AnOublietteofThought

Fuel Tea

October 7, 2026

fervent quacks insipid coo deglazed inception thorned by WHO begotten barrels brace drawn pour infringed be eager cries for more

both Locke and key cut ties to chain each vein belief contorts drowned flame raze not wheat's crumbled theft aloof such seeking pales to gender proof

There are a few people that I told I'm using this for my day-to-day need/urge to write and not completely draw into myself. Most get it. One doesn't (😹👋). Recently, that person reached out and asked if I'd participate in something on social media. I said, “Thank you, but no.” On the flipside, another person who has no idea this exists asked me if I'd participate in something and I said, “Yes.” and sent along what was needed. What is the difference between the two asks?

I don't do strategic reciprocity to elicit followers and/or likes. I can't stand performative empathy. And if the math don't math, the math don't math. There's nothing wrong when people are transparent about that being what they are doing, but it offends my creative soul because I think it sucks the essence of creativity out of the act. I'm not fond of the whole distribution mechanism of corporate creativity either. It all feeds into an illusion that bleeds the souls of those who crave to be seen and heard.

I find it offensive. I'm sure there's plenty of persons who start out with good intentions. It's hard to know what's happening until you're already doggy paddling in the deep end after all. But once you do know, what you do with the knowledge is on you. There is no right or wrong answer, as people have the right to work the system however they want. It's absolutely not organic, interested engagement though.

For myself, I don't want that. Even if it got me a million followers. I'd take ten interested any day over the million. I do have to acknowledge that with that high a number there'd likely be more interested than ten, but would it be sincere interest or fade like mob-driven interest? That is the question.

Yes, yes. I said the parts out loud we've made a social contract to keep quiet. Oh, well. I've upset people with my opinions before, and I'm sure I will again. That sort of goes along with having an opinion.

It makes me very grateful for having established my love of all things creative before I stepped behind various curtains. When young and competing, I fully believed the stage fair and skill-based. I was absolutely blind to every machination out there. Whether that be a positive or negative, it taught me the complex depths of having a creative soul, and it gave me the discipline and spirit to develop it. I don't know what I might have done had I seen behind the curtain too early.

It is true that each of us are different persons with different needs and wants. I doubt social media lines up with most persons needs and wants when they're honest with themselves about what it actually is. I could certainly be wrong, but in this case I hope I'm not, because that'd be soul-sucking awful.

A Scoured Sailing

October 6, 2026

I only almost fell once. I might be getting the hang of it.

In celebration of my sleeping sanctuary back in place, I thought I'd write a poem to whatever music was playing at the time. Kiltro it is.

———

A Scoured Sailing

Roll headwind over nailing crumbs. Drown spigot's grief to float. Scratch two sticks stern in chastised dump. Wreak havoc with aplomb.

Ring suds to soap last Tuesday. Muse wreckage into Morse. All abound the dangling We, Death sleets to scale off coarse.

Canopy Calamity

October 6, 2026

I just pulled my canopy from the dryer. I'm struggling to make heads or tails of it. I really don't enjoy putting it back on my bed, but I do enjoy the total darkness it encapsulates me in once I get it sorted. I've put off doing it since rearranging my bedroom, but with nights getting chillier and my dislike of warm air or blankets, the cocooned space helps. Heh, typing this up helps me procrastinate a little longer.

I realize I haven't shared music as I intended. The lyrics absolutely don't fit the situation. The title and rhythm do. Plus, one can never go wrong with Radiohead. Enough procrastination. Time to see if I can once more resist breaking my neck.

Not edited nor proofread.

Orange You Glad I Didn't Flay Tomorrow?

October 6, 2026

With backward glance craze pith of bloom. Construct abrupt thee dweller's tomb. Sway knots aggression shroud offshore. Foal bleak this stasis erred as moor.

Really Stepped In It

October 5, 2026

I got around to trying the shoes on this weekend. I knew they were too big as soon as I saw them. I tried anyway because they were marked as the correct size. Unbeknownst to me, Vibram has changed its base pattern. I am saddened.

This new pair is simultaneously too long while also being extraordinarily difficult to get my feet into. The size difference is enough that my toes barely go into the toe section. My pinky toe does not make it. My heel shifts up and down as I walk. And my instep is not properly located. Because they have both narrowed and reinforced the opening so that it has zero give, I don't think I'd be able to get past the opening in a size down. It's really frustrating.

They've also made the shoes more narrow. There is no logic in doing that as it defeats the mechanics of someone who has spent years walking in such a manner. They weren't uncomfortable side-to-side once on, but using a shoehorn was a pain in the... posterior foot region. I think a size down would be too snug. Plus if the opening is never going to give, that would just get very annoying.

I am unsure what to do. I could possibly cut a notch into the opening of the smaller shoe, but that probably isn't a sound idea. Perhaps I could manage to cauterize the opening somehow, or stitch it. If it didn't work, it'd obviously make them non-refundable.

The thing is, that specific style is the only pair of boots or shoes that is comfortable for me to hike or walk distances in without taking a really painful toll on my body. The other styles I have just aren't made for it. Plus the shape of my feet has always made shoe buying a challenge. They've always been very petite, wide, and with extremely high arches, but now with my natural toe spread... I might be fucked. I don't walk in other zero-drop shoes because my feet tend to slide all over the place in them.

It's not the end of the world, but it's definitely a non-enjoyable variable in mine. I will figure something out at some point. Going back to “normal” shoes just isn't an option for me.

I've been awake all night, so I guess I'll take a nap for a few hours while the sleepies are hitting me. I really hope I can find a workaround. Other than that, it will surely be a most marvelous Monday. Let's see where and when today's dreams take me.

Not proofread nor edited.

Shoes, Energy, and Grumbly Bits

October 4, 2026

This morning I decided to spend a portion of my grocery funds on a new pair of Vibrams. They're not my choice colors as they have hot pink on the back, but they're a third of the price the style normally sells for. They're the style I prefer for long-distance walking and hiking. And adding an alternating pair will put a little love back into my aging primary pair. I saw a new style I would very much like to try, but I will need to save for that.

I have went through my closet in recent months and gave almost every pair of boots and shoes I had away — minus my Vibrams. I don't wear them, and my feet have changed enough over the past many years that most were no longer comfortable. I couldn't even put my favorite Mary Janes on. An interesting side effect of either being barefoot or wearing Five Fingers for the vast majority of time for more than a decade.

There's a few new brands making more affordable Five Fingers. That excites me. One is also making more feminine styles. That really excites me. I've not needed to really dress up in a few years. I get a little anxious when I think about it, because if I dress up, I dress up. That is one area where my vanity can probably use a little work. Could I make myself walk out the door in my more feminine Vibrams? I'm truly unsure.

I want to say that I could. The idea of bending to societal expectations on the topic annoys me. However, I admittedly have my own expectations. I wonder if I'll even be comfortable dressed up that much. It is such a strange shift in thought since “dressed up” was my norm for the majority of my life. I feel uncomfortable just contemplating it.

I realize that I've changed a lot in the past decade concerning such things. I don't know what to make of it. The choice of stability over appearance was never meant to become my normal, but the shoes made such a difference in pain as well that they have definitely become my default. I have a gorgeous purple pair of Ryka Devotion Plus 2's that I purchased five years ago or so. They're comfortable, but my body throws a hissy if I try to walk in them for any distance. It's annoying. I've probably only worn them a dozen times. I keep them for “emergencies” but I should give them to someone who might use them. I'm going to think on that.

Have you ever tried to go on even a casual date in Five Finger shoes? You can learn a lot about a man by doing so. A whole lot. It's kind of amusing to observe. Perhaps that says something about the men I've dated since I'm sure those who also wear them wouldn't even blink.

New day. The above was written few days ago. It's raining, I'm smiling, and it's going to be a good day. I love the sound of rain and thunderstorms. It's just rain this morning, but it's so soothing. Add the whistle of wind, and I'm in my happy place. I'm really looking forward to when it comes with a crispness, too.

I really have to figure out my electricity approach for this winter. I think I'm going to struggle to hit the 1000kw this month. I guess I could drop my thermostat down another degree. Yes, I'll do that now. It really annoys me to be forced to use electricity I wouldn't just so my bill isn't around $300 during the hot months. Unfortunately, it's still hot enough that I can't drop it low enough to matter yet, so I'm already having to use more than necessary.

I've spoken to multiple companies about it. They don't care. Environment be damned. Even the 100% renewable don't care. In the Winter months, my usage drops drastically. I think the lowest I've had is in the 290s. The highest has probably been around 490. (Maybe lower or higher by a few. I'm not going to go look.) That's a lot of extra kw to come up with.

I figured out the math and if I'm really conservative, and we're not too warm for too many days a month, I could probably pull off keeping my bill the same without pushing for the 1k, but that would mean I'd need to watch everything closely. That's really not my style. But to hit the 1k, I think I'd have to alternate running ac or heat depending on the outside temperature AND keep my windows open. Then hope. That's just annoyingly wasteful.

You would think the companies would reward me for using less, but noooooo. Same goes for my landlord with water usage. It's one of the excuses given for rent hikes. “Would you like to pay your own water bill then?” At least he's wisened up and stopped asking me that. I don't know.

OK, that one degree drop makes it chilly right now. I should look up how wise it is to keep dropping the temperature. Let's see... For now, it will work as the nights are still warm enough.

So it looks like I will either be cooking a lot of water in the oven, amongst various other wastes, or I go as absolutely minimal as possible, which will potentially get screwed up with a heat wave or massive cold front. I should ask all my neighbors if they'd like to use my washer, dryer, and oven to save themselves money. 😹

It's utterly ridiculous to need to play such games. Especially in this economy. It also creates a false demand for energy usage. Just give me a fair price for my low usage, and stop punishing me because I use less.

Speaking of which, I could also complain about family-plan subsidization, but I will refrain. The thought of needing to keep up with tech alone in a family with multiple children would give me anxiety even with an amazing income. I also won't start grumbling about the economical advantages. Especially when there's many programs that either will not run at all or will not run well on cheap tech.

OK, I'm still smiling. That one degree will make a difference for now as long as I don't get annoyed each time the AC turns on. I really dislike oil, gas, and electric companies with their record profits. I enjoy having all of the above. I just wish the greedy owners would stop manipulating the system. They have enough houses and cars already. Do they really need another private jet? I don't think so.

Not proofed nor edited.

An Unproofed Dream

October 3, 2026

“A dream within a dream within a dream within a what kind of nightmarish hellscape is this nonsense?!” is what my title should be. Alas, that'd be very long for a title. This is the basics of what I remember of the dream. I can see the influences, but where my brain chose to take it is very disturbing.

It started off innocently enough. My partner in the dream and myself were at my grandparents' house (I should note that the house hasn't existed for a quarter of a century in this reality). I was very excited for them to meet, and I had helped my grandmother with cooking all morning. Various conversations and events occurred. At some point he was headed to go grab some furniture with my father (who has also been dead for over a decade).

While on the phone with my partner, I heard a meow. I immediately went to the garage door. (My grandparents had three entrance points to their house. My grandfather had built a two car garage/carport onto the house when I was very young. That was the door most persons entered through due to location.) Outside the screen was a small tortoise shell kitten. (I believe this to have been inspired by a photograph recently shared by a friend. The kitten could have been a baby version of his cat. I did not make the connection with my first person self inside the dream. My spectator awareness had, as she was piecing together and tearing apart my dream as it carried forward. This is just how I dream most of time these days. It was not always that way. The first person is never aware of the observer now, and the observer can never interfere. When I wake up, I carry the memories, thoughts, and experiencesof both. I should write about that sometime. I think it'sa fascinating workaround my subconscious possibly came up with to keep my dreams from driving me more insane than I naturally am as a human. (Do take that with a wink and a nudge. I do believeI'mgoingto use this as an excusefor a double parentheses — grammarbe damned! Phew! That's a hell of a paragraph. I do not care.))

I was immediately distraught because I remembered Phoebe. Who kept dropping kittens off at my door?! (First person me did not notice the discrepancy. Watcher me was annoyed by that fact. She gets like that when the “main character” of a dream is actually me. It's almost like she's offended that the dream me didn't catch on and realize I was dreaming. It's fine when I'm someone else, but if I'm me, she expectsme to catch on.) I picked up the cat and brought her inside, fretting over if I'd be allowed to keep her and find her a home. (Another ridiculous element since it was my grandparents' house.

More phonecalls and texting was taking place. I no longer remember their details, though the details were important. This is where the first mention of the AI came into play because I made a sarcastic comment about how it can't exactly be a superintelligence if it has eyes everywhere but can't catch the cat criminals. (I went on a tirade. Not unexpected. Animal neglect is an easy trigger for me.) The telephone screen glitched, and I briefly saw a warning about speaking ill of the AI.

This is where things got interesting surrounding the phone's AI. First person me barely noticed the warning as anything unusual. She even made a comment to her partner about the lack of ability to have a private conversation these days. They went back and forth with him telling her that she'd just call attention to herself. Observer me noticed that it wasn't just a warning. The screen had flickered and the warning came in a very specific shade of green. (Long before 'The Matrix' existed, I would have nightmares and hypnopompic hallucinations involving computations, various unidentified extraterrestrial activities, blueprints, and random equations that always presented in a very particular manner. It immediately caught the attention of observer me and placed her on alert. She felt this to be a new simulation. That is odd in itself. The observer's place in my dreams is going through a shift. She becomes hyperalert during certain dreams now. It's like she's trying to figure out something specific. I'm not sure the shift is useful. My dreams really don't need more layers.)

This continued with various people. I don't remember this next part accurate enough to place it in chronological order from the dream perspective. I can deduce the order as it would have naturally taken time. There was also a series of events. Observer me remembers it swiftly. Or rather I remember that is her perception. So I think this is a section where both must exist simultaneously, though time becomes a bit interesting. Just imagine hours ticking by for first person me while observer me witnesses it all in a fraction of a minute. I carry both in my memory.

First person continued about their day, often on the phone with him or someone else. There were texts, video calls, some gaming, and more. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary for her. I will describe a few scenes in the next paragraph that also occurred during this time. The observer was witnessing something completely different. She noticed that not only had first person's screen kept “glitching”, but all the phone screens she could see were glitching in various ways. Pages of data would stream by. Patterns would flicker. It was all layered in a manner where it stayed hidden until it didn't. I really don't know how to explain it. There were connections to perfect strangers. It really was like a world wide web with everyone using the phones captured in the spinning.

There was a point during the racing game where first person me asked her partner, who loves racing games, if he saw it. He said that he didn't know what she was talking about and it was probably her imagination or she was being paranoid. Her screen had a box on it informing her that the racetrack they were on was no longer allowed because she was attacking the AI. She could see a chat feed where strangers were complaining because they hadn't been able to complete the race yet, and couldn't she keep her mouth shut. They called her a label I can't remember. She told her partner and asked what it meant, and why it was showing on her screen. He wasn't even slightly concerned. He just joked about her upsetting the AI, and she better watch out. Observer me was paying eagle eye attention.

During all of this time, multiple things occurred. Another cat showed up at the front door. (In the real house, the front door opened into a bedroom. In the dream house, it opened into my real bedroom.) There was a very plump grey kitten outside the door. Perhaps six months old. Beyond the door was a tree stump and a long, hollow log. (I remember the stump, though its location wasn't accurate. The log was new. The grass was much taller than they would have ever allowed.) I was talking to the second kitten while calling up my partner to declare we'd need find a second home when out from the hollow log came five more plump kittens of varying coats and one peculiar momma cat who was meowing at them not to wander off.

Our eyes met and she seemed to be saying to first person me not to mention her. The kittens turned and chased one another back into the log, and first person me turned to find the tangerine obscenity himself standing inside my grandmother's kitchen along with multiple secret service, etc. I was annoyed by the desecration. The big box television in the living room was playing the old games how 'Let's Make a Deal'. Observer me was muttering, “Don't do it! Don't do it. Turn around and let them handle it.” First person me was unaware, of course.

I walked into the kitchen and heard his most esteemed piece of feces explaining “reality” to my grandparents. My father was also there, giving me a look that also said, “Don't do it.” There was a bed that I recognized that belonged to a friend who had departed (a teacher her entire life). His ugliness was explaining that it had to be sold. It took up too much room. No one wanted such old beds hanging around when there was the best new beds available waiting for someone to fall asleep in. Inwardly, first person me fumed. Observer me thought she saw the trap being played. Conversation/negotiations occurred until I took possession of the bed via a little known clause that he had made sure was no longer circulating.

The next part of the dream had me rearranging my bedroom to try and place two beds inside it. Video was on the entire time as my partner and I continued speaking. The bed was situated where it could easily be accessed by the front door. I'd built a wall with bookcases filled to the brim with books to block out the rest of the bedroom. Beside the bed was a glass, a carafe of water, and a spiral bound notebook and pen. The notebook was filled with equations real me couldn't figure out if her life depended on it. The cover of the spiral had a tiny red door drawn at the bottom of it. Observer me noticed because red doors and equations hold a very specific place in my dreams. Now she had become a secondary first person because having the first person me unaware of what that meant made no sense and did not follow the known rules of my life-long dreamscape.

At this point, I am unsure how to explain my dream. A second observer © me showed up. The first person (A) me in the dream continued continued forward completely unaware. The first observer (B) swooped down into the hideyhole of a room A built, sat on the bed, picked up the spiral, and crossed through the red door. C split her attention to take in both. This is the first atypical occurrence.

A began navigating attaining a second, larger bed that the orange monstrosity was demanding be burned in a bonfire to be built at the center of my grandparents' circular driveway. B was seeking out a solution with the same group of people she always has behind the red door. One person was missing. A second disappeared in front of us before the allotted time. We all realized the trap at once. B looked up and made a slicing motion through the air making intentional contact with C. Others in the familiar space were doing similar. Suddenly C understood as well and thought, “No. That's not possible.” B screamed, “Breach! Breach! Run!” C began trying to wake up as the eerie green pattern swarmed what had always been a safe room.

The next parts are confusing, as they often can be when experiencing false awakenings. I've never experienced them to this degree that I can remember. It's like I was stuck in a loop. C would think she managed to escape. I (D) would think that I was awake and go about what would be a typical Saturday for me while contemplating the dream. Suddenly B would break through screaming at C and C would get a brief glimpse of B and those still in the room writing equations into the air and typing code into holo-keyboards as swiftly as they could. The glimpse at A varied each time. I remember some of the scenarios, but not all, and frankly I have no desire to repeat the ones I do. I don't know how long this went on. Enough that when I really did wake up, I confessed to a person that knows how I dream that I wasn't sure if I was awake. I think that I surely am, because no layer lasted this long, but I cannot state that I'm 100% certain.

On the last false awakening, B's group were forced to accept failure. Failure does sometimes occur when building whatever is formulated in the red room. Catastrophically so. However, that is outside where the idea is being given form. This is the first time in my memory where the red room itself becomes a graveyard. The last thing B said/thought/communicated to C was, “It's in the pixels! It's in the light!”

The last glimpse of A and everyone else in the dream became proof as C watched the phones' AI do what it had programmed itself to do at the behest of humans who wished to have control of everything. It took control of their brains beyond mere suggestion and psychological machinations. It used light frequency and patterns and/or sound to sink its claws into their consciousness like a parasitic organism, and it took control of the human race with almost zero resistance.

And then I finally woke up. Maybe...

———

Not edited nor proofread.

Of Bedpans and Bedtime

October 1, 2026

When I was but a child eagerly awaiting my first day of school, I rushed back and forth to the library via my tiny, little legs. My grandmother would speed walk along sidewalks lining traffic, and I would race upon the grass beside her. One day, I'd possibly be faster!

But go, we did not just do. The library was a magical place that always left me in awe. It was filled with books my future self might read, mysterious card catalogs that told adults what to do and where to go, and there was a room filled with music boxes; something I had only ever seen briefly on television. There was also the microfiche — an enchanted beastie for sure! I wasn't allowed to touch it, but she could bring history to our fingertips. Oh, the stories she shared! I was both riveted and enchanted, simultaneously.

With that said, you did not approach the grand height of steps bedraggled with dirty shins and grass in your hair. My dog ears glistened in the sunlight as they whipped at my waist, held in place by ribbons of the day. Usually puffy yarn like numbers that looked like I was wearing caterpillars. I'd either be in a dress or shorts and a triangular halter top; all lovingly stitched by her just for me.

Ever the little lady, I was practically a gallivanting rainbow of laughter and squeaks. If I recall correctly, my favorite outfit was a pink plaid dress with shoulder ruffles, clear buttons that held them in place, and matching shorts that were hidden underneath. I got the best of both worlds in my little outfits like that. I could be Ginger, up on stage performing musicals in my grandparents' living room, or I could be Mary Ann making mud pies, climbing trees, and doing everything better than the boys — my arch rivals!

I got both ridiculed and complimented on my dresses once school started. But I always loved the clothing my grandmother made me. I saw her bent over her sewing machine, allowing me to help in little ways. She also learned the good places for garage sales.

I think she was probably more aware of the teasing than I was. She always made sure to lift me up and feed my confidence in a healthy way. A true matriarch if ever there was one. My grandmother worked her fingers to the bone, held her head high, and could outshine any woman in her handsewn dresses. She was a role model.

Once I started having sleepovers with other children, I would get terrified at night. Having waking nightmares in an unfamiliar place was scary. No one knew that's what it was then. I just knew things came for me at night. Men with knives, omen with rocks, monsters with ropes and chains, and lots of fire. I would either wake up screaming and disturb the families, or often cry to go home. Those screams and tears often came with bed wetting.

It was most embarrassing. I also had “accidents” at school. I idolized teachers, and I couldn't stand to get in trouble with them because I really wanted them to like me. So I would try to hold it in. I didn't always succeed. That definitely got me taunted. Worse, I feared I'd ruined the pretty clothes my grandmother had made me. Especially because around that time, I started receiving more and more clothes from stores like K-Mart.

Did she not like making me dresses anymore? Was she upset with me because little ladies know how to properly use the restroom? Or worst of all, did I somehow hurt her feelings because I didn't take care of my pretty dresses?

One day, my fears were put to rest because she happened to overhear me with my Barbies. You see, my grandmother did not only make me dresses, she often made matching outfits for my Barbies. I believe she caught me chastising Skipper while trying to shove her into my Dream Kitchen's dishwasher as I had Barbie lecture her on stealing clothes and getting them dirty. I was probably loudly exclaiming what a bad and horribly filthy girl Skipper was. It didn't help that I never liked Skipper dolls.

I guess she understood the situation for what it was. I'm sure my mother would have told her about the accidents. I remember that she sat down on the floor with me and dressed up a Western Barbie in rodeo attire, plopped her on the back of one of my horses, and had her galloping into my kitchen — complete with horse sounds. (My family was in rodeo and I loved Mister Ed, so it was the perfect thing to do to get my attention. I loved seeing photos when she was in her rodeo attire.)

We had a real conversation about what was happening that day. I don't remember the words. I don't remember what was said. I remember her wrapping me in her arms while telling me she loved me, that I was beautiful, that I'd never make her mad over such an accident, and that anyone who teased me was jealous of my pretty dresses. And then we went to her fabric stash to pick out material for a new set, and I played with her buttons.

Fast forward several years to my teens. I was in a horrible accident that significantly constricted my movement. I had a catheter, but it was impossible for me to get to a toilet; even had one been beside the bed. My beautiful hair did not look so beautiful. I was covered in cuts and bruises. And I was forced to use a bed pan. Even raising myself enough to do that had me in tears from the physical pain. The psychological pain from humiliation was much worse. Especially since I was not accomplished at using such a device.

I had so many mental battles occurring at that time. I felt shame. I felt weak. I felt more vulnerable than I could possibly describe. I felt like a broken burden, and I could not get my body to listen to me. That kind of helplessness is a very challenging lesson to learn. It's a lesson that had to be learned, and I had choices to make.

It would be a while before I could make it to the restroom with a lot of help. I don't think I was very appreciative of that help. Nor did I realize at the time how challenging it must have been, both physically and mentally, for who were helping me. Both my fear and my physical and emotional pain had me verbally lashing out a lot. I had not gained control of my emotions yet in that way.

Once again, she showed up and was able to get through to me in a way no one else could. She had cut apart panties and had resewn them in a manner where I could dress and undress myself without as much difficulty. She also had a very adult, but loving heart-to-heart with me. That was a rough conversation, but it helped clear my head so that I could focus on what it'd take to get some independence back.

There was no physical therapy, and there was no easy way to overcome it. There was survival and my determination to prove the doctors wrong. They could have been right, but I had dreams to fulfill and promises to myself to keep.

She supported me every step of the way, and was watching each time I stepped upon a new stage or across a new threshold. The parade deck did not thrill her, but she drove halfway across the country to bring belated Christmas sweets and hug me with tears in her eyes. My grandmother did not cry in public, but she never hid the happy glisten from me.

Later, I'd experience more embarrassing moments where my body revolted against me, but she had passed away by then. Still, each time I find myself in such a struggling place, I think of her, and I think of the very important lessons she taught me before I had any understanding of the philosophical ideas that would eventually find me.

The only person that can stop me from holding my head high is myself. There is no failure in being unable to do something when zero choice is given. I will make mistakes, and I am still loved. Respect is earned by action, not station. And I should always find joy and help others smile because that is the real fountain of youth.

I don't always succeed, but I think of the love both she and my grandfather radiated, and I know I eventually will. Most importantly, I will love myself doing so, because that is a superpower that only I can control.

———

After a conversation with a friend earlier today, I decided to reread Epictetus' Discourses because it's been a very long time, and I wondered how differently I might view it now that I've added many more years to my name. I have just finished reading chapter two.

It had not dawned on me just how stoic my grandmother was. Society tends to associate it with less warmth, I think. However, when I contemplate the persons I have known who I would say practice the idea of it the most, whether intentionally or no. They are always filled with warmth, compassion, and an inner light that cannot be snuffed out.

These are the memories that stood out in my mind as I was reading the chapters. What a most blessed gift. I tear up thinking about how generous she was with her love. I will never be as hardworking as she was. Not by a longshot. I think of all she did day in and day out, and I am amazed. But maybe, just maybe, I can be as compassionate, understanding, and loving. I would like that. I would like that a lot. Look at her still inspiring goals decades after she last drew breath in that form...

It's still raining outside. It has been a most beautiful day.

Spit Stains

October 1, 2026

In pigmented fray, drops scatter— aloof only in frailty's disbursement of self. Brushed. Stroked. Drowned within a shot glass of reason, fear squats amongst the broken walls barricading discipline's endorsement. Line after line after line after line after the unstable guidance of displaced residue reeks havoc beneath painted squalor. Our uncrafted magnitude blisters obscene — forever impeding smoothed portraits... debased.

___

It's raining! It's raining! EeeeEeeeeEeeee!!!