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A Bit of Sunday Syndrome and More Random Thoughts

I have to go to the office on-site tomorrow. It's causing me a bit of stress because it's for a big project that I haven't been able to crack as well as I should have.

I want to try the iA writing app.

I need to come up with a proper meal plan and then buy everything as much as possible from Healthy Options where they have ethical sources for farm products.

I've tried the air fryer last night and it looks very promising for future meal preparations.

While shifting to a heavily plant-based diet has added spoons to my days they are still not enough given the mental demands of work, the physical demands of housekeeping, and the emotional demands of this household -- including having to endure the gross mess of the house's maintenance.

I slept through most of yesterday and then I read for most of the time I was awake.

I actually want to step out today but I am trying to feel if I can spare the energy for it since I have to conserve extra energy for tomorrow.

I have been thinking of getting an insurance investment thing that is primarily a retirement plan more than a death benefit plan, but I do not feel comfortable with the idea of having to stay employed for a fixed number of years to be able to keep up the payments. So I may also be leaning back towards a traditional savings account, maybe at the most a time deposit where I reserve the decision to add to the funds.

My precarious life rears its head again today as I am besieged by stress and pressure from my current work project. Performance anxiety. Impostor syndrome.

Sometimes I am tired of crafting words to sell. (Often.)

I want to tell stories and indulge in metaphors. I want to build worlds. I want to dive deep into thoughts and the obscure languages of a heart.

I want to write long strings of paragraphs that may or may not be directly connected but somehow makes a whole. I want to write fragments of stories that break the common boundaries of how to tell stories.

I wish to have the energy and focus to write outside of work, to wash the business-speak from my soul-tongue.

I want time to weave a story, to take a thread from different yarns, and explore what they could become together.

I want to speak louder with my writing. And then I want pictures with it. (It always goes back to that old, old dream of an illustrated book.)

I want to be able to have time and energy to go out again and write by hand and fill up pages and pages of many, many journals. Use up bottles of ink. Have permanently ink-stained hands.

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