30 july 2026
Thursday, July 30th, 2026
I think today is a day for a journal entry. It's around six in the morning, golden hour, and I slept through the night. A rare occurrence. Things have been quiet, I'm slowly developing digital minimalism and being more intentional with what I do in front of a screen. It's nice.
I woke up today not feeling a particular urge to write about one topic or anotherβmaybe I've finally run out of things to say. I joke, as I know the itch will return whether I want it to or not. But it's nice to just have a cloudless sky for a mind right now.
Really, I haven't been able to do much since the temperatures have been above 30Β°C+ for around a month, now. And both my SSRIs and beta blockers make me heat intolerant. So I've been existing as a basement gremlin. But is that so different from my defacto state? I'm a homebody, and I certainly have everything I could want. Dozens of books, stationery supplies, an analogue radio, yummy snacks, an incense burner, my coffeemaker, fairy lights.
I find myself content and satisfied with a lot less than many other people. It does, in a way, make me question if something is wrong with me. I have no wanderlust, no fear that I'm missing out. I admit I'm a bit of a hermit letting a lot of different aspects of life pass me by as I focus on writing and coding. But all I feel is gratitude and thankfulness for this life I have. I think about my past where I would be doing a million things with a million different people, and I don't have a pang of regret or grief.
My past self seemed a lot more capable, or a lot more wanting? My body and mind were both very different in my early 20s compared to now. It feels like another lifetime, a past life. I think myself a hypocrite for writing often about community and yet I do not think I'm a good friend. For the few people that do tolerate my abrasive, bizarre temperament, I know I cannot give and reciprocate them as much as they give me. And I drew a line in the sand recently, no longer letting myself take half-measures. But that didn't result in me being a better friend, that resulted in me cutting ties. Because I know I have finite energy, and I do not want to commit that energy in the way people need me to.
Most people, really everyone, are too good for me. I am poorly made. I am good at writing, I am good at putting the blinders on and dedicating myself to mechanical work, I am good at pragmatically understanding the good I can do for a larger collective, but my human-animal instinct for personal one-on-one connection is absent from that equation.
And it is frustrating to write that out and read it, because I know it looks like self-pity and self-flagellation, but I don't feel that way. I don't feel bad about coming to this realization. I feel acceptance for the kind of creature I am, and figuring out how to work around it and do the most good I can for the world while being who I am.
Does that make sense? I'm not sure who I'm asking. God, maybe. I'm reminded of The Whale: Do you ever get the feeling that people are incapable of not caring? People are amazing. I have so much love for so many people, I think about people often, and hope they are doing well.
But I think I have this content acceptance because I did try alternatives, I did give my entire force and body to trying. I have been surrounded with people. This isn't about a hypothetical, or neurotically fretting in my head.
Anyways, all that said, I recently also joined the emerging Web Writers' Collective being run by James G. and I'm excited to see how that develops and grows. I have to admit it is really nice to be part of a writing collective and not be in charge, and not have to maintain the website or design the anthology or come up with the rules and code of conduct. I am glad I got to do that once, but it is a lot of work, especially when you're headstrong and being a benevolent dictator doing it all on your own.