Now that I’m on the downward slope in this Journaling June thing, having just passed the halfway mark a couple days ago, I have finally huffed and puffed enough to knock the plaster off some of the walls.
I don’t know how the universe works, and I’m not sure I’m ready to fully endorse the idea of some “greater power” pulling strings to show me, Aeryk Pierson, some speck of nobody on the planet Earth, what it is that I’m supposed to do, know, etc. Yet, at the same time, it is a crazy coincidence that just as I’m struggling with getting in touch with my shadow, wrestling with how to become who I am, battling with my physical and mental issues, that I come across a blog post by Maria Papova in which she writes about Herman Hesse—specifically about his take on solitude and the value of hardship. And, additionally, how he is furthering Nietzsche’s own call for owning one’s pain and suffering in the pursuit of creating yourself.
Does anyone know if a partially dehydrated, barely moving worm on the sidewalk is all but dead? Does a splash of water and moving it to the grass help, like returning a beached marine animal to the ocean? I ask because that’s what I do and I wonder if that actually makes a difference. I don’t plan on stopping, I’m simply wondering if my intuition is correct.
I hate days like today. It started so promisingly. My morning chores and hygiene routine went of without a hitch. The commute into work was so smooth I don’t remember it—I was zoned out and on autopilot. And best of all, at no point did I play out one of my anxiety fantasies. Anxiety fantasies are farcical situations about random things that have nothing to do with me at all.
(for instance, being brutally attacked by a police officer, a former girlfriend’s brother no less. the resulting court case is so devastating to the law enforcement community that all police, everywhere, are relieved of duty. this causes society to breakdown. civilization is reduced to a mad max dystopia.)