when i was younger i always had this vague idea of creating a time capsule and burying it deep in the woods. there was just something about the idea of putting everything into a waterproof case to be discovered, buried treasure for someone in the distant future that would end up in museums, proof of what life was like
it was almost like a love letter to the future. here i am. here i was. here’s my favorite book - what do you think about it? have i shown you a picture of my favorite stuffed animal? picture because i can’t part with them, not even for this. i put my math textbook from fifth grade that i forgot to return in here. do you do math the same way? i like algebra but geometry was really hard. has the world progressed past the need for proofs yet? hello, how are you, what do you think?
i never did make myself a time capsule to bury in the woods. i realized today that i don’t really think about it anymore, either. that i no longer have this intense drive to be remembered in some way in the far distant future. is that sad? is that good?
i think i have started to appreciate the ephemeral a little bit more. the temporary moments with no documentation. maybe these moments and thoughts and feelings aren’t for the world, they’re just for me. they don’t serve a purpose of educating future historians about what life was like, they’re just me trying to live and be happy and that’s okay. i don’t need to serve a grand purpose. i don’t need to be remembered.
but even as i write that, i think that there’s a certain piece of longing in me to reach across time. but i don’t think it’s about what life was like for me, it’s about the person who finds it: communication without boundaries, hand reaching out
how are you? do you like math? do you have a favorite stuffed animal? do you know about how bull sharks can swim in freshwater? do you have any pets, what are their names? are you happy? are you kind? are you okay? can i help?
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Am I the asshole for getting my best friend killed?
I swear to God, it was an accident.
My (27) BF (34) has a reputation for getting himself out of any jam you can imagine; and at first it was just a fun little thing the friend group noticed: there goes Oily J wiggling his way out of trouble again. but as the meme evolved in the group, it got to the point where we'd loykey started getting him into situations just to see how he'd get out of 'em, and he akept getting out of em. He was having fun with it too same as us. "Oh you guys," he'd say, "getting me into situations again," before laughing it off and getting out of it, so it was enrichment for our shared enclosures, and as time went on, the situations got more intense.
The trouble is, it turns out that putting a man in too many situations eventually gets the police interested. And not local hobsknockers cops either; they was like, proper three-letter FEDs. They put out a bounty on any information pertaining to his capture and everything. It was good money too so I thought, hey why don't I put J in another situation he can wiggle out of like always (and he'd wiggled outta worse before, so I thought this one'd be relatively mild), and at the next boardgame night (cause it was too late to do anything special for this one) we can buy some extra strong booze and get absolutely blitzed while having a giggle about the situation.
Boardgame night, and we were playing some social deduction nonsense or another and he says: "One of you is gonna betray me tonight." and I can't help but think, looking back on it, that he knew. It's stupid, I know he was talking about the game, but the way he said it, it was like he knew. We all felt it, and we had a big round robin round the table taking turns promising that we'd never betray him. And I said it so easily cause I thought it was true. Sure, I was gonna talk to the feds about a bounty; but, I fully expected my big beautiful oily boy to wiggle his way out of the trouble I was 'bout to cause, and that's not a betrayal. I wasn't lying. I didn't think I was lying.
My big beautiful oily boy didn't manage to wiggle his way out of it. They killed him and I got my blood money. He's gone.
He's gone and I'm devastated, crying, mourning. I loved him so much. We all did. And I can't stop thinking that it's my fault: that I'm the reason he's gone. and it is. and the guilt is eating me up inside. and I just need to talk to someone about it. So, I tell the rest of the group what happened in the group chat, hoping they'd understand that I didn't want this. I didn't want the government's blood money. It was supposed the be a prank. some joint enclosure enrichment. He was supposed to wiggle out of it like he always does... did, i mean.
They call me, among worse things, the asshole and kick me from the group chat. And, I know it's my fault he's dead: I know that. If I didn't do what I did, he wouldn't be dead right now. But, I didn't mean it for it to end up this way. He was supposed to be okay, damn it. I loved him. AITA?
What are these acronyms?
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