Oh wretched accomplishment, or lack thereof. I am finding it hard to be
so faketastically positive when I really want to cry. Yeah, yeah,
fucking positive thinking and all that shit will get you the world, but
most of the time, I have this pulling at my chest, like strings
pulling, that makes the whole process rather unbearable. I proverbially
slap myself silly every time one of these little events happens. I
don’t trust people either, and by example, this seems to be the
thing to do.

And the funny thing is, my first instinct is to run. Like far
away run run run run run. But my body and mind and all of that are not
in shape enough for any running.

This is the thing, and it used to be the case with my dreams too. Like
literal ones. When I learned fun tricks or good stuff to do to escape
the madness and murder, if it ever slipped out of my mouth that I could
do that thing. Then that talent would disappear, as if simply the fact
that acknowledging it made it untrue. Like my “job”, and all the other
fun stuff that’s supposed to be happening.

And I wonder how far that metaphor extends. So I am gonna try this new
thing. It’s called absolute silence, no disclosure. Then, everything
can be verified true before I can believe it enough to disclose it. But
for several weeks, as it seems that these little short term spurts of
accomplishment are exactly that, temporary.

Oh good god. I really make myself ill.

That’s right. There’s the ticket.