sherpa by TERASCENSZKI ends as i find my seat on the side of the coffee factory doll house. im wondering where my sobreity went, my clarity, this laser line pencil that shot from the core of my head out through my eyes filling the frontal cortex of my brain and forehead. what am I to do next. things I know I loved before i try to do yet they do not bring me the same joy - flirting with women, go, video games. i think it is the financial burden that fell upon me, and the traumas that plague me, the regrets and what ifs, have hit me harder than I have before because of the frailty of life being made more known to me day by day. my lack of planning and consistency and foresight is sickening. i have to stay forward with my winnings, right? fucking, right? what did I expect. after asking my dad to invest in me and in living skin for 2 years, to have an income off of it. what did I expect, without plans of profiting or creating revenue, to be stuck in bitterness and jealousy of those who are not in such deep fucking holes and do not understand selfless giving. This jealousy around actions of selfless giving is either completely my mistake of failing to get away from it after Boston and the faith, my weakness in not accepting the good in it, or the proof that people do not intellectually give themselves to others in this day without compensation or ordinary kindness. I want to be picked off and be sat back in my tech job where work and fun only mattered. now i have to think about what work I can do and want to do and the weight of all of it, and think about what fun i can have and want to have and the weight of all of it. Disable the noise and ill see it again, I’m sure, i complain as if I havent been drowning myself in nonesense ever since he left. building back my habits of individuality and pride requires discipline. find it.