August 19th

 Second chiro visit yesterday.

A report and a plan.

The report - you're kinda fucked.

The plan - see me three times a week.

I rested again yesterday. Which definitely helps. The issue is well in hand at this point and making decent progress. I can't fuck around with it though.

This morning I was more downbeat. I think. I've been on a very odd slight high. Lots of sadness and tears. But then feeling a bit better as the days wear on. I think my body has been jacking my happy chemicals up to offset the misery. Wearing off a bit now.

Always the test. The long game.

I grabbed dinner for Poppy and Athena yesterday. Force of habit, filled the first bowl up with Ares food.

Yeah. Not good.

I stopped.

Breathe. It's ok.

I don't know. The grief has waned a lot. But. There is a hole there. It's more than a hole for Ares. Don't get me wrong. There's a big fucking Ares shaped hole that is still "under consideration and deciding what form it will eventually settle into". But. There's also a hole about life in general. Death. The waste. A very personal reminder that it's shit. And an understanding you're now never going to convince me otherwise.

So you just peddle on. As ever. Sun rises. Sun goes down. You go about your bullshit existence, weaving through the suffering, one day after another. Just counting time until you end interspersed with pointless things to distract you in between. Truly a fucked up pattern of existence, a dead end of evolution, a quirk of permutations.

All the noise, and hatred and arguments. Squabbling over money. Resources. Bitter fights. State sanctioned murder via the noble art of war. For what. The uncaring universe looks on at the fractious blip of time on a tiny speck of sand. So much heat and rage for such an insignificant thing.

As a lifeform, it seems to me we are barely evolved. Evolved enough to learn the trick of a wider communication set, and sticking two rocks together to create something new. But so, so, tied back to genetics, and survival and fighting for scraps.

Ho hum.

Very philsophical.

It's not though, really. It is absolutely directly relatable to every minute of every day. Who are you. What are you doing. Where are you going. Does what you do truly matter ?

I got weighed at the chiro. Lost more weight. Lightest I've been since... yeesh. Young. I'm still a fat ass. Just not as fat anymore.

I woke up in the early hours this morning and felt dreadful. Echoes of early this year dreadful. A far cry from as bad. But. It wasn't good. Maybe the chiro stuff has dislodged something. Stirred the pot. I don't know. Doesn't matter anyway.

Anywho. I'm good. Alright. Ok. Thinking of what stuff to do. Frivilous. Painting. Making shit.

My thoughts often drift to the Sandman. Neil Gaimans stuff. His pantheon has stuck with me. Dream. Death. Destruction. Despair. Delirium. Destiny. Desire. It fits my fantastical thinking. In training to be the god of misery. That's why I suffer a lot right ? Maybe I'm just a world class "sorry for myself" stupid monkey instead. But. That's unfair. Pain and suffering are very real. Trivialising them is... old school... stupid. In reality just a stupid monkey that has had a lot of suffering to deal with, and a brain that has a delightful masochistic chemical problem. A bit of a reject in other words. Still. What is poetry but putting an artistic flourish on the excruciating underlying nihilistic awfulness of the universe. This is why I don't chastise people for believing in Sky Fairies. If it helps you get through the day. You're not using it to hurt others. Then by all means see happy flowers in place of the sucking abyss.

Anywho. Think. Positive. Eh ?

Ha. Fucking. Ha. No, but really. Think. Positive.

Sigh.

Note to self. Be careful about re-reading your posts. https://borkborkington.blogspot.com/2021/08/13th-august-2.html instils a deep, dark, not good quiet in me.

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