want that high again! i want there to be a difference! but that was a decade ago. that was enough for me to break the habit of accumulating garbage. hell, reading that when i did probably played a role in why i never spent all that much money on buying things---why spend my meagre allowance on things that i'll probably end up throwing away? even now, i don't spend much money on physical (inedible) goods.; but maybe this has nothing to do with decluttering and chasing a high and past experiences. maybe this is because of the destruction of getting rid of things, or the purification from the same process. i don't know. i feel so overwhelmed. by what, from what---devil, i write in circles!; i wish i could pinpoint what it is. i wish i could describe this feeling in exact detail; to exorcise this emotion from my skin, my soul, my being. being is too much right now. or shall i say these doings are too much? if my doings create my existence, how can i cease my doings, if only for an instant? i must exit this form and find shape in another. i must vanquish myself---what self? there is no self. there are the components of this doing, the doing which creates being, but there is nothing to exorcise. hold on.; shadis holds the nervous breakdown. shadis holds the identity crisis. these are his outburts---the body is not maintained, he cries, even as the academics ignore him. he is too physical for them. unlike them, he cares about the physical form. he wants this body to remain in good shape. he does not appreciate the bruise which the hearth gave it; he does not appreciate the pain which the archivist's carelessness bequeathed it. he tells the vessel to eat, to drink, to stop moving its neck so much; that the legs are numb and the feet are numb and the soul is static. there is no soul. its head is static. all of it is here, and all of it is gone.; it wants a bed. it wants a home. it wants to be alone.; a vision---a hand on my hip, gripping tight, another arm wrapped around my chest; i struggle but they cease my movement. he holds me in place from behind, and his displeasure grows as i squirm. "let me---" but his hand covers my open mouth, his fingers taking the opportunity to press inside, me accidentally licking him as i try to work around this intrusion. his hold tightens, forcing my squirming to an end. (the rest is up to the reader's imagination, or lack thereof).
20260611: got the farm share and my first thought was wow this is disappointing. a head of kale, a head of lettuce, some onions, and strawberries. i could've bought this for $12 at the grocery store...maybe even $10. best strawberries i've ever had though. welp, gotta sit down and plan some meals around this. will go grocery shopping for veggies with substance to them.; i'm kinda sad that i can't test out my farmers' market vs. grocery store plan. it's on me for not checking that the farmers' market was the same as it was two years ago, though. this is fine. i'll be fine with this. i do want to keep up a "tracking what i spend vs. what i made vs. what i wasted" thing again. my eating has been garbage.; where does it go...; convinced google gemini to put together a plan for how i could hypothetically buy a house in five years while paying off my debt. it tells me it's technically possible for me to have the money for a down payment and whatnot, but...well, my income itself could be a problem. whatever. having the numbers laid out---all those hypotheticals---offers a little reassurance. i feel like home ownership is the answer to all of my housing concerns, even if it is a tad bit unrealistic ('in this economy?!').; my brain is full of fog.; i can't think. i can't focus. i can't breathe.; i need to get out of this.; i'm pleased that i exercised this morning. i failed to complete day three yesterday, but i tried again and succeeded today. this is an improvement. as long as i do day four tomorrow, saturday will be a rest day. yay. i definitely over-exerted something yesterday---either from carrying the mirror (which has left a lovely bruise on my hip + some scratches on my arm), or from disassembling the stove at work. not proper disassembly, just taking off the burners---the weight is bad enough, and the awkward angle i have to reach from to get them out definitely uses some under-used muscle. but...i did it! yay! and now i'm suffering for it.; my head is so blank it's depressing. let's see...
20260611: the last tea shop

20260612

downloaded undertale, which has immediately run into problems opening. so much for a short gaming session before sleeping...i'm going to bed now. maybe it'll work tomorrow night.

oh cool, i can't even close the window. gotta force quit everything. this is disappointing.

20260613

greater success: i hit the button to "validate game files" or something...and voila, it worked! toriel annoyed me, so i began by systematically killing everything on sight. after slicing through whimsuns and froggits for a good fifteen minutes (or something), nobody came. perfect. lovely. i should've waited to kill everyone, since napstablook disappeared as i entered the room. i would've enjoyed getting to slay a ghost (if i could...?). he's got a pretty good theme song too. i stopped by and bought some candy from the spiders---it's always good to support your local small business. maybe. i wonder if most of the underground technically is comprised of small businesses...?

i did not appreciate the way toriel wanted my character to be held captive for my own good. i forgot that you can kill her as soon as you enter battle---the line about her realizing she was keeping me back for the good of the monsters / the rest of the underground and not for my safety was a nice touch. there was a sense of betrayal which i appreciated.

anywho, flowey wanted me to keep on killing monsters. i did appreciate the grotesque and varied expressions his sprite was making in the text boxes. some of them were kinda cute. however, i do not like being told what to do, and the only reason i was killing everybody in the ruins was because i wanted to aggravate toriel. oh dear mother, she who thinks the best of me; i will let you down. i am not for you. anywho, onto snowdin town!

sans went ahead and asked me to keep pretending to be a human. perfect. i'll do him one better---i'll turn myself into one! i have mixed feelings on papyrus. he is cute. he is written as a cute guy---a bit clueless, "finding difficulty in unique places" (to paraphrase / bastardize one of sans' lines), and whole-heartedly lovable. he is a sweet guy. the cluelessness got on my nerves a bit---he started to remind me of a sort of "sweet special needs kid" trope that i'm not fond of. that being said, he has a sense of agency (probably best exhibited in the dating segment, where he talks about, roughly, leading the player on and realizing he does not want to date them). his "clueless, work-focused" vibe contrasts sans' "knowledgable, lazy" vibe. hmm, i should write more about this in the morning, when i can focus. i've been wanting to play more games lately---well, i did play a lot of slay the princess---and turning my brain to analyzing them would be a useful change of pace.

oh i did kill the married dogs. they were pissing me off too.

other notes from the day---work was fine. i really put off getting out of bed this morning; no exercise today! oh well, that can be tomorrow's problem. i could not convince myself to get up until the last possible moment. i felt bone-tired and was fixated on pleasant daydreams. sometimes i think about trying out a dating app (or something of the less-commital sort) and trying to arrange some sort of one-night stand / no strings attached / seriously this is not a relationship kinda thing just to get whatever this is out of my system. but i am also terrified of people and can see that that is not a great idea for me or someone else, and i highly doubt i'd actually go through and do that.

20260613

dream---i was at a bookstore. i was carrying my dictionary and boba plushie with me, and was worried about actually buying books because i thought the cashier would charge me for the dictionary. i kept thinking about how i'd say it was from another bookstore, see here's what it said inside, and why did i have my dictionary with me anyhow? i considered buying a book on magic traditions. i walked over to another bookshelf; something by anais nin was displayed on the top shelf (the title had something to do with the human experience/condition). i reached for it, but i grabbed something off the wrong bookshelf; i tried again, stepping to my right, but i'd gone too far and found zines instead. third time was the charm: i reached up, got my fingers around the ledge, and stretched for the book---and the bookshelf began to fall down. curiously enough, none of the books fell off. before i woke up, i was holding up the bookshelf, about to be crushed under its weight.

i let myself go...

further reading: one; two.

attempted to summon buer. succeeded in having a conversation with him---or something, maybe only myself; doubt clouds me three days later, or maybe it's an attempt at palatability, a way to disguise my idiocy and recklessness and oncoming who-knows-what---and realizing there was no way to compromise our goals---rather, i could not fulfill my end of the bargain within my desired timeframe. he left me with "a hint of himself" and said i was a curious one. he flickered before me as a morphous black snake. he did advise i summon all 71 of his other brethren. per him, i know little of magic and have much to learn. he also emphasized a study of logic and morals; something about how philosophy has been distracted by communism, and we must draw more attention to the past for the general public to be re-routed along a better path. i have much to learn.

do i want to work through the rest of the lesser key of solomon? this is the first true guidance i've received. also, why did he suggest summoning the rest---to further invoke fear? to show how much of an idiot i'm acting like? is that for my benefit, or their's?

how little i know.

i am left with the impression i've spread myself thin.

i haven't focused on anything.

i think i've forgotten how to.

should i listen to his advice?--the enchanter (r) and the runaway (upright). truth revealed and admitting what you're running from. is summoning a distraction, or is it irrelevant?

what would i get out of summoning?---the patron (r). being taken advantage of. how fitting. but maybe i want to be taken advantage of. i'd learn something, after all.

do i study enochian, or do i search for something else? the twins (r). being out of balance and struggling to make decisions. uh. i suppose enochian is that 'something else.' the book of abramelin is where i am now. i suppose the actual answer is to continue down the path i've started to forge and continue to see where it takes me.

back to undertale...talking to sans at grillby's and he says that sometimes a talking flower appears to papyrus when he's alone. holy shit did that creep me out. reminded me of that long fanfic where flowey abuses papyrus. good stuff. i wonder if sans knows about flowey and just said an echo flower? i can't remember how much he knows.

20260614

i think "the book of abramelin" did provide me with some context for crowley / thelema. the grimoire provided me with a bit of insight into the idea of the holy guardian angel and why it was so important to crowley. the way i see it, the hga is a connection to the underlying nature of the universe. i'm starting to formulate an idea about divinity and 'the aether,' but i need more time to read and explore what i mean.

i struggle with the fundamentally christian / jewish / monotheistic capital-G perspective of these texts. i'm working on taking a step back and finding an abstract conception of these concepts which i can work with. (or rather, i want to identify the underlying concepts which i can work with). i can't deal with "god." what i can understand is other beings which exist alongside our universe---rather, underlying forces at play? i have to re-learn what i mean by "being." constraining myself to some creature in the way i think of it is not conducive to my understanding. rather, i must refer to the doings---this 'force' does 'x.' yes, that is a start. and these 'forces' exist alongside us; 'where' is not a 'where' in the sense i understand it, so i will think of it as the aether. this is so i do not hurt my brain too much...now, when i begin to think of angels / angelic magic / the upcoming john dee stuff, i can understand angels not from a biblical / christian perspective, but from the idea that they are forces alongside the universe.

yeah, it's going to take a second to reroute my head to this perspective.

sitting in public, contemplating trying a coffee cocktail, knowing it's not a good idea. i cannot handle that "tired and wired" bit right now.

spent a good .5hr cutting scallions yesterday...that would've been an entire third pan of scallions. OOF. i do not usually cut that many at once. what's funny is that i cut about 1/2 of a six-pan of scallions at home today in less than five minutes because i wasn't remotely worried about how they'd come out. i was not overthinking them. yet they look pretty good? they were consistent, even, cut all the way through, no visible problems, honestly looked better than what i cut at work. interesting. not sure if i'm making scallion pancakes with them, scallion oil, and/or aggressively adding them to eggs all week. also, eggs were .99/dozen this week?!!! that was a nice surprise.

mango tiramisu was pretty good. i am able to whip cream in about 10min. yayyyy. feedback---people do not like cardamom with mango. i think adding freeze-dried strawberry powder on top of it would've been a good idea. i definitely want to play with adding powdered fruit; i know i saw it in a few recipes in that milk bar cookbook, and i think there's a lot of potential if i can convince myself to spend the money on it. freeze-dried fruit just feels like such a waste of money. i wonder how difficult it'd be to diy it?

very annoyed that --- made that mistake on saturday. it's not the first time he's done that. he also will not fix it. i can't keep correcting him on it because he is twice my age. he's also foh, so he shouldn't even be doing that in the first place. i'm very tired of the way he does not trust me to do my job...i don't even know where to begin with that. but i heard someone say he might be working less in a few months, so i'm honestly praying i heard that correctly. i'm just tired of the way he nags and micromanages---he's worse than my boss, which shouldn't be the case. i understand that he's been here longer than i have, but. uhh. i'm getting sick of this. i don't know how to bring this up with him either; telling him that i know what i'm doing and don't need him to shadow me doesn't get the point across. i wish he would just let me do my job and stay out of my way. unfortunately, this comes across as childish. i just want him to leave me alone and pretend he trusts me to get rice and cook food. the bigger problem is that other foh members---mostly the new ones---see what he does and copy him, and then i have to tell off someone who's been here for five months and shouldn't be touching that shit in the first place. sometimes he even tells them to do that stuff, which puts me in an awkward situation. i hate telling off the new foh girls for doing boh work. telling off isn't a good way of putting it---it's more like "hey, can you just leave that to the cooks?" and needing to elaborate with something along the lines of "you're inefficient, doing it wrong, creating new problems, and shouldn't be doing that at all." then it's "well, older coworker told me to" at which point i can only say he's wrong if he isn't there. if he is there he'll tell them to just do it anyways. i really can't stand it when senior guys keep doing something wrong---you can't tell them they're wrong, you just need to fix it behind their backs and pray the problem goes away. the funny part is that the rest of the senior foh do not do this stuff, some of who've been here even longer than he has.

idk maybe i do bring it up with the boss. i accidentally brought up some other problems about the same guy before, and was listened to; there was no "he's been here longer than you so it's fine." it was "yeah, he's been slacking off and we need to have a talk with him." on the other hand, it is busy season, and i feel bad adding "problems with this guy" to his plate. on the other hand, --- is not listening to me, so maybe it's time to say "hey i've tried, let's bring this to our boss and see what happens." but why do i have to feel like the asshole for this??? ffs.

okay. sitting at the coffeeshop has been nice, but i think it's time for me to go home. i'll try to grab a mochi donut. i will not stop at the bookstore, because i do not need to buy books. i'm back to reading on my computer for the foreseeable future---i have a path, a brief plan, and i will do what i can to follow it.

an offering---shadis wants to continue the workout and to get drunk. the hearth asks about the embroidery and eating enough food this week. the archivist demands the angel books and further inquiry into abramelin, then reaches for the french and hebrew and is cut off in his incessant desire for having it all. a morning for satisfaction---the time to exercise, the time to eat, the time to read; to choose to cover the bases, and then to spend the later time however.

opened up the bottle of cinnamon mead. i love the way it warms my throat and chest, but the cinnamon itself is too strong. i can't drink it the way i want to. i can't pinpoint where the urge to be drunk and just forget comes from right now---just one break, please, that's all i ask. maybe it's because i was reminded of work and wrote too much about it. the bad things that happened ran through me, so now i must flee them. or something. i want a break from being me, for a moment, and the occasional drunk is an adequate method for accomplishing it. yet with this bottle, the cinnamon overwhelms my palate. that being said, i did notice a meadery i'd be able to visit---i'd love a bottle of something with berries in it.

oh, did i mention i'd started a joke batch of mead? by joke, i mean it's just honey and tea, didn't even add yeast, so whether or not it ferments is a "we'll see." i used a small wine bottle, filled it to the neck, then covered it with a kleenex held by a rubber band. i don't know what it'll become, if anything. i remember reading of this kind of process in a book on mead. i almost wish i had the stuff i tossed, but. hmm. i need simple, small scale brews.

thinking about how every roommate i've had has had a boyfriend / romantic partner. is my singleness that strange? i don't think i'd've'd this thought if i lived alone. yet here it is, so prominent, so aggravating. girl1 was on the phone for hours, boy2girl2(+boy3?) would talk and laugh and have loud sex (presumably, it's not like i'm in the room to verify their activities). boy4girl3 were on the phone all the time until they moved in together, then it was all whatever the hell druggie activities they were getting up to. girl4 and boy5 were loud, and boy6 was quieter but still noisy. girl5boy7; girl5 had such a loud laugh, and they had their fair share of noisy sex and bathroom-hogging. girl6boy8 was another standard noisy couple. (do i say all couples are noisy? am i just adverse to people having fun and enjoying each others' company? how much sex noise is actually tolerable, vs. my thinking all of it is intolerable? i do not need to hear you moan. i do not want to hear it. you are not the only person in the house right now, and i am begging you to remember that. *loudly closes door*). i dunno, maybe i need to communicate better...by the way, the walls are not sound-proof and i can hear your noises through my headphones. i think there's two more couples i didn't include in the list. what-fucking-ever.

hah, loneliness---these people have their boyfriends over, but they rarely have friends over. oh, how strange. one of the new girls does have friends over on a regular basis, though, which is kind of nice to hear. or i tolerate average-noise-level-relationships more than i tolerate too-loud ones.

i fucking love olives. adding kalamata olives to the salad was the right move. kale? whatever. corn and beans? whatever. wonton strips? nice crunch; don't care. kalamata olives? the best thing in my mouth. all i want. heaven on earth. i wish i could live off of those brine-y bitches.

i find myself forming a shape and seeing the time it will take. if i constrain myself without punishing transgressions, i may take a new form. i tell myself to acknowledge the three each day, and even when fail to check in with them each week; to tie myself to some goals, whose result i know not of 'til i reach it. or the process is the result---i hate that, but it's true: if i repeat the process enough and let it became my daily life, it will be the result.

time goes so quickly. i don't care to calculate its best use. rather, i woke and daydreamed---my day off, let me enjoy!---then ate and cleaned and read and exercised and cleaned some more and made some salads and read some more and wrote some and chose next steps too. i went to the coffeeshop to enjoy AC and try a new latte; i contemplated what i meant and the concepts i needed and the framework i am developing. i wrote some more and people-watched a bit too. i had a honeydew mochi donut and walked home; as i passed the grocery store, i thought about how i needed to go grocery shopping in a few days and it'd be so much more efficient if i went now, and then i realized waiting until i need it more and am prepared is the sensible choice. i passed boys with fishing rods and men fixing cars; dogs barked and their owners' told them off. a bird left a bush, startling me. i got home and ate and played slay the princess; i injured a divine being and cast her aside. i read some discussion pages on steam, thought about writing about some ragebait post, and got distracted by trying to play the french translation of some short visual novel. i made flashcards and studied them and wondered if i'll do it again tomorrow. i thought about how my french grammar is pretty rusty and my vague recognitions will get me nowhere; i need to review the book on my bedside table so the cobwebs clear. the vocabulary is not the issue. i watched some youtube videos on health, ate, exercised again, stretched a bit, cleaned a bit, or was that this morning, can't recall, and what else? does it matter what else? i lay here and sip on mead, thinking about how i want to jerk off, wondering if i will, recognizing my alertness and whatnot. my leg taps against the wall while my fingers tap against the keyboard. i break firefox while i try to fix something, then spend a half hour troubleshooting until i've undone my mistakes and all is forgiven, i'm back to square one.

i wonder how i've gotten here.

i think it is best we don't ask.

i stare ahead and need to know what's next, what comes out of all of this, what will i become? i look for reasons to text ---, knowing i wouldn't even if i saw sense to. i realize this is because i feel alone. i realize this is a lie. i need an outburst; no, i need a digression from routine and a novel input, and trying to speak to someone would be such a thing. or is it that i want to be around a person?

i am thoroughly puzzled by my ramblings about loneliness. do i want to be this way, or do i want something to change? i sit in the void of my indecision; my longing and lack thereof an excuse to not make a choice. either i accept i am lonely and i will be content with that, or i give in to my discontent and reach out. the internet is fake, i cry, but apps for meeting friends are a real thing. there are solutions. do i want solutions?

i sit with the problem. for what end. what am i actually craving. warmth, physical contact. i wonder what it's like to have a conversation with someone---a real conversation, and not just bickering at work. i wonder what it'd be like to hang out with someone, and what i'd do, and what that even means for me. i think of how i have nothing to offer people. i'm but a whirlwind of problems, best kept behind the screen and experienced from a safe distance. my irl self is an unpalatable, over-filtered and under-filtered mess; an ill-thought-out impulse; a whim masquerading as human. i bring no good. all i do is take. what value do i have? inherently nothing. i go through motions as a shell. i need---what do i need? how would i become? becoming is a process.

i am educating myself on nonsense. why learn about academic magic. most see it as bullshit. to open my mouth is to be a rambling lunatic. who would suspend their disbelief for my own ignorance? who would care?

i cast aside these pitiful thoughts. lettuce breathe. before me is a bookshelf. on top of it is remnants of creativity---a box of index cards with drawings and words, some virgin sticky-notes, a disused bookmark. the top shelf contains books, a pencil case, and a wallet. there is a kindle and an nintendo switch and some video games. the pencil case contains index cards, an exacto knife, colored pencils, and some writing utensils. there is a bag with mascara and eyeshadow and q-tips and usb drives (they're in the other pocket). the second shelf contains a small container with bandaids, tweezers, nail clippers, other cables, a hard drive, and hair ties. watercolor supplies---watercolors and some paintbrushes---are beside this. there's another pencil case which contains scissors and other hair-cutting tools. there are more miscellaneous objects on this shelf, but in this darkness they escape my vision.

i contemplate going to sleep. my eyes are weary. still, there is something within me which yearns to break it, which will rewrite this essence. the pages are obscured---i am not i am undone and unprepared for the ritual, the red-dressed cardinals break in as i've already broken out, salad, an exit which will bring me to this other realm.

good night, sweet prince, and may flights of angels bring thee to thy rest.

20260615

i do not like my website. i appreciate the content, but i despise the design. the background images feel fake to me. there is a vein of honesty to them---these are pictures i've taken, after all, of places i've been. i love the desolate urban landscape. i love the concrete jungle. walking on a disused sidewalk along part of a highway(!) was a treasure. its beauty could not be understated. i like getting to see the behind-the-scenes landscapes which you won't catch in the driver's seat. i like the contrast between me, the pedestrian, and them, the cars. i feel like a speck of humanity in the place which was abandoned. there is beauty in an obsolete parking lot. the greenery which dots it contains a glimmer of hope. yes, the contrast between concrete and life is one of my many loves. i believe this is why i'm happier in a city than i could be in a small town. i am surrounded by the contrast between life and soullessness. all of these structures point to other worlds which i am not a part of---the factories, transportation, companies, lives which i do not live, things i don't know about which impact my life anyways.

right, i hate my website. i feel like i'm trying to copy someone else's work. whose? i'd started playing with background images to make the website more attractive. after all, i do want people to read it. then i found an image i genuinely wanted to use. it still feels fake. maybe this is because it's everywhere? i was looking through my older websites; i miss the elegant simplicity of monospace fonts over an off-white or dark-gray background. trying out real colors on some of my iterations of my current site---green, blue, purple---didn't sit right with me. they felt inauthentic.

i love vivarism's web design. she's put her own spin on cutesy / pastel design. as i'm thinking more closely, i realize there's something there that makes me feel like i'm sitting down for a picnic with a friend. i love the cozy, welcoming vibe. she uses so many images, and all of it is hers. this is a website that was distinctly made by a person who has put a lot of thought into how her site looks. the best part is that she writes quite a bit too; this is no empty shell, it is a lived in space.

hmm.

what other sites have a design i like? michaelmas, in every iteration, has had a lived-in simplicity. (there's that word again: lived-in). the design has always said something about him. and again, the site is not an abandoned shell. hat certainly deserves an honorary mention---it's the graphics, i think, and this slight---and i say this with respect, not hate---trashiness.

in contrast, i could go on about websites i dislike. one thing they have in common is bearblog-style css. the content of the page is in the center. their blog is a series of links with descriptive titles organized by day. the background, if there is one, is some impersonal image. sure, everything is readable and accessible, but it's not interesting! their writing, which is limited to a few posts, one of which is "their first blog post" where they express a desire to blog more, is as bland as their website is. there's something about sanitized, dull, uninspired websites which i despise.

hmm. i would say my website feels uninspired. oh, sure, i keep on writing and writing and writing. but time and volume are the only things differentiating me from these despicable "corners of the web." (i dislike that phrase as well).

20260616

still feel like death. i think i will talk to --- about --- today. yesterday was just the usual minor talking over me and ignoring me, but that's enough to support my belief that he does these things all the time. because he does. i would appreciate it if he listened to me. bonus points if he could pretend to trust me to do my job. i honestly start to wonder if all of his nagging is a way to try to get my job---it seems like he'd rather be boh than foh, and if he's not boh...well, he'll just do it anyways, because he's old and we can't say no.

sleep was frequently interrupted. i woke up every hour, if i'd ever been asleep to begin with, to use the bathroom and continue mentally ranting about work. i wanted to write it all out but i couldn't keep my eyes open. i was too tired. i tried to go to sleep because i was falling asleep while writing---a frequent theme for me. i was trying to make a list of the ways the nightmare route in slay the princess referenced house of leaves. i need to reread the navidson record, so that i can do this properly, but i think i'm grasping at straws. there are a few references. the "house of ... no leave" achievement implies that they're intentional references. however, what amounts to a few footnotes of inspiration does not an essay make.

i think i want to play with literary analysis when i'm playing video games. i don't like the way time disappears and i'm left with a story i enjoyed but barely remember. the fact that i'm trying to 100% slay the princess is not helping---i'm at 96%, missing four achievements, one of which is the gallery completion achievement. i need to stop, but i'm so close...

thankfully, i can use my notes to do a deconstruction-ish analysis. in the context of this story, what is the nightmare? how did we get here? how did our actions create these consequences? when she slices her arm off, you can chose to finish her off (the beast), or lock her up (the nightmare). what do these say about each other?

there is still a mark on my arm from the mirror. it is still the ill-deserved focal point of my room.

every time i look at charts, i remember the time someone told me my charts look schizophrenic. i stagger the numbers so they don't overlap---for your reference, imagine a table where on the left is a list of items, and on the right is blank spaces to write in how much of those items there is. if you write every number in the center of each space, you have to have small handwriting, and the numbers in each box will still overlap with each other anyways. i am not careful about having tiny handwriting. instead of writing in the center, i alternate between writing on the right and left side of the boxes. that way i can just write, quickly and efficiently, without risking the numbers overlapping. i'll admit that these people's charts do look more aesthetically pleasing than mine... but also sometimes their 5 & 6 and 3 & 8 look similar. either way, it's the strange judgement i'm cast with which bothers me. finding out that many coworkers thought my charts were weird bothered me. still does, kind of---i'm tired of people looking at me and saying i'm weird. there's a reason why i do the things i do. if you listened, instead of telling me i'm wrong and need to do things the 'right' way (when there is no one right way), you'd understand.

where does it go.

20260617

random memory hit me this morning. there were two girls i talked to a bit near the end of elementary school. i think we called each other friends, for a moment. one of them started to make fun of me a lot, so i didn't talk to her. the other one---i think i cut her off in 6th grade, roughly. there was this guy in our class who was very vocal about his interest in me. there was a bit of drama around him---the depressed, bad home life kind of drama (the next year, he was suspended a few times for trying to run away during school and for bringing in vodka(?). not sure how much was true and how much was rumor, but in hindsight, i have the impression that he had problems at home). his interest in me led to me being dragged into drama i just did not want to be a part of. honestly, if he wasn't violent and i was less anxious, i probably would've said yes to him.

the point of all of this---that girl. the one i thought i was friends with. she was pressing me onto him a lot. i'd tell her i didn't like him like that; she'd ignore me. him and i had similar interests---most of our school didn't read anything, much less manga, so the rare conversation we had about which manga we were reading (from the town library, too) was nice. i did like getting to talk to someone who didn't just see me as a pretentious bookworm. this only made things worse. so much worse. why can't i just be treated like a person. why does he keep harassing me. why does she keep harassing me about him. why can't people just leave me alone. i'd try to tell her off, but she wouldn't listen to me, and so i felt like my only option was to stop talking to her.

i don't know why i was thinking about that. why? she was just another person who i'd talk to in school but never outside of. i feel like that year marked the start of my exile. the following year certainly completed it.

i think that if my parents just asked me what was wrong, things would've been different. i remember them yelling at me for looking sad all the time. i remember them accusing me of doing drugs, and going through all of my stuff when i said i wasn't. (i was 12 and in a pretty well-off small town. weed was still illegal. where was i supposed to be getting drugs from?). then they told me i was just trying to get attention and be dramatic and that i needed to stop acting out because they didn't have time for this. at the end of the day, they decided, the books i was reading, and definitely the manga, was the problem. was that when they tried to screen all the books i read? they failed on that one after a week, but they certainly made it clear they meant it...there was drama about my computer too. i'd made an email account without telling them. the only reason for it was that i needed a facebook account to get rewards in a game i was playing (dragon mania legends). they wouldn't accept that answer though. cue more arguments about me wanting privacy, and them saying i shouldn't have anything i need to keep from my parents, and on and on and on in circles. the funny thing was that they never thought to look at the websites i was on---around the same time, i discovered fanfic, and oh boyyyyyyyy did i read some things that they would have had a problem with. facebook account? big problem. non-school email address? even worse. quotev? what's that? ao3? well, it has archive in the title, so it's probably educational...

20260617

displeasure---shadis is unsatisfied, the archivist half, and the hearth i guess. undertale was homeliness and death; i began with genocide, and then i moved onto sparing, but as i reached the core and hotlands i felt the urge to experiment and kill them all. after all, why not? i expected to feel something from this, but instead i feel a continued hollowness and a vague discontent. i do not enjoy grinding. i want to see "but nobody came;" is it too late in the game to find that? i wanted to feel the satisfaction of taking myself out on something. but the monsters all blend together. they're a senseless, formless mess which i must vanquish. how many more, oh lord, until i appease thee?

i am my own lord.

i started reading arguing with angels, by egil asprem. (memory: an acquaintance yelling at me because i said the title of the book and forgot the author; i didn't realize he was asking about the author until he told me to tell him who the author was, at which point he proceeded to shit on me/the book because it was written by a woman. i do not remember the book). (memory from the same man: something about magic being bullshit, and my inability to define what i meant. i had not yet read enough to say what i meant, and even if i knew what i know now, he would have yelled at me anyways. if he were reading this, he'd talk about how he failed to make me a better person, how all i did was waste his time, and probably work in a bit about suicide here too. why did we talk?). the author has provided a tremendous amount of context for john dee's angel experiments, and pointed out how his work with edward kelly is what has survived, even though kelly is not the only scryer he worked with. the author cites arguments made by a dr. sledge who is probably the same as the one who runs the esoterica youtube channel. this was an interesting connection to see.

i wonder if the harkness book on dee's experiments would've been more useful to me. i want to know more about his experiments + enochian + angels, and not only the context. still, the context lends credentials to his work. i would like to continue reading this book, and not discard it in favor of something i perceive to be more fitting. i'm about 1/5 of the way through (not including the bibliography, lol). i think scrying would be an interesting technique to work with. i swear, the majority of magical techniques i run into have to do with divining the future and making certain things happen---what about understanding the underlying reality itself? i'm convinced enochiana offers some of what i seek.

unfortunately, today is a day where my head is full of fog and i refuse to focus. there is a boulder preventing me from being more than a zombie. what would it take to overcome this boulder? i am convinced that an energy drink is the answer. yet...

this fog, this fog, this god-damn fog, and the loneliness seeps back in, and once again all i want is to be held; i play a game and wish for someone to be there with me, for us to bond---that would be the right word, wouldn't it?---over the shared experience, misery, frustrations, exuberance. to be beyond words and the individual, and to enter into the realm of the shared feeling!

i have always felt a craving for another realm. i thought my answers came in the form of strange internet communities; i was once knee-deep in reality shifting. i did not want an improved version of this life. i wanted a drastically different one, where i was alone, with only a few other people to guide me.

"...and i want something else. i'm not even sure what to call it anymore except i know it feels roomy and it's drenched in sunlight and it's weightless and i know it's not cheap. probably not even real." (hol pg20)

that's not it either. what i want is an infinite abyss, a dark, hollow, endless space to traverse. somewhere i can dissect and make my own. a land whose rules i learn and write; a place which changes shape around me, and a place which is mine alone. the land i control and the land that controls me. a mutual relationship. i discover and it teaches.

one of the new roommates is already moving out. i learned this through facebook---room for rent, up today. i'd take it if i didn't want to go through the hassle of sub-leasing my room.

a jitter enters my heart; the fog has penetrated my nonexistent essence and made its home in my absent soul. i stare. what do i want? my fingers slow to a stop; i cannot type any longer. i will die here. i reach for comfort which i cannot find. everything is too much right now. i cannot engage in the active doing; i must placate myself with the passive doing.

20260618

a temporary note---something about being, about not-being, about strange content and discontent, what had i written, what will i wrought? i'd noted an infiniteness, an expansiveness, a discontent with the definite. caged to boxes or free to roam. most would prefer i lock myself in a box. find some labels, find some interests, tie myself down into their discontent. the problem with a cage is that you will only grow within it. you may find its limits, and you will grow to its limits, but you will forever be confined to the cage. meanwhile, i have rejected the cage.

"there is creativity within constraint" or something, or so people say. to be sure, constraints provide a foundation; they are a starting point to work within. but at some point, the constraints will become constraints. will you develop new constraints, or deny them outright?

i do not know what i speak of. i do not know what i write for---well, myself. hah. i'd thought something about---what was it? if only i could---the words were lost. something about---right. asceticism. there is a point to the book of abramelin. the ritual forces intunation. if one is to complete it by sheer stubbornness alone, one will attain results. this is slightly beautiful. one will get somewhere through sheer determination and the reminder of what they're reaching for.

from this understanding, there is something quick and dirty about it. (in an 18 month ritual? how could that be quick?) well...everything will be revealed in time. that's not what i meant to say. the lack of technique is a kind of technique. no, i know not of which i speak.

i wonder if i could force myself into asceticism, for my benefit? if i can withdraw into my studies---i've always wanted to be able to do such a thing. i feel myself working for it. with a small bit more time, and another hint of determination, i just might be able to get to where i want to get. this is a continuous refining. with time, i will reach my goal, and i will become the endless expanse which i must be, will be, am.

started a short story. maybe it'll be a longer one. i was rereading "flowey is not a good life coach" and thought about that star wars fic by blank101 and luke's transformation within it. the transformative element of both fics is what appeals to me. how do we turn someone into something that they're not?

the life coach fic revolves around flowey traumatizing papyrus. that's it, pure and simple. flowey pushes papyrus to train harder and become stronger. flowey punishes papyrus and keeps him on edge. in return, papyrus becomes increasingly on edge, and his relationships suffer. the heart of the fic has papyrus and sans growing distant. this is lovely. papyrus can't tell sans what is going on, and in return sans keeps jumping to conclusions and feeling hurt by him.

anywho.

i sit here and think. have i done my writing for the day? is this what i meant to accomplish?

20260620

had some kids try to shove me into the middle of the street while i was trying to walk to the coffee shop. ugh. pure frustration. what the hell is wrong with this town. children are light, so it was pretty easy to walk through them, but also what the hell is wrong with kids these days. shoving around people is rude...not that that means anything to them. i think they only backed off because some other older guy turned the corner...it was like they saw him and decided it wasn't worth messing with me.

they do make me wary of passing the same way on the way home. i was going to stop by the grocery store, but if they're still causing problems in that area, maybe not. the funny thing is that they aren't harmful, just annoying. can't you find something better to do than harass strangers?

anywho. tried to drop off some books, but the place was closed. so now i'm walking around with an unnecessary volume of books. i'll deal with them...later...somehow........maybe i'll just take the excuse.

i don't know what i'm trying to do. clean up? clean out? fixating on something in hopes of accomplishing something?

20260621

eternally frustrated. going to crash out i think. can't focus on anything. rage at children for acting like idiots. the last time i went to target after work i almost got hit by a kid on a bike. i need to go there tomorrow---should've gone today, maybe, too late---and think of it happening again. i catastrophize about a child running into me with their bike. how much would it hurt? what damage would be done? i don't have health insurance. would the damage be lasting? would there be blood? if i called --- to pick me up, would he, and what would happen? would the child be hurt? would it face any consequences? i see someone on the town reddit who says that these kids get hurt, and when they recover they go right back to their antics.

yeah the thing with the kids yesterday is definitely getting to me. would yelling at them, instead of merely telling them to back off, have done anything? what was i supposed to do? i tried to look through reddit for "adult attacked by kids" and couldn't find much useful. two posts in two different subreddits for two different countries, and several posts from (substitute) teachers getting attacked by students. but the overall consensus seems to be that retaliating against minors is illegal, roughly. (reminded against some problems with kids at the restaurant; sure, you can file a report with the police, but there won't be consequences.)

convinced there is something wrong with me. don't know how to figure out what it is or how to solve it. decide every choice i've made is wrong. none of these paths fit. i stare at a book and zone out. i can't focus on the words. i feel as if i am degrading. look up videos, they're useless and don't address the problem. i think i don't think enough.

i pull out house of leaves. i read a chapter. the "goddamn spatial rape" began when the navidsons went to a wedding. the meaning of this seems obvious. the navidsons aren't married, but karen and navy have been together for---over a decade, was it twelve years? contrast between marriage and lack thereof. the promise of a lasting relationship and a lasting relationship which lacks commitment. the house as a symbol of the possibility of commitment; the interior representing the lack.

karen disregarding the problem---"'i don't care,' she tells navidson. 'stop drilling holes in my walls.'" navidson disregarding her taking issue with his actions. both of them disregard the root of the issue. karen wanting navidson to step back and look after the family. navidson equipping the symbol of it, then finding a way to turn his family into part of his job via recording them. his work satisfies is intellectual curiosity more than his family does. he needs a problem to work with. she doesn't want a problem; she wants a family.

there is space between them. karen ignores it. navidson can approach it from an intellectual standpoint, but he can't address the problem as himself, which is another way of ignoring the problem. "a fraction of an inch" (38) brings navidson to reconnect with tom, his brother, yet it increases the distance between navidson and karen. the children compromise by inhabiting the space (39). they are too young to see the issues between their parents; they, like the space between their parents, are the product of their parents.

this is nothing. this is inconsequential. this is a surface-level regurgitation; a fact-finding mission half-embarked on and half-forgotten. i have nothing to say, so why do i say it anyways? i try to see it as a creative exercise. i used to be better at those. i stare at my bookshelf. i am surrounded by half-finished projects and ideas; halfway done embroidery, half-written emails, half-paid bills; sitting in a half-clean room on a half-clean bed.

i tell myself to put it all away. i do not need to throw it all away, i remind myself, i insist. i can keep things for future use. i haven't been baking much because it's too hot out to have the oven on; certainly, i will return in the fall. my supplies are acceptable. i haven't used the switch much either (the nintendo kind), but that doesn't mean i need to get rid of it. i know i'll use it in the future. (especially if i ever buy animal crossing.............)

i am hungry. my room is less cluttered. i am not satisfied. this is not enough. i need to hit the bottom. what bottom?

time ticks slowly. i close my eyes to fantasize about the sensation of a person; i want imaginaryBoy to pat my head and hug me and tell me everything will be fine in the end.

20260622

from conversations with angels, by deborah harkness:

"In particular, the angel conversations confirmed Dee's belief that the natural world was analogous to a text. But the Book of Nature was not a reliable text; it was an imperfect, corrupt, and decaying text that could not be read properly." (4)

20260623

read 'universal magick,' by corwin hargrove, last night / this morning. i'd been avoiding recently published books, but went with this one because it came up in lists of books for learning enochian magick + was short. the book is short because it is succinct. i think this is a nice foundation text which introduces the reader to parts of enochian magick they can easily work with. the book is not complicated; it's like manifestation with some extra steps.

anywho, i tried using the power for transformation from his book to try to help me achieve some goals. (notably, to actually be determined and complete goals, not just wish for them). i felt this sort of high after completing the ritual, and was more alert than i've been in a long time. i definitely felt like i was attuning myself to the higher power / aether that i've been thinking about. did this immediately do anything---well i did go exercise, then write out a concrete list of goals, then made an extra payment on a loan; after work, i finished tidying up my room, doing some decluttering, and fixing up the space (i have a desk and chair setup now. huzzah. these were from a dumpster and the side of the road).

i am pleased with myself for writing out a concrete set of things i'm working on. "study magick for 1hr/day 6x week" is good. i can do that. i can accomplish that without feeling like i'm failing. honestly completing the chloe ting workout challenge is the hard part, especially since i kinda just gave up last week. i couldn't complete it today either. i attribute this to being tired from walking for an extra 2hr yesterday.

sitting in a chair and typing is weird. i do not remember the last time i did this. feels nice tho.

maybe it's the mead talking, but i feel as if all of my reaching and rambling has not been for naught; i can finally see. something is taking shape before me. its esoteric nature meant that it took more time, but i can finally see it. properly filtering will be a struggle; i have spent much time denying filters. but in time i will learn to filter, and that will help me see more clearly.

20260625

time passes quickly and slowly. i want to rip coworker2's face off. why is he like this. and he points his grubby fingers at me and says i'm the grumpy one?! pshh. he's been in A Mood all week. the silent stoic groans and sighs and Does Not Want to Work With People behavior is aggravating enough as is. i can take one day of it. four?! get a grip, prince. m---i ask him where he needs help and what tickets he hasn't dropped yet, and he's kinda just deflecting it. in the middle of a rush. when we finally have the third person who can make this process go smoothly. why are you acting like this. i am here to help get the job done! i am your deeeeeeeentist--------sorry, coworker. wrong reference. poing being UGH UGH UGH.

venting aside. nope, i need to fight him. this is the only solution. i must take out my frustration somewhere, on something, with something. nothing will satisfy this frustration. that's all it is, pent up frustration.

(imagine me continuing to vent / mutter at myself for fifteen minutes. what a great use of time.)

read some extreme horror novel---the abuse of ashley [something], by john athan---this morning that had me wondering what happens to a child if they kill their family and are promptly arrested. i can picture a novel---three decades later (optimistic?), they're released, probably just trying to get a god-damn job and live a peaceful, quiet life. for five years, they've been pretty successful in being a faceless nobody, but some coworker starts putting their nose places they shouldn't, and some horrifying details begin to come to light...can they find a way to hold onto the peaceful life they'd built for themself, or will they skip town and start over again?

would need to do a lot of research to make this work though. i don't know enough to write a book from the perspective of an older person (surprisingly, i am not in my late 40s. yet. that's a threat), much less one who has been imprisoned, much less one who committed familicide. but the whole "what happens next" (if you're not given a death sentence) aspect does sound interesting to me...food for later thought, not now thought. i'd started skimming through wikipedia articles earlier, enough to notice i could probably find the kind of information i'm looking for. did notice a curious overlap between "children who kill their families" and "children who become school shooters." the character i want to write is not part of the latter group. i imagine an abuse situation, something where there's no way out; well, the book i read this morning had me thinking it's something collective, where all family members played a role in abusing the character. i don't think this character denies what they did or resists being arrested. i think that when they were done, they felt a sense of peace and contentment. "it's finally over."

i imagine this character finding a job as a line cook, learning quickly, and turning into "that older person" (/positive). they're mysterious, but they're reliable and likable. the employer is half-aware that they have a criminal record, but has hired enough ex-cons to just not care. someone asks the character for their social media. character says they don't have any. that someone insists it's a lie, and they'll find it anyways. that someone is young, naive, and thinks that character has some regular ass social media accounts that they will look at for two seconds and forget about. instead, that someone clicks through a few pages and discovers that character was responsible for a brutal series of murders when they were a teenager. that someone grows distant and withdrawn, and makes some weird comments hinting that character has done some unsavory things. this continues to escalate into a Whole Thing that threatens to destroy character's relatively peaceful life. there's a whole "is this true? are you ____?" moment where character will either acknowledge or deny what people have found.

unfortunately, i'm not sure how character will react to that moment. they're torn between honesty, keeping the peace, and how this really isn't an appropriate conversation and it's none of these kids' business. does character get ahead of the situation and talk to the employer before the rumors get out of hand? does character keep brushing it off because they just don't want to talk about it (valid)? which of these offers an opportunity for character growth, and what direction do i want them to grow in? "nowhere's safe-->suicide" is unsatisfying, even if there's an undercurrent of sense to it.

anywho, i gotta read before i can write that one. if i ever would. whatevs.

i am such a blank slate that it's depressing.

20260626

feel like death right now. why am i like this. what am i fucking doing here and what is the point. tried to exercise and gave up immediately; honestly thought i was going to start crying or some shit. idk why i just feel like garbage right now. oh, look, i'm spiraling.

i wonder what is left of me when you remove the lies
what is there left, that you can see
behind these tired eyes?

can you catch a hope, a dream,
a whiff of future i adore?
there's nothing there, i think, i mean
behind that padlocked door.

i only exist to wander and ramble---
what an empty stare!
so i suppose i'll end this preamble
there, right there.

*this* close to crying over a deltarune mini boss. i fucking can't do bullet hell games. this is not a hard fight. i know it is not a hard fight. i just need to survive five turns...i think...i keep fucking dying. i lose a little over 1/3 of my hp each turn. i cannot dodge. why the hell am i so bad at this. i couldn't even finish chapter 4, i just tried to load chapter 5 on a whim and found out i could (yay) and now i don't care. why did i buy this game when i can't fucking play it.

20260628

damn it's already the 28th? anywho. did more meal prep today. hey, for the last three! weeks, i've been grocery shopping twice a week, which has prevented me from wasting food and spending an excessive amount of time on meal prep. which is kinda funny, because i used to think that more grocery shopping meant more waste, but apparently small grocery trips twice a week works well for me. i have made multiple salads in the past few weeks (inspiring. wow. so healthy). people at work keep commenting on how healthy my meals work...it's funny because they are lazy meals. i had a bag of cauliflower with rice and some seasonings and someone thought it looked AND sounded good. very nice.

okay i have not had rum in a long time. this is nice. i kept saving it for caneles but it is summer and i do not want to turn the oven on and i am making cocktails, not caneles. so i mixed it with the lemon-lime electrolyte mix i have---interesting call---and the lemon juice i have, which is an interesting combination. that and enough sugar to counteract the "sugar free" part

[lost]

tired and lost and in a haze. where am i and why have i been. who am i to do and be. make plans, discard, float and fog and float some more. i wanted to invite --- over to play video games. i thought about how nice it would be to play a visual novel with someone---to argue over the choices we were choosing, to try to get whatever ending we wanted to get, to...and so on and so forth. laughing and howling over strange character scenarios.

i played killer chat this morning. the possible love interests were mostly interesting---v, a vigilante (after my own heart); misaki, an anxious mess (an anxious serial killer? how interesting. who couldn't resist the chaos); ronin, a psycho (typical bad boi). angel bored me, she just gave off "mother" vibes. i managed to get ronin's ''''''bad ending'''''' (true good). i love how the game calls the positive endings bad endings because, to paraphrase, dating serial killers is bad. i appreciate it ending with that reality check---that sort of "hey this is a game; this kind of behavior is not okay irl" note that the serial killer fandom needs but ignores. (vaguely remember once stumbling upon flower crown edits of school shooters. wtf. "oh he's cute" no, can we not? i just. this is the real world, people. hell, rpf is not okay either, for celebrities or serial killers. but i'm getting off topic.)

hmm, i do what to replay and go for the other characters' endings out of a genuine interest in them. what is v's backstory? does he also find out about my character's true identity (writer, not serial killer)? how does he get to know my character? and so on. heh.

i was kind of annoyed with myself for choosing ronin because of course i pick the asshole who is toying with me. of course i go with a guy who repeatedly threatens to kill me. of course i kiss a serial killer in an alleyway where he disposed of many of his kills. pick the provocative dick, why dontcha.

feelin' like a void and not vibing with it. my lack of self bothers me. i have nothing to cling onto. things leave my life as soon as they come into it. i started writing down notes for a game about this---something that would be wandering through rooms and reading text. not a visual novel! for once. i might go through with it and figure out how to use...rpgmaker? or something. eh. i'll see in the morning. this is probably another idea that i'm going to forget about. that being said, i do have three pages of notes, and the basic idea of "thoughts spiral out of control" is easy enough to write. i just need to turn it into a plan and figure out the mechanics of it. hmm.

ill and don't know if it's the alcohol or the ice cream.

one more note on killer chat---i loved the sunset guy. especially on christmas, when he's just dramatically announcing the pictures he's posting in the main chat. he sounded so happy to get to post his sunset pics on the main channel instead of in the media channel. something about "retired killer who will stay retired because wife and kids" was really sweet.

20260629

oh shit i gotta remember to pay rent.

anywho. back to my eternal vagueness. i feel as if my thoughts must stay half-formed because that is the only way for me to act on them. once a thought is fully formed, there is no reason to act on it---it has already been brought to completion, so must i re-enact it upon reality? i can only see a creative work to its end if i do not know where it is going. if i start out cognizant of the ending, well, what's the point in getting there.

the black mass stretches against the wall, covering the space with its improbably spindly legs. my dad meant it as a joke, a way to get a reaction out of me, and yet it has threatened to eat me alive for nearly two decades. i am not laughing. he would be, if he still knew i existed. but who cares? a mass of spots on my back itches. another shadow stands in the corner and watches, disappointed. i know he is there. he knows i know he is there. we fail to properly acknowledge each other. how do i render him visible? how will we speak each others' language?

shadis used to be mara---that distorted, ever-watching set of limbs---and now he is merely he-who-maintains. yet i fail to give him control. he rots in darkness, forgotten, as the body is given over to the hearth. the hearth rules all.

my mouth feels dirty, this vessel putrid, my body unclean. sweat has infected me. someone grabs my hand on accident, and i apologize. i want to make a terrible joke---wow, i didn't know you were interested in me like that---and i abstain because that is a step too far, too real, a half-betrayed interest in an unknown man.

i nearly texted you, i wanted to say. i honestly wanted you to come over. you wouldn't, would you? you'd've ignored me, and probably told me off after i sobered up and frantically apologized. i think i just wanted to cling to someone else. ugh, the urge! it consumes me. i continue to act as what i am, or what am i not, what i fail to be...

what failures have i not yet committed? what am i trying to be, and why am i so concerned with this? i say i will accelerate towards my annihilation---yes, yes, i reach for it so! and yet i despise it as i engage with it. the only way out is through, i vow, but i grow sick of the process and yearn for results. i shall find something else, i wonder, shall i? i don't think i can, i realize, i discover, i yearn.

when will my indecision come to an end? i pick at a scab and watch my arm bleed relentlessly---i should stop doing this, but i love watching it fail to heal, the prick of my fingers forcing blood to trail down my skin. i wipe it off on my notebook, admiring the crimson stain. on my arm, the blood forms beads, still dripping. it dries up after a precious minute. i yearn to dig my nails into it again, to rip apart my untouched skin, to draw blood out from my veins. it is quite beautiful. i can't dare force it to happen, so i may only appreciate the happy accident.

a life forms and disappears.

20260630

dream. i woke up at 6pm, realized i was late for work, and tried not to overthink the lack of phone calls or texts. surely someone noticed i wasn't there? or were they merely relieved? i got there at 7pm and forgot to clock in. i immediately went to work on the dishes, since the boys were on their phones and listening to music and not working. my boss looked at me, harrumphed, and said "it's about time you showed up" before going back to his computer. after half an hour, i was feeling increasingly crappy, and ran to the bathroom for a brief vomiting session. when i emerged, i looked like shit. my boss started yelling at me about how i need to control myself and talk to people before i have mental breakdowns at work. after a few minutes, i yelled CAN YOU JUST SHUT UP ALREADY; he trailed off and listened. when i told him i had been vomiting and wanted to go home, he stuck his fingers in my mouth to check, and confirmed that i had bad breathe. then he went on about how the guys couldn't close without me because they aren't doing their jobs (eye rolls). i went back to the dishes and had to rinse off bags of cheese. there was no space on the dish rack and i kept feeling like i was going to vomit again. i opened up the fridge to put the cheese away and found dozens of expired juice containers. everybody was done closing and i still had dishes upon dishes upon dishes to get done. then we were outside, and the police were stopping us for a discussion on proper footwear. they pointed to my flat soles as "acceptable," and another kid as "dangerous." "yeah, we'll have none of those thug shoes in my business," said our boss. the two kids wearing "thug shoes" ran off. later i was at a used clothing store. byyyyyyyyeeeeeeeeee.

i'm flipping through the deck of runes. what did i expect to get out of this? a whim, i think, or a proof that i can do some of the things i want to do. i don't think i accomplished that. i want something to revolutionize my life and give it a shape. i want to adopt a form. i want a new face right now / and i want it bad (pig - sparklehorse).

checking on my spending and being frustrated while knowing i shouldn't be. i put thrice what i'd aimed to put into the savings account, while also making a significantly higher payment on my student loans than usual. so while my spending feels "out of control," this feeling is not reflected in the numbers. the numbers say i'm doing more than fine. i talk myself out of more purchases than i talk myself into.

'dunkin' still seems to be a guilty pleasure. sure, i go once or twice a week. why does this bother me. it is impulsive. i don't like the food very much---it's meh. i want a special thing for myself. why can't i find that at home. sometimes this feels like an incentive on days when i have work first thing in the morning---i get to deviate from my routine and have something i wouldn't usually have. it's not about coffee. it's sort-of about food, but also not really. there's just this feeling i get from it.

and this bothers me. for the cost of two $6 meal deals, i could have bought a pack of 8 name-brand breakfast sandwiches from the store, or a container of cold brew and the ingredients for a week of breakfast sandwiches. see? much better deal. but that wouldn't give me the feeling i'm chasing after. what would?

having a popsicle, apparently. i bought a box of coconut popsicles last night. i ate two on my way home, another at home, one more this morning, and the final one this night. clearly i enjoyed them. but that wasn't the answer either. uuuuuuggggghhhhh.

arguing with --- more than usual. i think i need to just clam up and silently work with him. no more chit-chat with any coworker. just brush off everybody and move on. people are so much effort, and for what? boss is going to be a jerk next week and i cannot give him any reason to cut my hours. just gotta overprep where i can and anticipate next week's problems. that is why i'll knock out another batch of garlic before the end of the week, and pre-emptively take care of monday's things even though i logically shouldn't. i just need to be good enough to make sure all of his known triggers aren't a problem. they finally put me back on the nice shifts---even though the pace isn't different...---and i cannot give them a reason to change that.

granted, i think working with --- 4x a week is getting on both of our nerves. i love him to bits, but also. there is such a thing as too much. and this is too much...

deleted facebook. need to verify i can resign the lease, but i'm not anticipating that being a problem. next year, i can put effort into finding a place. maybe another raise will make itself known. maybe housing will suddenly become a lot more affordable. (sometimes the problem seems like it isn't that i'm not in a well-paying job; it's WHERE ARE THE PLACES YOU CAN AFFORD WITHOUT MAKING $50K/YEAR. everybody wants 3x rent, and then the cheapest studio is $1500. and where are my subpar studio apartments at?! i don't need the nicest "recently renovated" place...i just need somewhere that is okay and acceptable and safe and vermin-free. oh, wait, the subpar ones are the $1500 ones...whatever. i will find a unicorn next year.)

arbitrary new diary 202606

my head's a gun (from "kitchen fork")