I think this is called journaling. it’s saying I spelled that wrong, I’m not interested in confirming that.

This is a cat that walked into my house senior year of high school. I wasn’t allowed to keep him. I didn’t know what cats were into, so we put him on a leash and took him to Chipotle and he ate roughly half of a steak burrito. I have three cats now, I’m aware that this is not good cat stewardship. My friend took him in, because his parents were out of town so he could do whatever he wanted. I think the story ended when the cat pooped inside of the kitchen cabinets and my friend let him go free. I hope he had a decent life. He probably didn’t, truthfully. But he did get to eat half of a Chipotle steak burrito which is honestly a pretty cool experience for a cat to have. When would a guy this size get to eat a cow in traditional nature? This is much too long of a caption.

My therapist recommended I start writing about my days, because I mentioned that with my wife out of town I feel like I have no one to tell what has happened and without being able to relay what goes on in a day I feel like I’m becoming separated from the passage of time.

Today was a normal kind of day. I woke up and got some things done to set up the educational programming at ORA and did my therapy appointment over zoom. I spent some time supporting a dear friend, did my homework for a class I am auditing and worked on organizing the myriad things that I am involved in, figuring out if there’s anything I can cut. I said goodbye to my grandmother-in-law who ended up passing away this evening; I’m grateful I got the chance. I played a game of The Quiet Year with one of my oldest friends, and did some exciting storytelling. I hung out with my landmate and his son and played Imperator: Rome, a needlessly complicated historical simulator; we both ended up frustrated and decided to allow our Alexandrian successor states to fall into the dregs of history.

I didn’t really get anything done today that felt important, although I would wager to say that there are more people than one who would say my presence and actions were important to them. I’m not depressed, but I am very tired, and I do just have to get through the next few days until Olivia comes home. I don’t do well alone, but I can get through it. It’s ok to let some days just not be your best. I can get what needs doing done and I don’t have to “make something” of every moment. I say that, but I’m not sure I believe it.

I think there are a lot of really affirming and interesting things coming around the corner in my life, if I can be patient enough to see them unfold. This might be one of the first times in my life where I can imagine a path that looks like the people around me. I’ll be going back to work, building skills, making a career and, hopefully, feeling like I’m making an impact on the world around me in a positive way. That would be nice.

I miss Olivia, who has been gone for two weeks. I miss my parents, who I haven’t seen in months. I miss my brother, who I’ve only been able to steal a few moments of connection with in my life, but I have come to really, truly, understand and I think possibly may be the person most suited to understand me. I haven’t left the house since Friday, I haven’t changed my clothes since sometime last month. I’ve put on and taken off jackets, but that’s not really relevant. I’m not sure that this really makes sense to anyone, but that kind of shrinking of the world and consistency of sensory experience is comforting. I’m actually feeling at my best in some of these situations that people would likely feel concern about me for. The world is fast and unpredictable and scary and loud. It can be nice to know your pants will stay the same.

I think things are going to be great. I mean things are already great. Not optimal sometimes. It’s kind of strange to say that things are great when I’ve lost a loved one. But in the arc of time, yes, things are swinging towards a good place. That’s new. That’s big.

I haven’t been making as much “art” as I would like, but I’m in the process of processing some ideas that could be really interesting, and I’m deeply involved in building upon this fantasy world I’ve been creating with my gaming friends. That could be something. It already is something, in that we are having the most fun role playing that we have since we started. I don’t know why I feel like my recreation has to become profitable to be worthwhile. But shit it would be cool to tell stories and get paid.

I’ve been listening to 21 Lessons for the 21st Century on audio book. Every time I tell my landmate something I found interesting in it, I feel like he loses respect for me. I guess that’s fine, but it would be nice to not do that too. I think that I’m realizing how little I actually have to contribute to a casual conversation. I’m mostly just socializing to tell people things that I’ve learned. If you are not interested in that, which is super reasonable, I’m probably not very fun to talk to. I feel myself when I speak to people in the world pretending that I’m hearing what they are saying when it is not interesting to me. I have no idea if I’m doing a good job. I reckon I’m somewhere on the borderline of that.

This is probably a good place to stop talking. I think people feel compelled to end things in a good way, which is a super huge concept worth talking about some other time, but I mean when they are writing something. I think it’s acceptable to just