Almost every morning, when I take a shower and wash away the sleep from my mind, a thought springs unbidden. "Koallaby." It's a combination of "koala" and "wallaby." What wondrous form this portmanteau must is unknown to me. Perhaps it would look mainly like a koala, greyish coloring, white tufts of ears. The back legs, however, wold be long and strong. It would amuse tourists by hopping rapidly on its hind legs, wallaby-wise, across open ground and then launching itself at the trunks of trees, clutching onto them. Then it would move slowly again, koala-like, and much some leaves. 

Its life would be one of long stretches of such repose, punctuated by bursts of hoppiness.

Koallaby goals.

* * * *

I made my monthly payment to my student loan. There's a forbearance on it and no payment is technically required. Habit keeps me going. Given the way such rewards are meted out in this world, perhaps any kind of government action to forgive student loans will reward those who have actually been making their regular payments, despite the reprieve. Some article I read, on NPR I think, said it's something like less than a third of people are still making such student loan payments during the forbearance. There is wisdom in not paying them (assuming one were able to do so) and focusing on higher-interest debts. As I said, I am relying on a cynical, bitter wisdom of living in a system that rewards those with middling-wealth (and upwards) with assistance, while those who are truly desperate are thrown a handful of crumbs (that they will have the option to attempt to catch after filling out the proper forms in triplicate).

Note To Self: Get pocket sized chopsticks so I can eat powdery snacks without suffering from cheese fingers. Tweezers might work, but that would be weird. 

I'm thinking of changing the name of one of my dogs. Mabel is wild and cuddly, and I think she deserves a name that invokes the idea that she is cute but also a pain in the ass. Mabel is from the cartoon Gravity Falls. What about Rory? Like Rory Calhoun, that famous stander-upon-two-legs. The name Rory means "red-haired king" so it seems more like a male name, however Gilmore Girls has a female character named Rory I think, or was that a nickname? I've already done one Google search for Rory, and I'll be damned if I does another'n.

Follow-up Note To Self: I have regular-sized chopsticks at home, just bring a pair to work for all my snacking needs. 

One google search I did earlier today was "Allergies or Covid?" The winter here in the desert comes with high pollution advisories because the cooler air doesn't carry away the smog as well. I usually get throat irritation (kind of like a sore throat but without a cough) and itchy eyes. My temperature is normal, no digestive issues, I still taste and smell things, and I've felt a little weaker during my workout but also I didn't lift last week. Probably fine.

Note To Self: If dying, come back and edit this post to say I knew I had it all along and I just refused to live in fear. Ooh, other note to self; if someone's being a jerk and saying not to live in fear just blandly tell them "Oh, I don't live in fear because my depression gives me no desire to live, and so I don't fear death." And then just stare deep into their eyes like I'm trying to see into their soul and see what fear actually looks like until they change the subject or go away.

A normal day. I dreamed last night, that I was delivered a large pallet of assorted Amazon returns and I was told I could repair them and send them back for money. I wasn't alone; there was a group of us and some people were pulling out the more expensive items that they knew how to fix. During the dream, I distinctly remember thinking that something like this probably exists.

I'm almost certain it's possible to make bulk purchases of Amazon returns that the company decides they can't resell for some reason. Or maybe not even the company per se, because it's a vast network of resellers. It doesn't sound that bad really, if I was in a super workshop that had everything ever and I could pick random items and learn how to repair them. 

It has many of the things I like. Agency, new problems with no clear solutions, and nothing will probably die if I mess up. 

I also dreamed of my friend Katherine from middle school. Been a long time since I thought of middle school. 

Kind of felt like coming here because Americans are storming the Capitol Building. Not particularly surprising. There's a bit of a theme here with this administration's supporters.

What's even less surprising is that no one is asking "Where's the President?" Maybe he'll show up once there's some complaining to do.

Capitol Building being evacuated. There's no riot police or mass show of force, which is generally a good idea during a protest because it only escalates things. There appears to be plenty of surveillance and it's possible to bring charges later. 

Man, seeing all those pictures of tear gas really brings back memories. 

I'm so used to consuming media and being able to view the comments on it to see what other people think. I'm proud that this blog is one of the last bastions of comment-free content. Not by choice, but still. 

This blog was born in 2003, making it 17 years old. The same age I was when I joined the army. I hope this blog doesn't do anything rash. Does the army still let 17-year-olds join, I wonder? 

I also fired up the Livejournal yesterday. No new content there. I liked that I had a feed of all the latest updates. I could scroll down and read. Good times.

What interesting nonsense. I feel like because Livejournal and early Blogger felt unpolished, it was freeing. Now I've got all these fancy formatting options and video embedding. Which makes sense, since it was always possible before if I was willing to suffer the HTML coding process. Which meant any pictures I put up, for instance, had to be ones I really cared about because I would have to host them at another site and then link to that, which took like an extra 4 steps and I was so, so lazy.

Also my laptop back then was incredibly slow, so that was a challenge. But a good one, because it was harder to get distracted. 

I'm feeling nostalgia, I think, although I'm starting to doubt if it was for the tech. Maybe it was because I was much more open earlier on? I shared a lot more. I think I did. What if I felt a lot more? That's a possibility. 

Hmm.

"Realists are always getting into trouble. They miss the sweet, easy victories of the daydreamer."

-The Case for the Daydream, by James Thurber

Wonder what it's doing to my brain to flip back and forth between James Thurber's writings and Thomas Ligotti's. Thurber slaps convention about the face, taps it on the opposite shoulder to make it turn about in confusion, and locks it out whenever it steps outside. Ligotti eviscerates it, slowly and methodically.

Perhaps a sitcom should be written in which the character of me lives with Thurber and Ligotti as roommates. We can live in a house built out of spite to block the seaside view of another neighbor, and we don't have to pay rent but the stipulation is that all three of us can't ever be in the house at the same time; some writer must always be out confronting the world at all times. No reason for that rule; it's just a contrivance. Presumably all the characters will be forced to find something to do outside. 

The environment affects the writing, I think. Writing on my breaks at work is a world away from my midnight musings after a day of antics. At least it's something. 

One of my plans was to try to make a writing area. And a reading area, to read aloud the Moby Dick. I must leave that to the world. Or to people who may have loved me and want to hear my voice again. They'll have to sit through a classic. Ha! 

Maybe I can do all the funniest bits at least. 

Excellent! Today we are in the future. It all looks very fine, I dare say. The walls are still standing, and the bland art that hangs upon them appears unperturbed. Inoffensive platitudes greet my in my email. The cyborg terror birds appear to be teleporting into the office supply rooms and back to their home nightmare dimension with ease. (They seem interested only in stealing a ream of paper and packets of paperclips, presumably for their nesting season, items which is we use less and less of anyway.) These larcenous squalls are over quickly, and will fade as the brooding begins in earnest.

Today I read a bit of James Thurber. Prior to today, I believe I only read his most famous short story and nothing else. Regret upon regret. My first leafings through a collection of his writings and drawings was rewarded with a jovial reference to the demise of Ambrose Bierce. I recognize something of my voice in his. An echo, anyway. The understanding that logic is not mandatory to embark upon the path to truth. 

Yes, logic, that ontological train ticket clutched in the grubby fist of a rotund schoolchild. Don't let go, they tell you, or else you will be lost. Naturally, they rely on the fear of being alone, and do not point out that you will be lost, but with a great deal of company lost with you. I'd say roughly half of people get by without using logic at all, and those that do make use of it may not do so for days at a stretch. They are not fools;  as long as the scaffold of the world is mostly truth they will not fall. 

Truth will set you free, they say, but logic never got such marketing.