I managed twenty-eight weeks of notes until the habit crumbled in early October. Ever since, I’ve felt an urge to begin again, a missed opportunity slipping from my grasp, yet a call I’ve chosen to ignore. Mounting frustration made it ever easier to find distractions elsewhere. How is it already December?

Perhaps it’s silly, but I have sat with this persistent feeling that I need to find an empty space, read back through my entries since last year, and slip into the person I was, as if that might dislodge the inertia that’s kept me from writing the last month and a half. Granted, I’d been hyper-focused on catching up on work—a task that is thankfully nearing completion—but the silence has been about more than just deadlines. There was a sudden maelstrom of destructive emotion. While it thankfully didn’t translate into much action, the resulting inaction was enervating enough. There were days when even music felt neutral, muted, hollow. Was that stress, depression, or just a basic facet of day-to-day life? Too many conflicting forces have been stirring within, ripping my attention away as I haphazardly careen between obstacles. I move restlessly from obsession to obsession. Consequently, this page has lost its luster as I’ve felt driven toward progressive static.

The one constant is noise, unending chatter, both in and around me. There is never enough quiet to think, to write, to persist. Except when I’m falling asleep, but by then I’m too exhausted to capture anything. Bleeding ideas, bleeding moments, losing them to the interminable march through day and night, day and night. Expectations and demands cry out. Even my free time has strings attached and feels spoken for.

It’s been weeks since I’ve given myself the space to sit down and simply start typing whatever comes to mind. I used to think that all of these entries required a certain kind of voice, an expressive quality hinting at a modicum of skill that I would most certainly deny. That I needed to reflect on a moment, become circumspect, and cast out all these words in a frenzy, arranged with some half-formed intent, displaced from my mind, and with that, the spell broken: the message sundered, shredded, torn away. So much of this writing is about the act of writing itself; answering imagined questions to justify to ourselves why we squirrel away these moments that only exist here, in fragments, reflecting and resonating in part with others who wish to see them. To what end, I still wonder; for whom are these shards left behind, except some future version of myself?

There’s comfort in rereading who I was as an escape from who I am today. Even though I don’t fundamentally dislike who I’ve become, who I was yesterday, or a thousand days before. Simplicity. There’s an uneasy pull toward progression, a yearning for fulfillment that all too often becomes ensnared with notions of value, legacy, and what it means to be useful. Yet progression inevitably gives way to backward motion, a sliding, a reckoning, as we begin to navigate our mortality ever more doggedly. A slight ache becomes a recurrent drumbeat; a bittersweet memory becomes a visible scar. I’ve spent the better part of two months existing in the space between, my mind weary, my body pushing through motions in blind adherence to what was promised, what was given, and what is needed to believe.

Life

Our rescue, Kija, has made tremendous progress since September, but he still suffers from separation anxiety and fear of people—occasionally, even of me—which can be frustrating. Without knowing more about his history, however, it’s hard to be anything other than patient. Despite these challenges, he’s incredibly sweet, well-behaved, and an absolute goofball. Watching him play with Finn around the house is one of the most rewarding results of the rescue. While Finn did occasionally play with Kilian, he never received the level of energetic, reciprocal play that Kija returns in kind. We’re still working with a trainer and hope to have a behaviorist weigh in on how best to tackle the anxiety. As it stands, we can’t both leave the house for any extended stretch.

Nonetheless, Kija did far better than expected when we hosted Thanksgiving this year for both our immediate families. We had volunteered to host specifically to avoid leaving him alone. The event became a successful potluck, resulting in a mountain of food and plenty of leftovers.

Despite my father’s initial objection to coming, my parents acquiesced and ended up enjoying themselves, just as they had the first time we hosted a few years ago. I think my father prefers to stay home mostly as a matter of comfort, but I also believe it’s rooted in pride. He’s increasingly frail and his confidence has waned in equal measure. He turned eighty in September, and his lack of physical strength and growing limitations are demoralizing. I suspect this is a challenge that many face later in life: those who have spent decades seeing themselves as capable providers suddenly having to confront a body that won’t cooperate. That he continues to persist must be, at least in part, an act of love for my mother. His health keeps faltering: major heart failure (managed through medication, a pacemaker, and a defibrillator), diabetes, borderline kidney failure, and most recently, a “precancerous” diagnosis from a prostate biopsy. One of his doctors offered tone-deaf assurance: “The cancer won’t kill you. You’ll die of something else first.” At least my mother’s biopsy following a mammogram had less frightening results.

Every celebration feels like it could be the last with my father, which makes it all the more important to be present. While my father initially seemed uncomfortable during Thanksgiving, my father-in-law was yet again remarkable at lifting his spirits. My parents stayed longer than I expected, for which I was grateful, but understanding, as my mother struggles with driving in the dark. Yvonne quickly followed to ensure they got home safely.

I was thankful for the chance to share Thanksgiving with Amanda, my parents, my sister, and the rest of the family; a day filled with good food and plenty of bustle. These are moments that make me wistful about not having kids, although perhaps I can focus on being a better uncle. I spent the day before the holiday with my sister’s oldest, Gavin. A teenager now, bright and confident, he is a far cry from who I was at his age. Between his outgoing nature, his stellar grades, and his athleticism, he continues to amaze me. We bonded a bit over computers, gaming, and weightlifting, but really what I’ve enjoyed most was getting to know more about his daily life, to hear his stories, and to share my own. Bits of advice here and there, scattered through conversation. I need to do this more often.

Overall, Thanksgiving left me feeling joyous and oddly buoyant, though admittedly much of that energy has dissipated in the days since. In the moments before I fell asleep that night, I scrawled a few notes about my mindset: “Appreciate what is, not what might have been. Value today as much as yesterday.” A sharp contrast to a few weeks earlier, when I was falling asleep with only negative thoughts. It was raining outside, something I usually cherish, but all I could dwell on was the inconvenience.

I recently set my mind on breaking another habit: energy drinks. To combat exhaustion, I’d turned to them—Celsius, Red Bull, sometimes two or three a day—despite their apparent ineffectiveness. I was still tired, just with more jitters and the occasional guttural scream in the solitude of my car. And then I’d think about my father’s heart condition. I am an idiot. I haven’t given up on caffeine entirely; I still have a morning coffee, but as of November 24th, I’ve cut out the rest completely. It’d be easier if they weren’t freely available at work, but I’m managing. First-world problems abound.

Fragments

• A soundtrack to your life shouldn’t depend on music always playing in your ears.
• At what point does acknowledging privilege become virtue signaling, where simple recognition is treated as if it somehow lessens the blow?

Listening

So much incredible music lately. I finally added two new speakers (Sonos Era 100 and Era 300) to the house after years of Amanda suggesting we replace the old ones that had stopped working. Admittedly, it’s been a huge improvement. I’m so used to playing music on my phone while folding laundry in the basement; having actual speakers again feels luxurious.

Recently in Rotation:

• Cold Blue – Mountain (2025)
• NF – Fear (2025)
• Suanda – Dark Amsterdam 2025

I bought tickets to see VNV Nation in May next year, which isn’t exactly Amanda’s cup of tea, but she’ll be joining me nonetheless. It feels surreal to get two tickets for less than a hundred dollars, even if they’re fairly obscure. This will be my second time seeing VNV; the first was way back in December 2004.

A few weeks ago, I also won a VIP ticket to see John Legend performing at Barclays Center. I’m not a particularly devoted fan beyond his collaborations with other artists, but I can absolutely appreciate his talent. The night was packed with guests—The Roots, Norah Jones, Anthony Ramos, and Faouzia to name a few.

Playing

I finally started playing Hollow Knight, encouraged once again by Amanda. After some initial hesitation, I’m now about twenty-five hours in and fairly engrossed. There’s a faint pull not unlike the compulsion that used to draw me toward playing World of Warcraft daily. That said, Hollow Knight has a definitive end, so I’m less concerned about dedicating an hour or two regularly. It’s difficult to say for sure, but I finally feel like I’ve broken the kind of gaming attachment that leads to rampant obsession.

Reading

Unfortunately, I haven’t been reading at all and I’m still stuck around halfway through Infinite Jest. Exhaustion has kept me from progressing as I’m more apt to close my eyes and drift toward a sleeplike state while on the train. I’m certain that part of this inertia lies in the complexity of Infinite Jest, that I can’t simply push through the pages without feeling like I’d sacrifice my appreciation or understanding. Yet I am too stubborn to give up, or to find another book to keep me company. Hopefully the end of the year will revitalize my spirit and resolve.

Social

I have continued to back away from social media, though I still pop onto the omg.lol IRC server and maintain a minimal presence on Mastodon. I spent a month slowly adding daily noise to my profile picture until finally it was nothing more than static. Was I hoping for someone to notice and reach out? It was an exercise in futility regardless. I purged the majority of accounts I followed, which begs the question: why haven’t I just deleted my account? I hesitate, presumably out of vanity. I still want a space for ephemeral thoughts; quick to post, quick to delete.

Watching

I binged the first four episodes of Pluribus. Though I anticipated the core conceit fairly quickly, the philosophical questions that arise are fascinating; mostly about free will, individuality, and what’s exchanged when we sacrifice agency for a scaled amalgamation of greater purpose. I am very curious to see how the story unfolds.

Links

I’ve let a number of previously earnest habits degrade recently, resulting in the now glacial pace at which I read subscribed RSS feeds. Still, some favorites demand attention.

• The lines that draw us together

Reading the above entry spurred me to break through inertia and write this all. Whether it’ll be another couple of months before the next update, or if this will become more regular again, remains to be seen.