Where am I half a year later? It bothers me that I still measure the time, rarely but sometimes, on this clock that should have no consequence. My world shot into laser focus and the weight of another's relentless depression was lifted away from life and the anger that seemed to permeate those final months went with it. Neither was mine nor lived within me. What I found instead was a thirst for life and all of its goodness which was who I was before that unfortunate evening in which we met.
Surrealist threads are always tempting to follow for one who thrives in absurdist notions. Perhaps Pataphysics was the wrong hook to hang my philosophical hat. Lessons for future self, root in more fertile soil instead of one quarantined by red flags. Red, both the color of desire and that of angry men. Burning the world to ash because life began and ended on the pinprick of addiction was not the world I wished to live in, no matter how theoretically brilliant or beautiful the specimen. That world is unequivocally ugly in practice.
Like Harrison Bergeron free, I dance. Life is the body in motion upon the stage unfettered. I have written some of the short stories that lived in my mind and I have released them into the world. I am aiming my lance at the questing beast that has been academia, this time feeling like my armor is iron forged. I have found a home in a collective art project that is tackling big ideas like post-scarcity. I am moving towards a fellowship in a skill that I must develop to be stronger. I have a job that fills my cup every day. I repaired the friendships that mattered to me profoundly and am emerging into a community where imposter feels like an impossibility. In short, I thrive.