Nowadays, I spend the weekends alone, doing absolutely nothing. I am in no real rush. I tend to squander my idle time spent here. I have nothing to do. I have nothing to live for, really. Nothing gives me any real joy anymore. My job has long ceased to exhilarate me. Before, I was tasked with maintaining Excel spreadsheets and the like. But the aforementioned spreadsheets have been pretty stable for many months now. Now, the days spent at work consist of nothing but sitting at a desk for eight hours, waiting for the day to end. All the while, I am surrounded by --- and it hurts me to say this, because sadly my co-workers are the closest things I have to friends at the moments --- people who cannot be arsed to use proper grammar and spelling. It is infuriating. I constantly feel this incessant need to silently validate their online communications, so that I still know what is wrong and right. It is driving me mad. More often than not lately, I am analyzing the grammar and syntax of literature, online and otherwise, than actually trying to digest the meaning of the literature. I fear that if I start to tolerate their blunders, I too shall fall into the habit of committing them, having grown tired of pointing them out to the great interest of no one. I feel as though I take the job for granted as of late. I tend to not abide by designated break periods as rigidly as I used to. I tend to let out these depressing sighs that were once the bane of the lot with whom I went to college, over four years ago. Speaking of which, I am only now remembering how much of disappointments they were compared to the picture I had had of an ideal college student, to scant on details. In any case, for five days of the week, I feel like I am surrounded by buffoons, and it is driving me to madness. What also drives me to madness is the daily dose of flashbacks that surge inexorably through my mind, flashbacks that I can scarcely stop thinking about until I transcribe them to paper. And even then, it's just almost impossible for me to stop thinking of my bad experiences until I've relived them fully. I used to have a bad habit of suppressing, denying, and dissociating when these experiences actually happened. I write often of how sad my life is, and so forth. It's like I'm barely there in the present. Consequently, I can barely focus on anything around me; most of the time, it's just background noise to me; most of the time, my memories seem more real to me than whatever inane nonsense is going on around me. I don't exactly have anything that makes me happy anymore. I used to occupy my workdays with a bit of fan-fiction, which I've had completed since over a month ago. Now, I have nothing, nothing at work nor at home to keep me busy. I've been thinking of learning how to do web-development, so as to advance in my career. Today, I just didn't have the energy for it. I don't exactly have many interesting projects to deploy onto this Worldwide Web contraption that is all the rage with these Internet-goers these days. I've also considered learning how to edit text in Vim better, and how to use that Git utility on a level that is more than basic. But again, I'm just too tired to do any of it. I'm still haunted by experiences from my past; most of them nowadays involve my being harassed by fake DoorDash patrons who wanted to either bully me or steal my car. Reliving all this, being able to vent about this to no one, doesn't leave me with much energy. That's not even counting the fact that I'm solitary for most of my days off from work. It's just me, alone with my thoughts. Also, I'm unsure if this is valid to complain about, but the fact that I live in one of the most uneducated states in these American States bothers me. I want to move somewhere else, like Washington state. But yet again, without a good career already set-up for me, without any actual goals for professional advancement, I'm stuck here. It's like I'm back in Hawaii again, except that I'm much lonelier than I was then. Almost two years have passed since I deserted that state for good. I couldn't live there; not alone. The rent was mad, the scammers were aplenty, and I just hated it there, stuck on a single island for twenty-eight years of my life. I once found joy in revising my fan-fiction. But now that I've finished it, there is nothing more of interest I wish to work on. As I reread my work, though, I am finding blunders and errors that make me embarrassed; I once called it the only thing in my life that really brought me any semblance of joy. Returning to the subject of my co-workers, whenever they engage in conversation, I cannot help but feel like an alien to them. They talk about topics that I just have no stake in whatsoever; video games, sports, current events, and some other inconsequential nonsense. I can't care for any of it. None of it really touches me emotionally; it's just background noise; it's just a bunch of words that refer to some nonsense that I sincerely couldn't care less for. Listening to it all reminds me how distant I am from them all, in a non-literal sense. It's depressing, really. Anyway, overdramatic rambling aside, how was your Saturday, board?
I must have these answers.
Number VI: Larxene.
The Organization's Not-That-Geezer's-Heart-Tank.