[PRE-Typewriter Journal: What the hell has the world come to? I am authoring this post wearing, begrudgingly acknowledging its convenient, cozy warmth, of all things - a Snuggie. What has happened? Only these prerequisites were met: 1) The home in which I reside was constructed with french doors which feature an extreme heat gain and heat loss through each day and night; 2) I stationed my desktop computer near the aforementioned doors; 3) Four Snuggies were shipped, errantly, to me (it remains inexplicable how my name was applied to what was my grandmother's order; it arrived at her home around Christmas time, and was held, unopened, and sent to me). /PRE-Typewriter Journal]
Other than leaving this place a better world for its current and future occupants and/or preparing myself for death, I see no point in my being here. I am deeply curious as to what the best thing for me to do to better this world is. I'm not all too concerned with the answer, though, or seeking it. My first priority is finding my path, and all that includes (namely resisting distraction in whatever form it comes in, as I have allowed my self to be distracted much lately, nearly to a point where all of my recent progress was forgotten). I don't know whether a pure, constant distraction-free life is something that I am capable of leading, though. I'm certain that, if it felt right and I felt whole in doing it, I could; I'm worried that I may not want to, though. I'm sure it will come in time. I can't expect to re-make myself in a day, or a year.
What I have been feeling more and more frequently lately is interesting, and it fills me with hope. I feel what I can only describe as an anticipation of, or the precursor to contentedness. I am calm. I am not so dissatisfied with my life or the prospects for my future, even when taking into account that they may not change all that much. I hope also, but do not worry (my mood does not allow for it; I mean I am unable to worry - for now), that this soothed state is temporary, like the euphoria of my infrequent manic spells. Somehow, I know it isn't, despite the haunting thought that life has taught me differently of such positive things.
I think this is harder to describe because, at least as much as it is a new feeling (or mood or mindset; it is the state of my mind and soul), it is the tangible void of something old and familiar, the absence of something that had a stranglehold on me and constricted tightly around the organ in me that feels happiness and contentment.
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