notes from another side

20251217

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

20251219

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

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

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

20251221

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

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

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

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

20251222

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

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

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

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

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

20251225

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

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

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

20251226

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

20251228

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

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

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

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

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

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

20251230

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

20251231

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

20260101

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

20260103

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

20260104

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

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

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

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

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

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

20260106

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

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

20260107

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

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

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

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

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

20260108

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

20260111

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

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

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

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

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

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

20260115

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

20260117

From Down below, by Leonora Carrington:

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

20260119

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

20260120

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

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

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

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

Am I lonely?

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

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

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

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

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

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

20260121

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

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

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

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

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

20260125

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

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

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

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

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

20260201

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

20260202

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

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

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

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

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

20260206

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

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

20260207

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

20260208

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

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

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

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

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

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

You need to look it up and listen to it.

20260209

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

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

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

20260210

Alternative forms of maxxing:

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

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

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

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

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

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

re. an article

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

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

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

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

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

20260212

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

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

20260215

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

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

20260217

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

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

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

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

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

20260221

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

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

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

20260222

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

20260223

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

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

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

From The Extinction of Experience, by Christine Rosen:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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