2022-12-29 02:08:23 (UTC)


the hippocampus is a piece of shit. sometimes if i get too stoned, it's like it sends jolts to the rest of my brain and makes my heart skip a beat. these mini spasms can't be right. but i'm not sure if it's from the weed. denial should be my middle name.

regardless, i have to find the energy to start contributing. i think muki is starting to rely on me again, even during vacation, so i have to bring what i can to the table. literally and metaphorically. he took the pen and has been having the time of his life, by getting bored in empty cruising spots. the street lights here are beautiful and blue. they paint some of the town in an underwater tone, and it feels comforting for some odd reason. i know i'd love to smoke under blue and black lights again, bring me back to those days. now it feels like a chore sometimes, and even if i could successfully quit, i know i'd never be happy.

i should talk about it with my therapist, but maybe i'm not ready to hear the truth about the pattern. if so, i have to go against the gain constantly and redirect my energy in numerous ways. it sounds even more exhausting than just letting it be and accepting i am who i am. yet the tiny irritating voice in the back of my head whispers cowardice, and the shame tries to creep up once more. is it true, what my brother said about family being fake? does my family only pretend to care until something bad happens? this christmas has been a little fucked up, my mom seems hurt that we weren't there. yet no one has asked about our brother. and we had gifts for them we didn't wrap, but we felt stiffed by my older sibling, who didn't respond to any of my texts. we postponed the giftsgiving.

throughout the day, i get these random spurts of inspiration to write a book. but i keep doubting that it would be a coherent novel, at best a scrambled pile of personal stories and cliche dialogues. it's what happens when i try to force the creativity. and yet hollywood will squeeze the soul out of you to suck every bit of that talent. another irrational fear - being "too successful" when i should be worrying about obtaining happiness. i don't want to become managed and be expected to publish a bunch of things just because i created one thing. perhaps that's why content creators are so famous - they take time out of their day to manage and revise content, providing accessible info easily.

i keep telling myself to keep private how i truly feel, but i want other people to read and relate. we are human and i find strength in not hiding the embarrassing secrets i held the last 12 years, otherwise it would be proof they were tying me down. at the very most, someone discovers my journal, hundreds of years into the future where i exhaled my last breaths many moons ago. and probably think, this dude lived a good life, but he had some embarrassing crushes.

the crickets of the summer night release a different vibe into the air. you can feel the sunlight sit in your skin well into the evening here.
a strange but familiar serotonin boost, releasing old memories of times spend in florida with my other family members.
those times now seem so, so long ago. almost ages. it may have been just a couple years, but as i sit here on an airbnb'd couch,
it just feels like it never happened. but i can still remember slivers of past events, and i know the outcomes of those memories
live on in my heart and in my actions. they drive me forward even when my eyes are closed.

each time i stretch the left side of my neck it lets out a loud pop. i've been doing more and more frequent neck stretches and i think i might be exacerbating the hypermobility. it can apparently cause a whole host of systemic issues. but the more i google these medical conditions and dwell on the damage, the more damage i think i actually do to myself. it's a vicious cycle. maybe that's why ignorance is bliss. no one should ever have to feel like their neck is gonna snap should they lean back the wrong way. maybe it's time i go to the doctor. but insurance doesn't kick in until after the new year.

oh well. i'll learn to adapt, as i always seem to conclude.