The Big Swampy Center of the Universe

 I've been locked away at our office for the past couple of months, trying to finalize the writing for MS2b. Every three or four days, I go back home to tackle laundry and restock food supplies since options are surprisingly sparse near our workspace. This area might even qualify as a semi-food desert. There's just one small supermarket nearby with a somewhat limited selection and exorbitant prices--a 10-40% markup on the same mass-produced items available elsewhere. What? If they were different in any sort of way, I can placebo my way into thinking that they are of higher quality but alas, they are not. They come out of the exact same factory made by the exact same people distributed exactly the same way. Someone is lining their pockets. The groceries are indeed of higher quality. But you have no choice. It's either really good or it's nothing. You have to pay the price. Or just not eat. This is a dynamic I've never really encountered in the states and it always seems to trip me up. No wonder people are thin here.

 The fridge at our office is one of those small ones that freeze everything on the top to middle layer unless you set the dial just right. And I mean just. You know that thing that happens to your drinks where they freeze over slowly when you open it? Yeah. The smallest amount of dial change seems to invite a catastrophic blow to the fridge's ecosystem, a kind of a fridge apocalypse. It's the dial. Too high, and everything becomes an ice block. Too low, and it's just a useless box. Vegetables, particularly salad greens, are the biggest victims. They freeze into icy discs or wilt into a sad, mushy heap. Broccoli is only good when it's fresh. I quick blanche them prior to putting them in the fridge so they stay super green for a few days. That's with a normal fridge though. At the office, my blanching efforts are only rewarded if the dial is set just right. It's somewhere between 7 and 8. 9 is a blizzard, why is there even a 10? Everything else under might as well not exist. And I know what you're thinking. Doesn't this remind you of something? This tiny, finicky, shitty fridge is our home. We live inside of this thing. The slightest bump on the plastic dial wrecks my entire food supply for the week. Are we in control of the dial? Is it too late? Are we too apathetic to talk about it? I certainly feel like I am. The uncanny resemblance is not lost on me.

Today is around day 59.

 I've stopped using social media outside of general data collection as I've come to learn that I have nothing particular I want to say to a void. Theres a cold shower routine that seems to help with focusing. OMAD (one meal a day) helps a lot too. Then theres slight jogging, then a quick workout. Clean the office, write, rest repeat. I've lost like 25 pounds over the past two years, slowly committing to a healthier lifestyle as it's obvious that this line of work requires it. I don't feel noticeably better like those health folks on YouTube claim though. Perhaps the change has been too gradual. The only people I speak to are Hare-san, Dei and Orph, so basically the AiD team. Theres the occasional friend meetup but because they are so sparse and relatively short, not a lot of meaningful conversations can take place.

 I often feel I've spent more time with fictional characters, through both consumption and creation, than with actual people. Not just during the AiD years, but prior to it as well. The writing for MS2b has been the most mentally draining thing I have ever done. The topic I chose certainly didn't help. Once the pieces start to fit together they just don't stop. But I need to temper it because we cant make everything. Just because you can think it, doesn't mean you should make it. I want to talk about fault so much but the writing is one thing I feel like I can't and shouldn't. There's the typical immense pressure of fearing whether this will connect with the current fault audience but there's not too much I can do about that at this point. I've put too much of myself into this story and I feel like I'm losing touch of where reality begins and where it ends.

 There was a monthly vlog thing I wanted to start this year but every time I point the camera at myself I notice I have nothing to say. Everything I want to say is either inane or should be saved for the writing of MS2b or subsequent stories. Thats what I do after all, I make up shit. But that shit is something I can't talk about, you just have to do it. Are there any writers out there? How do you guys deal with the crazy feeling of isolation during writing? Some people seem to be able to do it without a hitch. Some people just end up not finishing. Everyday I feel immense pressure to not fall into the latter category. Our team meetings are heartening as the story keeps evolving into something truly special, though even this I share hesitantly in fear of inflating expectations. If thats the case, what else can I say?

 This article doesn't have any point. It was just a sudden impulse to reach out and share a snippet of my thoughts, akin to semi-morning pages. Not everything needs a point, right? I don't know anymore. It's too long for a tweet anyways.

 The everyday stoic "healthy" routine I've forced on myself was to balance out this isolation. It was tough at first but just like anything, it gets easier and now it's sort of routine. When something becomes routine it's hard to notice any of the effects it had initially. Do I feel better than the previous day? I don't know. How do you even gauge such a thing? I suppose thats the sign of it working; If you don't notice anything negative. The cynic in me wants to lament the reality of believing that the absence of decline is the clearest sign of well-being. Like, you know... is this it? Is this all there is? I try to silence him by asking him to consider the alternative. I tell him, at least it's still edible. At least it’s still going. It’s at least between a 7 and an 8.

I hope you are all doing well.

-Munisix