He's standing at the door when his tantrum is done. This is a cancer male.
2024-02-17, 4:48 p.m.

The universe expands, and it contracts (bang crunch). We based our self-worth on accomplishments 40% of the time, as much as we were told not to, then our self worth plummeted when it lost the royal boost of dark academia. I get silent like my lips are split and hot-sauce burned. A minute of unbearable pain, and the systems are on again. My brain rapidly cycles through the channels of memories, searching, processing, parsing. "Empty the cup and start again" and I err on the side of analysis. I teach myself how to play with machines and hope that is enough for now. Then enough will expand into the actualization I abandoned. Feeling like the aftermath of "Limitless," aka "dark fields" when it was just a book I read while watching the dark red library carpet swim, synapses connecting with a potent mix of serotonin, dopamine, and norepinephrine. I've always been pushed to escape myself, and who i've been identified by society to be. Now i return to the context like a comfortable bed in the form of a place. The birds take flight on the same corner every day that i pass them, no matter what time i get there.

Almost out of blueberry tea from giving tea bags to classmates as I watched them longingly stare at the broken coffee machine. I finished my hw in a barbiturate, last tramadol moment of relief from spinal pain. I'm inhaling the last bits of the synthetic cream from the coffee & whiskey body spray I bought on sale at bath and body works.