Yesterday's entry featured a dream and during Friday's lunch I thought a lot about it. Not the dream itself, but writing the dream. While writing it down for postery here at inkubo.org, I was really aware of how I was writing badly. I believe I am a good writer, but everything about how the dream was related screamed "first draft".
"Draught" for britbongs, Canadians, and other weirdos with a fetish for extraneous vowels.
I don't know if it's because I have poor work habits, or I'm full of myself believing I'm like Karen Carpenter getting something right on the first take, or draft, or draught. 99% of the time I assume nobody's reading inkubo.org so I'm basically writing for myself. Yet when I get a message that is somewhere near congratulatory for an achievement, that may reinforce my conceits while I re-read my writing in hopes of finding that magic bit so I can reproduce the effect.

On the other hand, I lack self-confidence. Maybe not with my writing, but every other aspect of my existence. Plus I have a serious case of tunnel vision where I can't see opportunities. That may be part of my depression since happy people tend to see more opportunities, take those opportunities, and move on with life. I can twist that into something positive by saying I'm single-minded, but often times that singlemindedness tends to be focused on myself rather than others. Trying to think of others is difficult.

On the other hand, Friday evening was all about thinking of other people. A wind storm was forecast to tear across Ocean and Monmouth counties on Friday evening, so I texted Leah about the potential for the basement taking on more water and bringing in Kira. Kira's made herself into an indoors-outdoors cat. Leah responded with a request for me to make more sandbags to block off the basement and keep out the water. I picked up the bags at her mother's house, went into Seaside Park, filled six bags with sand, hoofed it back to Toms River, blocked off the basement door, then set about putting breakable stuff on the deck rather than the railing in addition to putting away the deck table's umbrella into the garage. Afterwards I reached out to my friend in Bloomfield, then Long Beach Island, and an acquaintance I made up in Matawan. Had any of them needed something, I would've come through for them. But did I really care for them, or was I hoping if they needed something and I simped then they might become better friends with me?

After writing all this out, even if it doesn't make much in the way of sense to other people, I realize that I still have work to do on myself. I need to push my boundaries and go beyond my comfort zone regardless of how I, or others, feel. It's a helluva lot more important than trying to learn yet-another-language. For fifteen minutes I pondered learning another language, probably Japanese, because knowing Esperanto and being fluent in it gives me joy and such a feeling of accomplishment. Not to mention some disappointment that there isn't a dedicated esperantujo where I could visit, unlike knowing Japanese and being able to travel to Japan and experience life there. Esperantujoj, or esperantujos to anglicize it, do manifest but they only last for a couple of days much like the fabled town of Brigadoon.

So your Hallowe'en treat is a long, rambly, narcissistic essay which went nowhere. Maybe after I socialize at this Hallowe'en party on Saturday night I'll find myself in a better headspace and feeling more coherent after socializing with other folks. Hoping that I remain steadfast and make November a better month for myself.

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