journal 4
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july 28th 2:43am
This summer has been spent with diligent guardrails against the persistent doldrums,
a safe distance away from others maintained, and a reoccurring smile on my face that tells you that my life is especially worthless yet somehow I'm happier than thou. Reading, writing, drawing, not much of any of that.
Television, yes, except I stopped watching the comedy show Search Party five seasons in because the hostage narrative started to become relatable and I frankly disgusted myself. The connection is obvious enough, I've not had an opportunity to be able to leave the house in months. So, I won't plead for you to forgive the immaturities of my automatic mind, but I suppose as usual I'll tell you I personally assuaged those thoughts like they were a small impudent boy and put that relentless topic away.
I don't think my goal of a happy summer was delusional. I think I had one.
I've been online on Second Life. I like meeting people. I like people who are compassionate. If you like being a voyeur, I started posting about these exploits-- cautiously, experimentatiously --on Bluesky. That account may go dead as I'm not befit for social media, but it's less work (and website space, admittedly,) than maintaining a webpage for it right now.
Simple things and my gratitude for them. Smooth white bedsheets, an open window with a clean breeze. A lovely Doll's house, an exciting and hopeful Person's dreams, a Doll's belligerent anger and high-raising-hackles at every stressor. A []erson's apathy at raised-hackles. It's all interesting to watch, I say. But, then, I guess I'm partaking in lived experience rather than watched experience more than some. How does this keep happening?
I'm a very competitive and protective person!
Here's last night's PHILANTHROPIC WONDEROUSTHOUGHT:
"Not a single person in the world who isn't a flimsy translucent bookmark when it comes down to it."
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