Nonexisting

 Journaling has been impossible. I open the book and struggle to summarize the very recent past, even the simplest narratives with firm characters, places and events. 

Things are not really happening. Anything I do is just to get to the next act of the play. My desires are dormant, and my human-ness is just brownian motion against the rooms that I am in, and the person I live with.

Maybe I hated Twin Peaks: The Return, because it is too much like Pandemic Life. Everything happens in slow motion, but time means nothing. People are stupid and distracted. Violence is ubiquitous, expected but still surprising.

Sometimes I cry about how I feel, and I'm not sure if I'm feeling self-pity, or if I am just looking for a way to express my sadness. Am I the only one I can feel for? I don't mourn my depression for my sake, I am sad for the people around me who could be experiencing the joyful, creative person I can be. 

This still feels indulgent and self-defeating. I don't see a way to feel better, but I believe that I can make myself feel worse. I am so careful not to make myself feel worse, because there is no way to regain lost ground, not permanently. 

Before a meeting I will be staring into space, lost in the many things I feel I have to do, in a loop of not-doing. During a meeting, like my spine popping in a twist, suddenly I can describe to the others how and when I will do everything they need. I smile and blast energy through the cybersphere. Sometimes it feels like violence. It must be a lie, but in the moment it feels very true; automatic, encoded, the only possible way to be.

SB watches Eric Rosen play chess downstairs. The bling of the Bits, the chipper text-to-speech, is all very familiar.

What is next?

I daydream so much. I daydream about a home that I feel ownership of. I daydream about work that creates community and safety for people I know. I dream about a collaboration with the land, with the cycles of nature. I daydream about a family. I daydream about sex and love and connection and uncertainty. I live in imagined scenarios that play in a stutter, slowly advancing from finish to prosperity. There is not very much real work in these dreams. I dream about what it is like when it is done. 

My brother is safe and happy, and strong. That makes me so glad. 

My parents also seem good, though I have so much trouble understanding them. I want to see them, and reconnect. I want to think more generously about them. I want to fixate less on their flaws. 

SB is a great partner. He is honest, and playful, and brave and sweet.

Edith is a great friend. Sometimes being friends from far away is confusing, and I have trouble because I feel like I have to decide between sharing my true reactions and my utilitarian reactions - the ones that I think she wants, or will advance us past the muddy moments. The answer is always to ask a question, rather than share an opinion. 

This has been a successful moment of introspection. Thank you.