My inner narrative these days is, everyone was angry at me, now they’re slowly starting to forgive me.

Truth is, and the rational side of my brain sees this still, no one really thinks of me at all.


Life’s like that. People are mostly busy. I say busy, it doesn’t really mean what you think. You can be busy with nothing. You can be busy fighting depression or lethargy or sleeping all day. You can be busy with the emptiness, the void, of a nonexistence in your life. But that is still busy. It is, other than the topic. So it is, other than the topic of thinking of me.

And in this context do we not finally hear how egocentric it is of me to think this way.

And how it is a mental illness and nothing more.

So don’t overthink it. There’s nothing to think about.

My brain is weak. Writing is hard for me these days. Ah shit I need to take my meds. Maybe later after the meeting.


I always forget why I came here, what I wanted to say.

Then I observe my surroundings and immediate recall. And that is what makes it to page.

So it’s like, these things I’m dying to discuss, really, maybe, I don’t know. Will they ever see the light of day?

These thoughts. How they lurk in the deep and stay buried there. The strategies they employ to do so. How the electrical signal patterns of one type of thought vs another type of thought activate the brain. It’s fascinating stuff.

But I haven’t been deeply engrossed in anything for a long time.

Maybe I don’t want to be.

Oh wow we’re longer than normal here!

I’ve just got to weather the writer’s fatigue.

My brain is weaker than normal. That means difficulty with intellectual things like writing.

I’m tired already.

And the frequent new lines.

I don’t know. That just means I jump around a lot.

I think it’s a style. lol it’s just baaaaad.

It’s just baaaaaad.

And we’ve hit our first joke of the blog post.

Well folks isn’t that a milestone.

Who reads these things.

I want to read up on your lives people. I do.

But reading is another intellectual activity that drains me.

I can’t function at a high level in other words.

But these are such basic things, you say, reading, writing.

Well yeah. That’s what a brain disease can steal from you.



I need to rest.

For aeons.

I need to rest.

For aeons.

I feel like a multidimensional being that has been drained of millions of lives.

Epic, isn’t it?

Do I feel normal or do I feel alive, mango.



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