Been watching Resident Alien for a few weeks, mostly while stoned, and it's amusing sober and inebriated. Sometimes I think iti'd be funnier if the titular character wasn't a space alien but merely autistic.

This week I need to do adult things, in addition to taking Leah out for dinner on St. Patrick's Day.

I recall when I first started writing for heptapod.org in September of 1999, I was voluminous with my thoughts and encoding them with recycled photons and electrons. Nowadays I don't feel the words coming easily. Probably because I'm surrounded by so many distractions. Texting people on my phone. Fucking around on Twitter. Watching videos on my second monitor.
Coming to the conclusion that I have a drug problem, and it's the serotonin released by utilizing technology. Facilitating my socialization in an increasingly distant world.

At the moment I feel remarkably calm, the anxiety of last week is an awful echo. Still doesn't change the planet is going to hell in a handbasket and I'm uncertain if I'm going to make it out the other side. Or at least maintain some quality of life for myself. One thing I've been telling myself for some time is that I'm going to live to see my 500th birthday and be among the first to apprehend TRAPPIST-1e with my naked eyes.

My left foot is feeling better. I figure I'm going to wear my boot tomorrow just to see how everything goes and if I feel better. Just means less rushing around in-county. Wednesday will be tricky because I have a podiatrist appointment at 2:45 and will have to leave earlier than expected. Not to mention I have some adulting to accomplish because I've been procrastinating because I allowed myself to be deeply affected by the news and current events.

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