Arce

I gaze out onto my life and observe a rippling reflection, a still pool that barely stirs. It is shallow, from the surface, but goes deep into the earth.

In June I went to Nashville for the first time in over 18 months. I then went to florida to vacation with the family, where I contracted COVID, and convalesced the week I returned home. The following week I moved into a 17,000 sq ft castle to join about a dozen other housemates.

Then, ten days later, I went to Nashville again with my two best friends and college roommates, where I stayed for a week before traveling to Ocean City Maryland, where I met up with my two childhood friends. We mucked for clams, we ate crabs, we grilled venison. I need to write them both a letter, telling them how much I appreciated their friendship, and his wife.

In this new castle I find myself living in, there are a variety of professions and personalities.

I am working to maintain a life for myself. I am working to maintain a level of professional excellence.

I wish I reflected more. I wish I journaled more.

There is lots of self loathing as I drink heavily and eat liberally, all without the discipline to work out. I just fantasize about it.

I did take up surfing, however. Tomorrow I’d like to go, even though it won’t be very good surf. Just 0.3 to 0.9. Wednesday will be better. Up to 2 meter.

It’s about a 20-30 min drive to the nearest beach. And I have about four surf spots within that range from my new home.

G still calls and texts me.

I have zero libido. And I’m fearful to become entangled in G again, though she tells me she misses me, and how much I’ve helped her grow as a person. Tempting words.

I am emotionally dead inside. I am an empty shell.

I need movement in my life.

Money drives me, and therefore work. But work is a necessary distraction from my otherwise depressing life.

I am happy. But I am empty.

I long for a permanent escape.

Drugs, obsessions, love, relationships, competition, and the like provide temporary escapes.

I am motivated, sometimes. I undulate, like a pendulum.

My brain is muted. My self is dumb. No words, no words. Just a human log in a fog.

I am living in a castle. The looks of which surprise me. It is magnificent. I will elaborate more later.

I need to write more. I just feel so dead. I drink and, now that I have some housemates, socialize. I refrain from emotional intimacy. I am drawn to the presence of others. I am repulsed by drama, in myself and others. I have an aversion to obligation. I am my own self governing person.

I long for companionship, but I am completely empty. I have nothing to give, and no one seems worth the energy to give anything I don’t have.

Good night. I plan to write much much more. This has been therapeutic.