and i intend to keep it that way.

i barely read anything this year and it manifests as a lack of output from me. in my defense, i was focused on work, though i had so much free time i might as well be rotting in bed.

pretty late this year i eased myself back into reading blogposts and essays, on substack and the like.

i haven't written in such a long time, probably because there's just too much mental barrier for me to start writing. my anonymity in twitter being broken, and starting a substack just seems like too big of a job for me right now.

this is an attempt to get back into it.

it was late covid, and i was still with my girlfriend of 4 years. her dad fell sick, money was tight, and something clicked in my head. i had to survive, in the real. so i got past it.

i didn't even really think about it, but my alignment changed, from could-have-beens to could-be.

in a way she was more real than real, i could've rotated her in 4D in my head. but the real one has long escaped my model, and my model lives on.

i lived on that load-bearing fantasy. every second of my life dedicated to the ether. but i turned it around when reality hit.

i overcompensated on my non-her relationships, but every waking moment i'm not doing something of-love for my s/o my mind instantly snaps back to middle school and what-could-have-beens.

it wreaked havoc on me, to love my projection if someone, someone i didn't even talk to anymore.