More.
I have lost involvement with this diary. The majority of the people I once followed closely have either disappeared, moved to a new journaling site that I find bewildering to use, or update only marginally more sporadically than I do. I have no access to this site during the day, which means that my free time during lunch and breaks that was once devoted to updates is lost to this endeavor. A growing sense of alienation has crept in, and I’m not sure what to do about it.
I cannot write about work, nor can I write much about my shelter work. Much of what I have to say, much of who I am and what I represent, is simply forbidden ground. You can blame the jackasses at PETA and HSUS and others for that. I was once somewhat sympathetic to their cause, though I never much liked their tactics. But I have now seen first hand that their cause is not the welfare of animals, but is instead sensationalism and headline grabbing. I have no respect remaining for the officers of those organizations, and divide the rest of their members into mindless radicals and deluded but well meaning pawns. So I won’t be writing about my losses, wins and frustrations at the job.
I’m tired of writing about my illnesses. Sickness has at times come close at times to defining who I am, something I have despised in others and now despise in myself. When I started photographing some minor lesions on my hand so I could better track their progress I suspected I’d gone over the edge. When I realized that tracking my blood sugar had resulted in a ten-page Excel document complete with periodic averages weighed against prednisone dosages and color coding for pre-and post-prandial I knew I’d gone over the edge. “So you’re sick,” I tell myself. “Others are sicker. Get over it, move on, live your life already.” When talking to myself, I’m talking to myself. Apparently I’m not listening.
I’ve exhausted my “I have no money” shtick. I’m tired of listening to me cry poor; I can only imagine how bored those about me have become of that. I keep saying I need to get a second job, but I never get past the point of looking at the help wanted section.
And then I realize I have nothing more to write about. My creativity, if there ever was any, has been bled dry. There is no more. Not right now.