ch-ch-ch-changes
When I left Colorado, I was content playing video games and reading books. Being home alone was actually wonderful! These were the things in life which nourished my soul.
Since my arrival on the east coast, it's been a slow and inexorable shift towards needing people and their contact. I've fallen out of the habit of reading. My attention span is enough for a short story in a SF anthology, but anything longer has my mind wandering. Video games used to be fun, but nowadays I'm no longer interested in them. Sure, I'll drop cash and buy a video game off Steam and see if it kindles those embers but most times I lose interest and think, "I could be doing similar stuff in real life".
I reckon this change is part of survival and an attempt to fit in. Maybe it's growth, like Alex in the final (formerly lost) chapter of A Clockwork Orange.
Right now I kinda mourn that old me. Kinda because I'm open to new things. For example: today I chatted up Mattie's friend Linda who happens to be a title searcher. They're both a delight. Insult to injury, since this weekend I've been bemoaning the pandemic and lack of social outlets. Those mental complaints were compounded by thoughts of dying alone, unmourned, and unloved. I've taken to the idea of being part of a The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress family/tribe with everyone working towards a common goal of our common good. It's only in the past two years I've made connections which actually hold that potential.
And then COVID fell harder than Satan from heaven.
Every fucking day I wake up and think, "Get through this, tomorrow will be better" but that's getting tougher each day. Yet I endure. I don't know who I am anymore. Most of "me" seems to have been reshuffled and prioritized, yet I can't help but wonder what's trully been lost and if I should mourn.
Reckon I should take this one day at a time rather than obsess over it.
Since my arrival on the east coast, it's been a slow and inexorable shift towards needing people and their contact. I've fallen out of the habit of reading. My attention span is enough for a short story in a SF anthology, but anything longer has my mind wandering. Video games used to be fun, but nowadays I'm no longer interested in them. Sure, I'll drop cash and buy a video game off Steam and see if it kindles those embers but most times I lose interest and think, "I could be doing similar stuff in real life".
I reckon this change is part of survival and an attempt to fit in. Maybe it's growth, like Alex in the final (formerly lost) chapter of A Clockwork Orange.
Right now I kinda mourn that old me. Kinda because I'm open to new things. For example: today I chatted up Mattie's friend Linda who happens to be a title searcher. They're both a delight. Insult to injury, since this weekend I've been bemoaning the pandemic and lack of social outlets. Those mental complaints were compounded by thoughts of dying alone, unmourned, and unloved. I've taken to the idea of being part of a The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress family/tribe with everyone working towards a common goal of our common good. It's only in the past two years I've made connections which actually hold that potential.
And then COVID fell harder than Satan from heaven.
Every fucking day I wake up and think, "Get through this, tomorrow will be better" but that's getting tougher each day. Yet I endure. I don't know who I am anymore. Most of "me" seems to have been reshuffled and prioritized, yet I can't help but wonder what's trully been lost and if I should mourn.
Reckon I should take this one day at a time rather than obsess over it.