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Grotto

Limits of endurance

I have discovered a pattern where I stay awake unproductive, unable to sleep and yet afraid to begin anything meaningful lest I find flow and put off sleep when it could come.

I seem to be always afraid of finding the right thing at the wrong time.

In any case, unable to sleep this evening after four episodes of an old TV show and having - just - started a movie and finding I don't have the attention span to read it, I'm turning to a bit of writing.

It occurs to me that this may be the first time in some while I expect any of this read at any particular point. I've had the occasional comment from a friend which will remind me that I do in fact put this up for the world to read if it happens to care - read or not, that's not the purpose. But I've been saved so many times by the trivial action of someone leaving their own story open for others to stumble over - the co-humanism of being not alone in an experience or perspective - that it seems almost selfish to keep it closed. It doesn't require ego to think that everyone has something to offer, so if by no effort of my own I still help someone, so much the better.

Strange feeling when it's not functionally anonymous, though.

Still trying to discover what meaning is. I suspect I'd find it in harder work, but I give so much during my hours of employment I have very little left for me. I don't think it's just laziness, as I'm hardly lazy in any other part of my life. I think I've burned the candle at both ends for too many years, and that even the time off I did have always featured a dreadfully unhealthy environment.

The little things are going along as I would hope. My progress on independence inspires a tiny glow when I look at it, which isn't as common as it was, which is probably good. Being not-singleminded about it is healthier and probably happier. I have gotten to a point where I don't need things anymore, not often. I spent a giftcard on birthday coffee for myself - an Ethiopian with complex citrus-berry-smoke notes that is almost too good to drink on regular days. I'm trying to learn to let regular days be special sometimes, especially when I don't have a choice in the matter. I certainly am no good at letting special things be special. I had a hard time convincing myself to get lunch with friends on my birthday, so much so that I didn't announce anything until I had just hours to go.

Tomorrow I am allowing to be special-just-because. I have to turn in a rent check - I've been waiting days to do it, as every time I'd mean to swing by I'd either be too pressed for time or they wouldn't be office as expected, and the change in management has meant that their website portal is down. So I'm going to get up early. Damn the dishes and the other chores I usually leave for morning. I'm going to go down as soon as the office opens, and get it taken care of. I'll go back and sit on my balcony in the unseasonable warm sunlight or maybe just open all the bedroom windows and continue the process of letting old things go and when I feel like it I'll go pick up a courtesy fancy coffee and spend the day on our chat system and in a company meeting I'm looking forward to.

Things outside my tiny fragile self-world are changing rapidly. I'm not sure how to approach any of it and for the most part I have been leaving it alone. I come by and visit. I don't ever quite know what to say.

Even that took the wind out of me for over an hour. It's really true - I have no idea what to say. My life is so divergent from everything in their sphere - I go to work, I kill myself, I go home, I sleep or fail to sleep. The time I spend not doing these things is almost universally spent with my partner. That's not an ideal state of affairs, but it is good company.

I run simulation after simulation trying to pin down freedom, like I could press it between the pages of a book for safekeeping, to be called upon preserved and pristine when later desired. I feel for no reason comprehensible to me that if I only stare at the data long enough, wiggle and juggle and tweak the numbers in some arcane method, I will find answers, in particular answers which I like.

I distrust it when I find answers that I like. Statements like "Failed 1 times out of 105 cycles, for a 99.05% success rate" excite fantasies and deep skepticism as inseparable as two faces of a coin. I cannot trust that things will go my way - I have to find action to take as a talisman against the possibility of failure.

Exhausting.

Meanwhile - where is the now? What have I done with it that I've hidden it from myself?

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