pardon the rather abrupt end to the last post— i'd been thoroughly overcome by manic excitement and felt absolutely compelled to strike whilst the iron was hot. (or before i lost my nerve— whichever would've came first.) drama ensued. predictably so. when the move was as lightning quick and as drastic as it was, it would come as no surprise that i'd rock the boat. it's all a tad tedious to regurgitate now because the truth of the matter is that nothing really matters. not in the grand scale of things. being here, not being here. doing this, not doing this. having things, not having things. everything is only adjusted reality. and in time, with space, everything becomes possible.

survival is innate. that much, you come to find, is out of your control entirely.

day 75 here today. and 125 days of being absolutely 100% single. i'm pleasantly surprised to learn i've (well) crossed over the 100 mark. although, i am still 605 days away from achieving the goal. and what i've come to discover is that perhaps i'm not at all a part of #teamrelationship after all. for what it's worth i've been extremely content with this lightness that has cloaked me like second skin. i go to bed without a care and wake up with exactly that same nonchalance. there is no need to be wondering what my other half has done, will do or is presently doing— there is no constant aching, longing and hoping for more. for change. for anything, really.

just a total aloneness. there is only me. and here. and now. and this. what's in front of me. everything that supposedly needs doing, simply do. and everything that has not yet been achieved (or unable to), let go. being here, in this place, teaches me that nothing is actually important. everything is only perceived.

like deadlines i keep missing. like plans that won't stop falling through. all the best intentions people can and may have— 99% of the time, they simply dissolve into disappointment and evaporate into thin air.

what is the meaning of anything? nothing, when you really come to think about it.

there is so much that i keep meaning to do— only for myself. personal projects i've concocted that i hope to accomplish out here but zero results. there has been absolutely nothing achieved except for piling on more on the backburner. songs i've meant to compose, posts i've meant to write, stories i've meant to tell, moments i've meant to capture... everything sits on a dusty shelve, dying.