I am Sparky's loose grip on reality.
1. No progress on priority as of yet, day is not over.
2. Haven't studied much, haven't tried, elaboration in a moment.
3. Sleep schedule is getting better.
4. No downloads yet.
5. Accomplished, not well.
6. Still don't care to elaborate on that.
Today was a terribly shitty day. I realize work is never supposed to be particularly joyous, but today it hit me like a ton of bricks. I can't recall a worse day in memory. My resolve to get out of here is only strengthened, but the immediate effect was somewhere between despair and apathy, like what I imagine it's like to be shot with a bullet that has it's own gravity capable of keeping you permanently stuck to the chair you sit in.
Journals are meant to be sources of personal venting, a catharsis recorded for possible reflection later. I obviously don't keep things that private or personal; it's not really because I want attention (though maybe it is) but rather because telling people later seems redundant, and friends tend to want to know certain status updates. Maybe I would be healthier if I didn't let everyone see this, but I really still don't care.
Online journals in this sense are deceptive, because even as I write how much it sucked, whatever it was that sucked, I'm feeling better. I also naturally assume that people feel the same way when they write their stuff down, so frequent depressing postings seems healthier to me than, well not.
Subject for mental digestion: Humans are born abnormal because they don't know who they are. Life up until puberty is an effort to discover who you are, at which point society greatly desires you to not be a person they haven't accounted for and wills you into various archetypes of nullified importance. If knowledge is power, then the most power a person can attain is knowledge of self. Does it make sense for a stable and docile society to encourage the discovery of such knowledge?
2. Haven't studied much, haven't tried, elaboration in a moment.
3. Sleep schedule is getting better.
4. No downloads yet.
5. Accomplished, not well.
6. Still don't care to elaborate on that.
Today was a terribly shitty day. I realize work is never supposed to be particularly joyous, but today it hit me like a ton of bricks. I can't recall a worse day in memory. My resolve to get out of here is only strengthened, but the immediate effect was somewhere between despair and apathy, like what I imagine it's like to be shot with a bullet that has it's own gravity capable of keeping you permanently stuck to the chair you sit in.
Journals are meant to be sources of personal venting, a catharsis recorded for possible reflection later. I obviously don't keep things that private or personal; it's not really because I want attention (though maybe it is) but rather because telling people later seems redundant, and friends tend to want to know certain status updates. Maybe I would be healthier if I didn't let everyone see this, but I really still don't care.
Online journals in this sense are deceptive, because even as I write how much it sucked, whatever it was that sucked, I'm feeling better. I also naturally assume that people feel the same way when they write their stuff down, so frequent depressing postings seems healthier to me than, well not.
Subject for mental digestion: Humans are born abnormal because they don't know who they are. Life up until puberty is an effort to discover who you are, at which point society greatly desires you to not be a person they haven't accounted for and wills you into various archetypes of nullified importance. If knowledge is power, then the most power a person can attain is knowledge of self. Does it make sense for a stable and docile society to encourage the discovery of such knowledge?