it's kind of like scrolling back into the beginning where you've first formed a post. it's a little bit like, say, tumblr. you've been scrolling through tumblr the past few days—quotev too to see what your past self has said to you. to see what she has written. there were so many gold mines, so many things that's been written down on a website that'll may be lost media some day. it hasn't gone past you to archive it to a certain point, but you know that it takes on work. work that you don't quite have the energy for today.
mentally, i am scattered. i'm not in a space where i can read lines in order. the words have become scattered, ink blurred. it's like when you stare at a book or a screen for too long, it begins to deteriorate you. it's been deteriorating my voice. i can literally feel my voice regressing even to this day. it sucks, because when i've been looking for work, this was not what i had in mind. i thought it'd help me in my communication skills. to an extent, it has—but not in the way in which i pictured it.
i never thought three hours every day mon-fri would tire me out. i never thought that i'd have the bare minimum of interaction with my coworkers while i'm stuck; isolated away from everyone but my client. i never thought i'd have to focus on the external world so much about gaining my financial independence while simultaneously helping mom pay the bills. i never thought i'd fret about my experience with my boyfriend keeping in mind the age gap we have. my friends keep DMing me on instagram. i still livestream a lot through an organized process. my dad was in the hospital but he recovered... so that's good.
in hindsight, my mental spoons aren't the greatest. it doesn't seem like it's been pushing me up. or maybe, in a weird sense, it is? maybe i need to just.. grow through it? and get used to this? i'm not sure yet. i'm still discovering things out.
regardless of what's happened, i'm writing. i keep finding my fingers scattered all over the keyboard, just waiting and typing and staring at all the words. the grammar in this isn't the best. i'm still not quite mentally up to date yet. things keep changing and there's little stuff like social media that keeps flitting from day to day. no permanence.
i'm not used to this. i'm used to taking things slow one step at a time.
i received a reading before this—in which i was supposed to find a career that stokes my inner flame, not dampen it. i'm supposed to get something that'll stray away from the expectations put on me; to find something i like. that it's okay to strive away from people's expectations. i'm told to give myself grace for the things that's been happening. to slow down, nurture, take care of myself.
so i've been trying, you know. i've been trying really hard. obviously i know, that in order to find things that you don't like, you have to start experiencing life first. naturally, it's a hard process. to go out there and actually gain it. i'm not a huge executor in the first place, but i know it's needed.
but again, it's like a bad internet novel. almost too good to be true. almost. where everyone started to remember that they could be happy, including me. even with the amount of work and the directionless thoughts i have; they're all just potential to start up something new again. i can find things that make me happy from the inside out. i can just.. accept and align with it.
everything that had helped me survive in the past was reptilian skin. this is shed in light of a new circumstances; a new reality.
this side of mines that held such sharp, defensive tension. sneaky and eyeing from the shadows. always willing to be in the background because that was the only thing i knew. treading around mistakes carefully, banging my head against walls after seeing one slight imperfection. i feel restless, crawling out of my skin sometimes because i constantly feel like i'm not where i'm supposed to be. like i feel bad just for existing even though i've never interacted, not even once.
but maybe this. this, the fear and confusion, is the thing that can be wrong.
things can be easy. if i let it.
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It's still surprising to see people say that when they see the upcoming strike post I made that this is the first time they're hearing about it, especially because I've seen several posts now talking about the same strike.
That being said: regardless of what kind of blog you are, please spread the news about the genocide, the strikes, boycotts, etc.
Even if you are a small blog, spreading word allows for more people to know what's going on and also do their part in protests and strikes, and maybe even the right people will be able to do more than what you're able to do.
And reminder: there is an upcoming strike on February 18th-25th. Prepare accordingly, protest, boycott, call your reps, and spread the word so more people are aware.
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THOUGHT GAINED: INFERNAL ENGINES
PROBLEM
The world is ending. You know it, your neighbor knows it, the dealer knows it, the jailer knows it, the king and all his men know it. All one has to do is look around to see it— the future is curdling into something pale and incorporeal. The infernal machine that is this stupid world is going to blow, sooner rather than later. So what are you doing? Why are you still here? Why is anyone still here?
SOLUTION
You are doing the only thing worth doing. You are living. *Why,* you ask? Try and remember now. Remember your mother’s hand on your shoulder. Remember the taste of a fresh catch. Remember the times when you were kind to the dogs in the valley and they did not bare their teeth. Remember the weight of a child on your shoulders. Remember the stars throwing their light against the wall of sodium and smog. Remember singing until your throat was raw. Remember crying just as loudly and publicly, and the gentleness with which someone opened your curled fist and pressed a handkerchief into your palm. Crying, laughing, running, eating, screaming, haunting, loving, fighting, fighting, fighting. The fight fuels you, and you fuel the fight. You run yourself ragged just for a chance to keep running. You never stop. You cannot stop. The world depends on it. *You* are the infernal engine. You are the world. And, simply put: you want to live.
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