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2024 december 14 at quarter past eight pm
it's disheartening watching it slip through the cracks, aching to find a home that treats it better. and i don't blame it—my home, wherever it lies, has never been put together. it's homely, sure, but there is some eerie pretense, an inescapable pit that creaks the foundation every few hours... there's no love lost in it not finding it a safe refuge.
but to a degree, i wish we could fix it together; it's a lot easier to fight bureaucracy, regulations, when you have at least someone else there, even if only but one to come rest with after, after gliding through the tricks, the workaround fixes, the adamant strives to keep the motivation that it's all worth it, that it'll all be okay in the end, afloat and alive.
at this point life support is a generous understatement for what feels at hand. but that's the thing, isn't it? doomerism is real, even common for a reason, for this pervasive and pernicious, incendiary rage to find a solution without any meaningful action to find its path. trust me, i'll be the first to say i fall like a domino amidst that sentiment, that 'i'll go but won't be first to engage', 'i don't see a way out', 'when will that star collide with its twin and create from dust the bricks to lay in order', you know, that sort of thing.
i mean, at the end of the day, the blame doesn't fall on anyone else but me. sure, i give myself grace, and as much as that pit looks like it's eroding more into itself, that staircase is just around the few hanging-on bits of blacktop left. there's still a way around to it, i'm sure of it.
but that's for tomorrow, i have plans today anyways.
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