Well, it was a good try. This is the end, though.

One solution that I had for this content rut is to go outside more and write about my experiences afterward. Upon further reflection, I don’t think that’s sustainable. I don’t have the time, nor the money, to explore my area every day — much less go on vacation to make content. So, I’m going to tap into the creative side, starting with fiction.

I practiced taking selfies — excuse me, “self portraits.” It was something to do, having not taken one in months. And I was also feeling pretty, so why not?

Where I talk about a video game I loved and some camera gear I bought before going back to video games. Specifically, a couple that I want to finish.

It was difficult to do at first — coming off of Prozac meant I had to learn how to relate to my emotions in a new way. It’s like the neural highways I’ve relied on have all turned to sludge. It’s going to take a while to clean up the mess and get my constructive thoughts up to speed.

I am doubting myself again, and it is killing my mental health and threatening my productivity.

I have this idea for what I want my life to be, and the difference between that ideal and reality bums me out. It hits me harder when I am not in a good mood, causing my thoughts to spiral into all sorts of negative self-talk. It is a mindset that has robbed me of the joy of living.

I want it to stop.

I drove to Peters Canyon Regional Park on a Friday evening. The day was hot, but cooling down. This was nice, because the last thing I needed was to pass out from heat stroke (something I am cognizant of after some mishaps last year). It was also halfway between my home and my work, so I could wait out traffic. I suppose it is a perk of living here. I guess.

Where I write about proofreading tools, Andy Serkis and The Fellowship of the Ring.

I talk a little about the camera. I also loaded a crap ton of pictures from my hike at Quail Hill.

I didn’t expect to buy a camera, but here we are.

What’s interesting to me is that he had the same excuse we all have as writers (aside from, uh, World War II): chores, jobs, hobbies, and our unchecked curiosity do, indeed, pull us away from our writing. They can drag the process on longer than our patience can tolerate.

The best we can do with all of this is to keep plodding along.

Goodbye, bullet journal.

The ones who died—and the ones who will die—deserve to be seen and remembered.

It is bullshit.