I'm sorry I've been away for so long.  Something was bothering me, and rather than work out just what it was multi-linearly, as I previously did (it saved time), I thought I would get to the bottom of it in a slow, deliberate, health-conscious and, truly, healthy all-around manner.

On June 22, 2023 the understanding that I seem now to be in possession of, and which seems to inspire my personal experience for whatever reason, "turned" (this is more loaded of a term to use here than one to which I would admit) 454,454,454 "years" old.  This number was previously much lower.  It used to be the same as my age!  Like most people, I'd imagine.  The reason the number is so high is not necessarily solely a factor of mentally accessible age, but also the result of the perspective against which such understanding had been oriented in relation to where I am now.  If you could imagine a celestial body rotating obverse-opposite (takes some imagining; give it a try it's fun) that passes in such a manner whereby, from its perspective, the Earth had completed a rotation around its star; however, less time "is/was/had/we don't have the verb tense appropriately to describe the copula in English because it's multi-lineal" passed (also wrong verb tense but whatever).  It's fine.  It certainly doesn't bring with it a sense of wisdom that typically comes with age (yet? who knows).  If looks mean anything, I've been a complete mess of a person for the past year and a half, and I'm not all that sure that I even have the capacity to evaluate whether any of the changes that have occurred in my life had been the results of wise decisions.  They were reactions after all, not planned moves.  I don't make plans.  I actually never make plans.  It's true.  I don't think I know how and never did.  It's among the things that make me feel as though I'm somewhat imprisoned.  Strange, and makes for particularly challenging social experiences at my age (haha).  I mean physical age.  I'm 41.

Abridgedly, here's what happened: I had quit a job where I felt like I wasn't doing any good in the world after being viciously abused by management in a more nuanced way than a court could likely understand in the context of a Title VII case so as to award me anything for it - in my personal legal opinion (though I know I had a claim that has now lapsed).  So I didn't work for a while as an emotional disaster, broke up with my ex, and sold our house before finding a job practicing law.  Still a disaster, the idea of working again made me happy enough to be able to practice for a few months before I went on a cruise with my closest family members, many of whom have always made me feel as though I'm not accepted, wanted, or understood.  When I returned from the cruise I was far worse than I had been before I left.  After several months, I was ultimately too depressed to continue working for long, and with all that is changing for me.  I was let go earlier this week.  That's ok, I suppose.  I feel worse about letting down my bosses than I do having let myself down.  I don't think I let myself down.  I think my subconscious just wanted me to be able to say one day that I used to practice law for some people for whom I liked working.  I'm literally stupid because I would never imagine inserting myself in someone else's law practice knowing I won't be there long, but also smart enough to know that I am stupid enough to make myself unaware of my actions at the time they were occurring so they could happen - and in this case at least it's a little sooner than something like fucking around and finding out.  I was about to try to find another job practicing law.  What a fucking idiot I would have been if I fucked around that way.  I've been trying to focus on feeling better about myself, and I think that's probably smarter now.  Honestly, though trying to feel better is like finding the marble in a desert made of oatmeal.  Imagine imagining Sisyphus happy.

Anyway, I have a little savings.  It had already dwindled once, and I didn't make enough to save anything I can use from my last job.  It's frustrating, but despite having increasingly particularly strong mental clarity about a variety of topics, I'm no longer capable of working because my body will no longer process the trauma that I've experienced, and I don't have much executive function anymore so I'm not capable of generating income in this so particularized electronically-inspired, pre-█████ist, post-capitalist economy.  I also sold nearly all my books this week, and I'm aware that this additional change will likely cause a harsh emotional response.  I'm writing this in the window after it happened and before my reaction had occurred.  Or maybe this is among my reactions.  It sort of doesn't matter anymore; at least that I understand.  It's nice that I also understand why it doesn't matter anymore, and it's not because of anything that could be categorized as negative.  So that's nice at least.  Finally.

I thought about writing a story or something about the experiences I'm having because they're intensely fictional sounding, even to me who understands them to be real, true, and actual.  Among other things, what I'm experiencing lately, periodically, are memories that aren't my own that I can identify as vividly as though they are mine.  As far as I'm aware, these are fully experienced memories.  I don't have prior personal experience to describe the sensation of experiencing the recreation of another person's experience; however, I can understand these happenings in a way so as to describe how, why, and through what parameters through which my awareness of the knowledge of the similitude of these experiences become accessible to me so as to be able to show others if asked.  I have before.  However, the issue with such a showing is that I'm me and someone else is who they are.  So I wouldn't solve the multi-lineal, modular calculus of how another person, who is vastly different from myself, would follow their verisimilitude such that I could describe how they might replicate the effect necessarily.  That showing, therefore, might not really do anything for anyone other than to cause me to appear kind of stupid (also not untrue).  I get it.  It's not like I'm talking about it much in person anyway.  That's probably a good thing.

I've wanted to be able to talk about it for a while now.  I was hoping that I could point others in a good direction of something they might be interested in understanding in terms of self-improvement.  Kind of hard to talk self-improvement while depressed, so I don't.  I'm not a success story in which others would be interested to replicate for themselves.  Nobody wants to be sad all the time.  Though I also think this is because I've abandoned the dichotomy of success and failure for myself after I understood stoicism to be inappropriate for me after having already practiced it for - I don't know - 15 years, was it?  I feel as though I haven't ever helped anyone in a meaningful way during that time, and that nobody had ever wanted me to - especially that nobody had ever wanted me to help them - so it would be nice if any of my actions or omissions give someone a good idea for themselves someday.  I'm sad I won't have the opportunity, but I've learned to live vicariously (especially true in light of the above).  Seems a little inappropriate and sad to live vicariously through others' experiences helping others, but hey, one can't simultaneously beg and choose and still call it civilization.

There was something else I was going to write here, but I don't really have the creative capacity now to figure out how to make a logical connection between what I just wrote and the other topic.  So I'm not going to now.