i wrote a note to myself to write this morning.

it was actually a note to work on a particular project. (which i guess i last worked on aug 2023, over two years ago). this was a note i had moved from both monday and tuesday when it become apparent that this was not going to happen.

i have a reminder in my phone every morning. it says “write maybe” and has a long list of writing projects i’ve started or planned to revise or whatever.

i’m not supposed to be working today

this blog is such an unreliable narrative.

like, if you were looking to get any kind of cogent story about my life and what’s going on for me from this, you would be completely at sea (i imagine — i haven’t actually made an attempt to go back through and read. even my attempt to archive my old patreon posts keeps getting stalled) and i guess i never set out to tell a story but i wonder what, if anything, i’m communicating.

i’m still not feeling good.

i’m supposed to play the executive director and attend and host events this weekend - not even knowing if anyone is coming - and i really don’t have the spoons for it.

i can fake it.

i will fake it.

i don’t really have time for this this morning - but i felt like it.

i don’t want to say “i felt inspired” because that implies a state of mind i’m lacking right now.

inspiration is not with me.

it’s been an exhausting week.

“exhausting” isn’t even really the right word, but i don’t know where to begin.

i don’t want to make this a journal just about work - but there is work shit, because there’s always work shit.

cw: probably triggering, best you don’t read it

it’s me again.

i don’t know where to start.

i know - like, intellectually - that i’m depressed.

after talking with my partner, and some friends, i don’t think i’m going to be continuing with the partial hospitalization program past tomorrow.

i gave it a good try, but it’s genuinely making me feel worse.

the group setting is not working for me, the tools that have been shared i already have and know and in moments of crisis they just are not working for me.

i won’t always be here.

these are the words every parent invariably finds themselves saying - even if only to themselves.

i won’t always be here. to take care of you. to carry you. to hold you. to cover for you. to make sure you’re fed, have clothing, shelter, warmth. medicine if you need it. someone to talk to when no one else will listen. someone to hold all the things you need to pour into me. a container. a vessel.

i decided to randomly write a blog without a purpose, without a plan in mind, without trying to journal or log any specific event, but just to let go the unedited flow of words that come from my fingers.

my sister was (anonymously) subscribed to my blog, apparently. i’m pretty open about what i say on here and about what i do — but it still feels like a weird vibe when someone’s watching you — secretly.

i’m wary of becoming more circumspect in my blog, because it goes against everything i stand for. but i also don’t really want to feel like i’m being silently judged for my choices to be open about how i live.

since i’ve not been doing a great job at writing about process, i thought i’d make a bit more detailed post about my upcoming show.

which is as far as i got in this blog before i got distracted with other things for 11 days.

i don’t even know where to begin.