"A life without loss is a life without love." From a video game, Senua's Sacrifice. I would add "A life without trust is a life without friendship."

Don't know why I would add that, but apparently I did.

Work today started out a little rough. I read a lot of medical documentation, and the kids with issues always get to me. 

At least when I checked my credit score today, it was good. Hooray. 

Walking has been going well. I've had very little pain from my plantar fasciitis and only the slightest twinges in my knee. Getting new shoes about every 3 months seems to be the key. Expensive habit, this walking.

Yesterday was my 8-year anniversary at this job. Difficult for me to grasp. I've learned a lot about medical equipment and Medicare rules and regulation. And insurance in general. Truly life skills.

I suppose I'll just keep trucking along. Get this house paid off, and then re-assess. I guess 9 more years won't be too bad.  

We like stories because we get conflicts that resolve the way we want them to resolve. When we invest in a story and don't get the ending we want, we are unhappy. I don't think that art is required to make people happy. Maybe that's a conscious decision a creator has to make when telling a story. Is this for an introspective person or a more passive person? Is this person going to interact or react? Maybe it doesn't matter that much. In all our communication, I think, there's going to be an ongoing calculation between the general and the specific. Regular joke or inside joke? Make an inside joke that is also funny to people outside the joke, so it's funny to all? Layers. Cram a bunch of stuff in there and let them pick what they like.

I read an article about Elena Tonra, the lead singer of Daughter and her solo album. At some point I wrote to myself: "I want to write like her but that means I want to be like her which means I would have to live like her but I don't want to live like her but I have lived like her before and really I just need to remember no it's not the same but it can be the same as something."

The stream of consciousness style is deliberate there, for example. Trying to capture the feeling of thinking thoughts like that; to convey that the person saying it is also hearing it and tumbling along in the torrent of words. Theory of mind scholars will probably correct me, but I think that our whole body is a thinking thing and our conscious thought (aka the voice in our heads) is a distilled from all the input, like fine whiskey. Well, if whiskey also generated a magnetic field, which is how I think of our sense of self, aka consciousness. 

Fun stuff. 

*I* Read an article about analyzing language on social media. https://www.pnas.org/content/118/7/e2017154118

Very interesting stuff. I remember years ago there was an algorithm that would try to determine if the writer was male or female. I ran some of my blog posts through it, and if I recall correctly, I was in-between. Good, I say. 

The abstract intrigued me, particularly this part:

Signs included an increase in I-words, we-words, and cognitive processing words (characteristic of depression, collective focus, and the meaning-making process, respectively) and drops in analytic thinking (indicating more personal and informal language). 

I say "I" all the time in my writing. In fact, I make a constant effort to avoid starting every paragraph with "I", so it could be even worse. I leave the implied "I" there, however. Hmm, I better go back and add the "I" to my first paragraph because the past tense of read is also read and it looks like an imperative.

That's better. Now, where was I? I was going to look up examples of cognitive processing words. Some person online says: Cognitive words refer to words that are associated with cognitive processing and include insightful (e.g., “realize”) and causal (e.g., “because”) words. 

I think I understand. I suppose I do use a lot of cognitive processing words due to my inherent mistrust of my cognitive processes. (Fun Fact: I used to pronounce a long E in "processes" because I thought that's what you did with plural words like that, like how nemesis becomes nemeses but turns out that rule is only for words of a specific language of origin, I want to say Greek because I'm lazy but I don't really remember. I will not back down on the plural for cactus and using a long E when I say "cactuses".)

Now I'm glad I'm writing more. Or more glad, I should say. I'll be able to track my mental ups and downs based on my word choices and see if I'm losing my mind. Although I may only be able to do it once; once I know language might indicate I'm losing my mind I may be able to learn to avoid those patterns. If I fall into that sweet spot of madness like Ahab. Damn you, brain! Always one step ahead of me...

I had a macabre idea last night as I was falling asleep. It felt like the memory of an idea. The thought was of removing the pet ID microchip from Watson's body and implanting it into my own. Pet microchips are rice grain-sized RFID tags embedded underneath the skin of the pet. Using a specialized scanner will bring up the ID number, and a private company holds all the contact info associated with that ID number. 

People I know and love have gotten tattoos of their pets. Given my current feelings on tattoos, this idea seems more exemplary of the complex emotions I feel for my dog. Someone says they got a tattoo of their dead dog, and you think hey, they must really love their dog. Someone says they dug out their dead dog's dog microchip and implanted it into themselves and you think...well, probably lots of things. Love yes, but also the darker side of love where you feel so intensely about them that you start to lose sight of where you end they begin. The endless envy of those not obsessed.

And it wouldn't have the ostentatious inklings of a tattoo. It would be a tiny bump under the skin; barely visible, but noticeable to the touch. 

All this is just musing, since Watson was cremated and thus, his microchip was also. Plus, since those things are injected into animals there is really no way to know what less-than-optimal materials are in there that would now be in your body. Of course, humans can live way longer than dogs and even if the materials are good for twenty years who knows if they're engineered to really last beyond that. 

Also it would be hard to explain to airport security. 

But bonus, it would freak out all the people that buy into the human tracking device conspiracy theories. I could tell them "Oh yeah, I put mine in so they think I'm just a pet, so when they come for all the humans I'll be able to hide in pet stores or random doghouses."

In a surge of Mexican instinct, I purchased a pack of dried mango slices covered in chili powder. Mango I like, chili powder not so much. This, I believed, would keep me from devouring the entire package in one sitting, since my intention is to have it as a snack on hand at work to stave off the constant temptation of running next door and buying chicken fried steak wrapped in bacon. (The cafe doesn't sell that, but I believe they are fully capable of doing it.)

My experiment was a success. I ate a couple pieces and enjoyed it, then the spice kicked in enough to stop me from eating any more. 

Then a man with a gun walked in the door. He was short, stocky, and wore a heavy coat. He was rude also, as he did not remove his hat. I leaned back in my chair and propped my feet up on my desk. If I was going to die, I was going to die comfortable. 

He stumped towards me and leaned right into my face. "I can't find my gun," he said, eyes narrowing.

I slowly raised my arms and folded my fingers behind my head. "It's in your hand," I said. The man jerked upright and brought his hand up to his face, squinting. "Your left hand," I said.

"Hey, you're right! Thanks!" He took of his hat, put the gun in it, and put the hat back on his head. It didn't immediately fall out. I made a mental note to ask my haberdasher about tactical headwear. He grinned. "What do I owe you?" 

"It's on the house, pal. I was getting drowsy and you just saved me the cost of a cup of coffee."

The man saluted, turned on his heel, and went out as quickly as he came in. 

"Well," I said to no one. "I'd better get back to work.