I've tried helping alot of people work through the hardship of being fundamentally different. It's futile, usually, almost never worth the effort. I speak from experience. Most of them end up dead or gone, intellectuals who had no faith or dreamweavers that enjoyed the blood and spirit too much. But then I'm here, healthy, well-grounded, mildly pedantic. I've always been a survivor.

Hmm, it's sad to see people I love tear into themselves the same way I do sometimes. It seems to be something we fundamentally do. I can't speak for humans in general, but suffering is some bizarre proving ground that many seem to enjoy throwing themselves into time and again. People have their favorite flavors: lost love, work, self-destruction. Self-pity is popular. And when I think of the situations I've constantly repeated, I think I'm o.k. still. I'm not sure if feeling comfortable with not being with anyone is alright, but it is something I've wanted for a long time. And with time, it just feels more right.

Other people's suffering doesn't get to me the way it used to. I can appreciate and sympathize, but I don't connect myself to it, hopefully just to them for however long I know them. People come and go, things change. It may sound callous, but I enjoy people and things when they're around and move on to other things when I lose touch with them. Letting go is tough, even with some of my Mom's taoist upbringing.

People just come and go, and at the centre of it I move in circles while still making progress on the side. I survive, and oddly I appreciate that about me.

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