everyday i must foster the person i wish to become... what a difficult but rewarding journey that will be! ᯓ★ say what's up: yourworldoftext.com/~contristo ᯓ★ ᝰ: After the Internet - Tiziana Terranova ♪: folk, random pittsburgh radio station ^ܠ^: rabbit, cup, buon pranzo, santalum ᯓ★ it is *wednesday* #4A7EBC // ✦ ... tired of writing about how anxious I am all the time ... but the more I don't write the more anxious I become ... insert snake eating itself from the tail up ᯓ★ 9.12.25 It felt easier to appreciate what I had before it was gone in every moment but this one. A shift I never expected. I try to fill my lungs and hands and stomach with gratitude but the moments in between leave me starved. The everyday used to be accompanied by a slight breeze. Now - stale and fragmented, buzzing with electricity yet somehow never alive. 8.26.25 Attempting to contain my leaps and bounds as someone who shrivels up at the idea of change. I want to lay on the hot sidewalk and turn into a raisin, prune. Someone will step on me and I will go as far as I can stuck to the bottom of their shoe. 8.12.25 Sitting on a porch in Arizona. Appreciating the foliage around me (#5B5B1D). Practicing acknowledging while letting things pass by. The cicadas are very loud around here. Their hum puts me to sleep. The heat makes everything move at a slower pace. 8.1.25 Running off inertia, but only in circles so the ground below me is worn out and my feet are starting to hurt. 7.22.25 Taking my own hand, recognizing I am not good at practice. Cutting through the thick vines of hedonism. Picking up two items and deciding what's for dinner tonight. Falling into silent moments and getting stuck in quicksand. White knuckling. Bursting at the seams. What makes this street different from a road 300 miles east. Why must I memorize every detail that makes up a grocery store. I've driven this curve countless times. 7.11.25 It is hard to feel exhausted so often. I am aware of what would heal me (waking up to the birds, sitting by a body of moving water - preferably lake michigan, seeing plants dance in the wind, creating, learning, listening, dancing) yet it is all so out of reach in this inconsiderate hellscape of [america?] [capitalism?] [my job?] [any job?] [my brain?] 6.30.25 If I could reach down my throat and remove this feeling from my stomach I would. But it has deep overlapping roots, a whole underground system at this point. I am unable to compartmentalize the sprawl of love I am forced to notice. I am unable to not relish in the most familiar feeling. Incredibly stunted but so largely felt. I like the solitude of its lack of relatability. I like the story it tells, even if it never exists outside of me.