I saw a dog with an exposed brain today. The world is strangely tranquil. I used to live in fear that I'll get used to losing children. It's come true. I'm sort of prepared for it, one by one. Except Binky. I don't know what that would mean. But I suppose if I can lose Pere, I can deal with anything.
I don't want to think about this anymore.
It's pointless feeling guilty and helpless. I haven't learned how to internalise this platitude. It makes all seem trivial. I'm trying really hard to focus. I'm trying really hard to figure out what's important. I can't seem to tell anymore.
I used to want to get away from all sorts of things. Now all I want to do is embrace my responsibilities. If you can't figure out what it is you want, doesn't it make sense to live with some sense of purpose? My purpose could be to take care of those I'm supposed to care for.
I fear at times that the world makes too many demands on me. I don't remember what it feels like to feel young. Or to have time to draw. I wouldn't know what to draw. There was a time it came without hesitation, like vocalisation. Now it would frustrate me with its unrelenting refusal. I feel dried up.