Something which has bothered me for a very long time, is the commercialisation and replacement of book consumption. Perhaps I only grew up in a very isolated and poor area, but if we wanted a book, we went to the school or town libraries. It is free! But now, it seems normalised to purchase a book to read it once, instead of borrow it and read it once. In particular this was accelerated and promoted specifically by Barnes and Nobleses (as some fools render it). It became fashionable to buy a book as an ornament instead of a resource to enjoy or use. In general I would only buy books I have read more than once, or, a piece of non-fiction reference.
Unrelated: I have moved from Germany back to the USA. Not to one place, though. More of an aimless, nomadic wandering. For a little over a week, and I have already had many tales thus far. My plan before moving back was to document my misadventures using Dreamwidth, and I may yet still. But the reality is that I am struggling, and barely have time or mind to lay out the chaos which unfolds moment to moment. Plus it would be kind of sad to read. It sounds fun without much context, but the reality is that I barely know what tomorrow looks like, which has been my state of being since the end of 2025, and I have not found the stability and security I hoped for. For a very long time in my life, I thought I had cured myself from depression, from the quicksand of negativity and despair. I have long been strong mentally, with an incurable positive attitude and unending hope. But beginning in 2023, a long, slow decline of constant rejection and deeper-than-normal introversion by cultural and linguistic isolation, compounded by my most recent more serious rejections and failures. Doing my level best, trying, but being rejected. I am quite alone, and really at the mercy of the world now. My well of luck and chance seems to have run dry. I seem to have been cursed. All have eroded my once-Pollyanna nature, and I have almost given up. Or really: have already given up but have been in denial about it. I have no idea what my future holds, and the outlook is grim. I am frightened every day. I do not want to become homeless, but now I see it as a real possibility. I have cried more than I ever have in my life these past few months, and I have become nearly useless. I have withered to a pitiable creature.
A few weeks ago I wrote a cool phrase which well summarised my plight, though I can't remember the beginning:
The (something something-oh) of despair and hope.
(it was something like 'changing tide' but a different phrase. The come and go of despair and hope? to and fro?)
The melancholy pale-Poe-imitative whining... It's like I'm really back on Xanga and LJ of the early 2000's!
Unrelated: I have moved from Germany back to the USA. Not to one place, though. More of an aimless, nomadic wandering. For a little over a week, and I have already had many tales thus far. My plan before moving back was to document my misadventures using Dreamwidth, and I may yet still. But the reality is that I am struggling, and barely have time or mind to lay out the chaos which unfolds moment to moment. Plus it would be kind of sad to read. It sounds fun without much context, but the reality is that I barely know what tomorrow looks like, which has been my state of being since the end of 2025, and I have not found the stability and security I hoped for. For a very long time in my life, I thought I had cured myself from depression, from the quicksand of negativity and despair. I have long been strong mentally, with an incurable positive attitude and unending hope. But beginning in 2023, a long, slow decline of constant rejection and deeper-than-normal introversion by cultural and linguistic isolation, compounded by my most recent more serious rejections and failures. Doing my level best, trying, but being rejected. I am quite alone, and really at the mercy of the world now. My well of luck and chance seems to have run dry. I seem to have been cursed. All have eroded my once-Pollyanna nature, and I have almost given up. Or really: have already given up but have been in denial about it. I have no idea what my future holds, and the outlook is grim. I am frightened every day. I do not want to become homeless, but now I see it as a real possibility. I have cried more than I ever have in my life these past few months, and I have become nearly useless. I have withered to a pitiable creature.
A few weeks ago I wrote a cool phrase which well summarised my plight, though I can't remember the beginning:
The (something something-oh) of despair and hope.
(it was something like 'changing tide' but a different phrase. The come and go of despair and hope? to and fro?)
The melancholy pale-Poe-imitative whining... It's like I'm really back on Xanga and LJ of the early 2000's!
