jem on jém

[ENTRY 022]

terminal\user\jem\journal

I feel I have less to write as of late with the last few entries. Maybe it’s tied to how nothing worthy of note has occurred; neither horrors beyond comprehension nor observations exceptionally mundane. Just a life I am living that feels quaint at the moment. A brief respite from the usual spiralling fanfare, layer upon layer upon layer. If this is the calm before the storm, I can’t feel it.

This week, I went from telling friends ‘fuck my chungus life’ (accompanied by an out-of-context photo of a Premiere Pro timeline) to today saying ‘I love my chungus life’ (accompanied by a photo of pancakes made with batter I bought individual ingredients for and subsequently combined myself). And so, I listened to all one hour and thirteen minutes of the new Ethel Cain album while I laid castle foundations on a mountaintop in Minecraft that only grew as complicated as I steadily became increasingly ambitious. I’ll finish the day prepping overnight oats, a hot compress and maybe starting another season of Twin Peaks.

Oddly specific unemployed nostalgia baity greentext aside, this day will fade into a blissful memory to reflect on given time, weeks or perhaps even months to come. And I welcome this with open arms. It’s hard to imagine in the future that I’ll find it hard to imagine a time when I was happier in the past. It won’t take falling to my hands and knees to recall better times, but preparing for the worst is almost second nature.

I say almost, given how quickly I feel myself caught, swept in a whirlwind of consequences I could see miles away. Flag after flag I ignore because I have plenty of time to deal with them later. But later arrives, the bill comes due, I pay the piper, whatever. Lessons are so difficult for me to learn, and details are so hard to stick. Parallel to every normal experience roller coaster, I wonder if anyone else’s bar is slightly unlatched or if it’s just me. The tightness must be normal if everyone else is choosing to throw their hands in the air.

But I find solace, a comfort, a cool side of the pillow to flip to in the form of one of many constants I circle back to: an acceptance of all possibilities that come with a person that is changing all the time. Some things that shouldn’t be treated as an inevitability, but growth that is rooted in the best attempt to remain truly authentic to oneself. More than ever, I am open to what I am capable of, whether it's how I can express myself or be of service to someone or both.

To be led by my heart invites the risk of fear that fits like a sandpaper glove, but there is a path worth following. Getting to know myself more and more, side by side with close friends also discovering me in real time, fills me with a joy quite like nothing else. It is proof to the contrary that I’ve long understood as nothing but self-made fabrication, now obliterated.

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