Whoever That Sweet Soul Was

After taking a few glances at my blog, Just some older posts. Things really seem disconnected. There seems to be more gaps than i had anticipated. I also really like reading my journey, the changes in my life. It's no wonder the anonymous comment read half of my work in one day. Reading made me see things from a viewer's point of view rather than just reviewing my day. It gave me a new pair of eyes. I wonder how they're doing? They never did respond to my comment. I'm not a chatroom person either so, I guess our interaction truly ended here with whoever that sweet soul was. I still remember how exciting and unexpected the comment was. I didn't really know how to respond but was looking forward to my plans with the blog more than ever. It felt like I was finding my purpose, joy. I felt one step closer to it. I don't know where this journey is taking me now, but i do know that I'll be on this blog for a little while longer for both me and it to grow.

Not On My Table

Working at my new job has been great. With what I can make in a month I should be able to live on my own — a studio apartment, something. My coworkers are nice, though some have a scary resting focused face. It's a much healthier environment. I'll take it.

Now for the venting portion.

I mentioned before that Spawnpoint believed I was somehow in competition with her. Let me explain exactly what that logic looks like when applied to me.

Her husband is in his seventies. Bald. Married — as if that alone wasn't enough of a turn off or common sense for her to realize that I could never actually be attracted to him. He's falling apart. He has health issues and needs to eat saltless foods. Who wants to go on a dinner date with wings that taste of dirt. No seasoning. Just wings that taste as if they were boiled with chicken tears. Not to mention the part of me that not so willingly still remembers finding out that he had to take viagra just to please her at some point. Spawnpoint was ridiculing him. Who knows what else is wrong with him. I also don't enjoy the imagination of smelling an old man's morning breath. Oh good morning honey — just for me to feel like the crypt keeper said good morning without taking the embalming fluid and maggots out of its teeth. I know I'm serious when I say I don't care to find out and yet for some reason in her mind, her man is a wanted one.

The man is also a cheater. I found that out quite unwillingly on a school night in high school. I was yawning the whole next day because they wanted to argue in the dead of night. I seriously still don't know why she was surprised. With how she acts, if I had a woman like that I'd want to cheat too. I'd break up real quick though. For some reason older couples like staying in messy, toxic relationships and call it love for show. A personal choice I will never understand especially when the man is very questionable.

Oh and the man is clearly into bigger women. I'm the smallest person in my entire biological family somewhere way under two hundred pounds and have no desire to get bigger. I already look like Spawnpoint — I'm not looking to turn into a bathtub like her too. Then I'd really look like a mini version of her. I literally shudder at the thought. That would make me look so unattractive in my own opinion. I'd never want to have anything to do with this body again so much quicker. I'm not into looking like a bigger person and clearly her husband is into bigger people who don't work out and have folds everywhere. There is a reason he calls her muffin and I think that's why. He's also into her huge watermelons — no seriously, watermelons that probably smell like the best perfume to him whenever she sweats with that old person smell. If I'm going to get bigger it'll be with functional muscle since I'm against looking unattractive to my standards and mental health, not just looking big for nothing. Thank goodness we're so different. Like seriously, why would he want the 21 year old when he married the 50 something year old that clearly looks way older, is closer to his age range and is more his type. I look younger than my age, so her insecurity over my existence actually makes this seem way worse especially when 21 is still considered a baby by most. What was she implying with that insecurity? Even the man's daughter is older than myself ad has a son. That's beyond disgusting.

The man was also friends with a woman beater and drank with him on multiple occasions. That woman beater happens to be the same uncle who choked me out — a felon with severe alcohol issues who supports rape, beats women, and doesn't even accept his own nonverbal autistic son and wants something better like he wouldn't just mistreat that child too. He knew that my uncle was into beating my aunt but decided to hang out with him because he was cool with him and wasn't being malicious to him. For some reason, him and Spawnpoint seem to like hanging around laughing with just anyone just because nothing bad is happening to them. In what world would any of that be my type. Oh yeah — their self-made delusional ones. Was I supposed to really be that much of a male centered, chaos driven crackhead. You can't make this up.

She literally told me "Maybe you need a man." Was hers supposed to be the catch of the sea? He's not even qualified as a concept. Like seriously, he's not even the bait or the fishing pole. The man has no value outside of money in my eyes. Since that money isn't mine, what real value is he in general? He's pretty useless except for the residence and soon I won't even need that from these weirdos. I get it — her husband makes six figures a year as a trucker. So now every woman in proximity wants to steal him? I think she's foolish for taking someone like that seriously beyond the money. Even more foolish for being a stay at home wife for such a man to play house with while trying to compete with my peace. All she found was an enabler for her particular brand of weirdness to fund her lifestyle. I don't even want to be a part of it and yet she had the insanity to think I'd try to snatch what I wouldn't even call scraps? There isn't enough money in the world to turn me into that or want what she has. I care more about my own money and life to be all proud of what I didn't make, earn nor care about. There's a huge difference between helping and actually doing the job. She hasn't had one in years and I'm supposed to steal the life that her husband has in his hands. She's worried about the wrong person and needs a job instead of acting like she escaped Arkham Asylum if she's so worried about her lifestyle — or at the very minimum, her husband who would be the first person to pull the rug of financial stability out from under her feet.

Spawnpoint likes to act as though everyone should bow down to her because of her husband. She's not the six figure earner. She's the person adjacent to one. Her attitude is so volatile that she likely couldn't keep a job anyway with how she acts towards any relative — too combative, too easily set off. Yet I'm the one who is the problem in her eyes. According to her, I'm psychotic. She was physically aggressive with me more than once this year. She would yank and grab my arm to get closer to her. Whenever I had to tell her to stop, she wouldn't listen because I don't pay bills so she could just do whatever she wants with me in her eyes. I had to tell her husband about it and only then did she magically stop. She also liked to throw water droplets at me with a malicious look because there would be no evidence if it dried and was barely visible. The woman can barely contain her entitlement in public as soon as a minor inconvenience happens. Her motto literally is if she's not happy then everyone isn't — even if she had nothing to do with that person that very day. I can't respect her at all. I don't. I just pretend. Same goes for her husband. I treat them as one entity. And despite that she likes to lie and say that I target her because she's a woman, meanwhile I haven't done nearly as much as what was done to me. I didn't initiate contact with her — in fact when I had to remove her from me without excessive force, she responded less aggressively than when I simply used my words first as always. Words don't work on her because she wants a reaction, a real show of my discomfort just to get her fix of nonsensical drama for the day. She literally calls my genuine smiles of happiness creepy. I don't smile around her simply because she was never a good reason to smile around. She doesn't like logic. I wish I was lying — then she wouldn't be just a Spawnpoint. I'd have someone worth giving a real name in my life that I never got instead of just being stuck with her. She won't be missed.

She's by herself for most of the week, sitting on her phone for entertainment, gossiping, spreading lies and being overly nosy or just yelling angrily at her husband or a caller. She stays in her home way more than I do and yet felt uncomfortable with me being near her husband this entire time when I barely speak to anyone — nevermind her husband, who I can't even say I've actually spoken to more than twenty times in my nine month stay and counting. I've had more unavoidable contact with her than with him. Like — stay away from me. Throw that whole woman away. I'm only in this residence long enough to work and save. Not to be dragged into imaginary love triangles and conversations that I never signed up for.

She genuinely grosses me out. So does he.

Both of them seem to believe the entire family is trying to break up their marriage. If that were the case, why are they still married? No one is showing up to their home demanding it be over. Literally no one. These two want everyone obsessed with them and the obsession simply does not exist. It's what money does to certain people like this — gets into their heads and stays there. Apparently because they are so happy together with their success, everyone must want them to separate. With that logic it's safe to assume they're just trying to feel more important than they really are with a baseless ragebait tactic for the attention they've starved for like air. If over five people are obsessed with breaking up a marriage then what on earth did they not do? Apparently the narrative is that they didn't do anything. Yeah because that makes sense. Just something to think about even if that statement were true. Not to mention that Spawnpoint still talks to those relatives or about them to this day. I wonder who's really obsessed on a daily basis? Why speak to people you know you can't trust? She called her mother a narcissist and is still on the phone with her to this day. Priorities are nonexistent with her. Personally I truly believe them to be delusional beyond reason. Spawnpoint tried to convince her husband that I must need a man because like her, I must be miserable without one and willing to marry just anything and anyone. And without one, of course she thought I would try to take hers. First of all, I'm interested in money. Second, the idea that her husband was ever a table option is one of the most insulting things she could've assumed as a fact. I'm still processing that.

I was always more miserable around other people than alone — the majority of them being blood relatives whom I've cut off from my life due to the fact that I don't care to keep chatting up drama plots. I only speak to who I'm staying with currently. After this though, no one should remember that I exist. If I could, I'd wipe their memory of me for the cleanest break imaginable. I'd clear the house of all of my photos, no traces. That's just how done I am with these people in general. A man would not be my first thought for ending any kind of misery related to them or from them. They are more often than not just another problem to manage in my life. I like my solitude. No amount of money or delusion is going to change that.

Not Being That Again

Good news — I'm about to work two jobs.

Bad news — I'm slightly annoyed today and don't wish to talk about what happened during the time skip.

My stepfather, the enabler, decided to be less than subtle about his manipulation tactics today. He was itching to cause a fuss because I don't make it easy — I keep to myself. He knows I've never asked him for anything or used his charger in all nine months. Not once. Everything I've lost this year I went and replaced myself. If I didn't have the money I waited until I did. That went for everything. He's never seen me touch his wife's charger either.

But instead of choosing the obvious conclusion, he demanded over text that I return his charger. Not even a "did you happen to see it." Just a demand. As if I would know — it's not mine, I don't touch what isn't mine, and I prefer it that way.

When I texted back "Why would I have it?" he suddenly wanted to think before making assumptions. He found it under his bed shortly after. Which would imply I'd have had to be in their room. Then came the backtrack — he wasn't accusing me of anything, he was just asking. As soon as he couldn't pin it on me, the tone shifted entirely. Then he tried to soften it further by saying he didn't mind if I used his charger. That I could.

He is a grown man. I will not be pacified into the idea that he didn't know what he was doing. He must really think I'm an idiot. But that's fine — I couldn't care less what he thinks. The moment I take that offer is the moment I'm on the hook for a lot more than a charger. I barely stood a chance without having done anything — imagine what happens once I've given them something real to work with. That's how being the scapegoat starts. I won't be that again.

This is the same man who deliberately tried to send me back to my abusive aunt and uncle. For context — my uncle tried to choke me to death once. He didn't let go when I begged. My aunt had to pull him off. I later found out she'd had to put a gun to his head during an argument because of how far gone he was and how often he hit her.

I have no interest in using that man's charger. Ever.

His manipulation is exactly why I'll never get close to him or ever care about him. He is a disgusting man. I would never propose that on anyone — but ever since he said what he said, if I had the choice, I'd send him somewhere far worse. Along with his wife, who agreed with him. Because she sees me as competition. Something I found out during the time skip. Shocking even to me.

This is why I'll never trust any member of my family when they say "if we didn't love you, you wouldn't be under my roof." A roof is a roof. Not proof of love or even like. I'm living in a residence. I refuse to live under a spell.

I don't care for the love of awful people. I never once did in my entire nine months here. All I care about is earning my money and saving for what I actually want. It's always been that way. His wife is out of her mind for assuming I want anything to do with either of them beyond what I have to. I was going to keep that text message to myself. But no. I'm not. I don't care to protect people who were itching to send me back to a felon that almost killed me just last year in June.

Her Persistent Lies.

 Today sucks in general. Because of my spawnpoint, I ended up having a panic attack and needed six hours away from her to recharge. I'm going to take a break from writing for now.

What Remained

Sometime within the last three days, including today, I found myself noticing something unusual during one of my routine trips to the park.

The entire area smelled like eggs.

At first I couldn't place it. Then I remembered that most of the neighborhood uses gas stoves. Considering the explosions that happened recently, my mind immediately wandered toward the possibility of a gas leak.

I couldn't smell any fires.

Then again, why would I want to?

That would mean getting close enough to the flames to find out.

After finishing my walk, I headed back to my current residence and started working on my Neocities website.

That ended up becoming the highlight of my day.

Since I couldn't find any cursors that matched what I had envisioned, I decided to make my own. But before the dewdrop cursor ever existed, I had already made two instruments for the site: a felted piano and a slide whistle.

I couldn't hide my excitement.

I couldn't contain my joy and needed to share it with someone.

Naturally, I drifted toward Muffy.

She seemed to be having a fabulous time. Showed me some cute pics. Her kids had been a bit harsh toward her while showing off for their cousins, but overall things appeared to be going well.

Then this afternoon I learned she wasn't feeling well at all.

It was strange how quickly the mood shifted.

One moment we were talking about website projects and little victories. The next, she was trying to get through the day while feeling sick  from vomiting and cramping

I also found myself feeling a little awkward and out of place.

Maybe it was because I didn't feel like I had much of my own life to share.

Or maybe what I did have felt too boring to mention.

I'm not exactly living my best life at the moment, so perhaps it felt like there wasn't much importance in talking about it.

Still, she listened anyway.

The more I worked on the site, the more ideas appeared.

Coding has slowly become one of the few places where my creativity feels unrestricted. Every small improvement seems to create three new possibilities behind it.

While working on the site, I realized something about the way I approach projects.

I don't think like someone who is simply building a website.

I've been trying to build an environment.

A place with its own atmosphere, pacing, and quiet rules.

Most websites focus on features.

I find myself focused on feelings.

How a page moves.

How a cursor behaves.

How a visitor experiences a space without consciously realizing why.

The dewdrop cursor wasn't really about the cursor.

The spores weren't really about the scrollbar.

They were pieces of a larger world.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized I've never approached creative projects as displays of content.

I approach them as ecosystems.

I want things to feel alive.

Not loud.

Not flashy.

Alive.

Maybe that's why I spend so much time refining details most people would never notice.

The details are the experience.

And for the first time in a while, it feels like I finally have a place to let those ideas exist.

I also came across a few new ideas for my Neocities website.

Nothing concrete yet.

At the moment, I'm not sure I want to make any grand changes.

The dewdrop cursor, the felted piano, the slide whistle, and the drifting spores already feel like they're moving things in the right direction.

Maybe the site needs more time before I start reshaping it again.

Somewhere in all of that, I was a bit surprised to see a comment from Asto yesterday.

It's been well over a few months since I last heard from him. The last time was around Valentine's Day.

After that, nothing.

I figured he had gone ghost and left our chatting site behind since things had started to feel less than casual.

He was also busy with school, and I knew he'd have better priorities to maintain.

As usual, I didn't step in the way.

I just let things fade.

So seeing his comment caught me off guard.

I guess he was still reading the site.

Honestly, most people don't seem all that interested, so I wasn't expecting it.

It also made me think about the chat area I've been planning to add.

Originally, I tried to make it work on the blog itself, but the more I thought about it, the more I felt there were better ways to go about it.

Neocities seems like the better home for it.

For now, though, it's just another idea sitting on the shelf with the others.

Today doesn't feel quite as great as the last few days did.

Not bad.

Just quieter.

Like the excitement settled down and left me sitting with whatever was left behind.

Other than that, I'm not really sure what to write about next.

The Duck and Cover Kind

 

Yesterday was quiet on my end. More job applications, more waiting.

I finished documenting the hostile intentions of every blood relative I've ever had. It took over a week to write down everything — all of it. I'm glad it's done. I should have the rest finished before the end of the month and finally get that out of the way.

Yesterday morning, Spawnpoint decided it would be a nice idea to wake me up just so I could call her phone. I cared more about my sleep. She's an older adult — keeping up with her own belongings shouldn't require waking me. She kept telling me to keep calling it, as if I was helping her without question. I let her believe that a few times before I finally called it once and left it there. I didn't consent to being woken up over someone else's incompetence. I couldn't even manage to lose my own phone in over six months. There's no excuse. I've already dealt with enough of her faults — some that almost got me sexually assaulted. Safe to say I'll never be thrilled to help her in any capacity. I simply don't consent to it.

During my weighted run at the park yesterday it was quiet and lively. Men had their weighted vests, women had their dumbbells, children had their dirt bikes. There was a small family event — volleyball being played as the lake water glinted under a harsh sun.

Then an explosion happened.

Not the celebratory kind. The duck and cover kind. I figured it had something to do with the landscapers nearby, some kind of industrial work. But after I left the park, I kept hearing it in different areas — setting off car alarms, disturbing dogs, and unsettling the general public alike.

Even later in the afternoon it continued. Louder, and this time right next door. Whatever the case may be, no ambulances were called so I assumed it was none of my business. I don't live in a safe area to begin with and I'm no investigator for the unimportant.

I checked in with Muffy yesterday. Just a simple call. She's going on a trip with her kids this Wednesday, Leesburg, Florida. Her husband's father lives in Texas but met up with them and they're going to stay with him once everyone reaches Florida. He's only been able to do day visits — twice in the last three years. I'm sure the whole family is excited for a longer stay. It's sweet.

Then came the supposed nightly weighted run. I had to walk — couldn't breathe properly, the air felt off. It felt like a mistake going out but I didn't plan on a cheat day. Surprisingly, no mosquitos. More explosions in the distance, louder this time — enough to burst an eardrum from half a mile away, judging by the cars that responded. After that I called it a night with Muffy.

Then while scrolling through TikTok I found out that Oliver Tree passed away that same day along with five others in a mid-air collision between two helicopters in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. He was 32 and in the middle of his world tour. He was a nice artist to listen to. He will be missed. 

On a brighter note — I found out that vegam1nd went to a concert to dance because her trending move made the artist 3OH!3 go viral. A nice touch after the shocking news. And I also found out about Verity.

G-Dex 2019

 

I really miss seeing this style. The best I ever saw on playstation. 

What I Don't Write About

  

Today wasn't so eventful.

Mainly job hunting, learning a few more skills, then a weighted run — fueled entirely by the certain desire to reach my goals, all that will better my existence. The most important one being the final act that severs every tie to this situation I'm expected to call home and biological family. I don't consent to that break being temporary. It has to be permanent. 

I'm willing to endure whatever pain it takes to get stronger where it matters. All strength, accepted. If it buys total freedom, I'd offer up my bones in exchange. Sounds dramatic — until you live with what I don't write about.

With that in mind, I'm pretty satisfied with tonight.

Oh — there's a new music page on Neocities now. Work in progress, like the rest of the site. Nothing amazing yet, but I'll be satisfied with it in due time.

The drifting frequencies label has been deleted. Besides. I have something better here in my other website. It's in the playlist spore.

Echoes Of Anomatrix

Fresh Start

I completely redesigned the anime page on my Neocities site. It's part of my about me page. The weather feature is gone — full redesign, fresh start. I didn't add every single anime I liked, but for 800 lines of code it'll have to do for now. Or I can just never update it. I'm not complaining about not adding more.

If you want to check it out:

🠊🠊🠊🠊🠊 About Me website.

This website is a work in progress.

I'm To Bored To Give This A Proper Title

Today was going smoothly. Applying for jobs, more interviews lined up, another one tomorrow.

Then I saw it.

The greatest art of 2026. Whale semen. On TikTok. It exists and I saw it and I can't unknow that.

Then I learned about a planetary phenomenon called Conjunction. The planets appear side by side because they cross the exact same longitude in the evening sky — in this case, Venus and Jupiter. Depending on where you stood, they looked about a pencil length apart.

I decided that counted as a small victory for my eyes after whatever I had just witnessed.

Honestly, my day was boring.

Didn't Even Mourn

Here is the shaped version:

Yesterday's interview was a loss before it even started.

I was dressed for the occasion — sun out, sunscreen on, fully prepared. Then the interviewer was rude over the phone. I already knew. I turned out to be right.

I moved on immediately and replied to another interviewer who was available that same day. She couldn't return the text. I figured, oh well — why not buy ice cream on a blazing morning like this.

The flavor was Jeni's Brown Butter Almond Brittle. I'm sure I've mentioned it in a different post A Sweet Detour. My taste buds weren't thrilled. A flavor that used to make life worth living is now dead to one of my senses. I just kept eating. I didn't even mourn.

On the way back to Spawnpoint's residence — I figured calling her egg donor was too crude. It's not my style. Spawnpoint is more accurate, so that's what it'll be from here.

The weather decided not to take its medication and began bawling out of nowhere. Hard. It was like watching a bipolar episode unfold in real time. Then it stopped just as suddenly as it started, the sun returned, and I was met with a dust storm that put my umbrella to the test. Without it I may have spent the rest of the day picking debris out of my eyelids.

The winds were strong enough to pick up stray cats. No wonder there wasn't a single bird in sight.

Under three Percent

 

Feeling a bit more relaxed. Time for some fun.

I want to talk about my Neocities page.

It's still a work in progress — I took a week away from it. On my anime section page I went for a realistic weather look. It actually tracks the day and night cycle of where I live, as well as the moon cycle. If it's night, it's night. I wish I had added more to it, like stars, but for now the button and lighting is enough.

The cursor feels slightly out of place but it was too cool not to include. I still haven't figured out what cursor I want to make to actually match the feel of the anime page. That's still pending.

Then there are the anime tabs. Each one has its own minimalistic effect. My favorite so far is the Ajin page — I worked hard on that one just to get the realistic blood cursor right. It's the best thing I've made on there. Some of the others were more of a rush job than a complete work, but that's fine. I can always go back and improve.

What I find pretty cool is that after everything I've built, I haven't even used three percent of my data yet.

The Price of My Peace

Today went pretty chill.

I relived every messed up thing that ever happened to me at the hands of every relative I ever encountered. Wrote it down somewhere. I'm so glad I'll only be living this life with them once. I don't consent to any further encounters — not even in the afterlife. That's a one and done deal.

If my afterlife is disrupted by them, I will personally destroy them all.

My peace will not be denied. If I can't have it even there, I might as well turn into an ambitious demon with my humanity as the price. Peace — or there will be nothing left of you. Not even in a different timeline. May my flesh turn to bone with a mind devoid of all its limitations. It wouldn't simply be rage. It would be certain agony in every single way. I wouldn't hesitate to reach into the different states of their beings and every level of their consciousness just to make it happen. My entire body and soul could cease to exist for my goals. Any and all objections to my peace become a target and must pay the price in full. No rest, no mercy, and my endless creativity devoted entirely to their complete and total unrest at all times.

This can all be avoided the moment my afterlife is left undisturbed. No prayers disrupting my peace, no beings attempting to talk things out. Nothing. Absolutely nothing but good energy, adventures, and my happy ending. If that is ruined, the target pays in full with their existence. The only way out is their complete and total eradication.

I ate some fish and threw up from the rage. Genuinely disgusted enough that it came out without the usual war my body wages against itself. Normally it's a blocked pipe situation — no air, no control, no relief until my body decides it's finished. Then just the stench of stomach acid and digested food, and washing it out sometimes taking minutes. This time it was effortless. Like picking up a coffee that was ready on time. Today is the first day in years I can say throwing up didn't leave me with dread or cost me my voice. I used to be obsessed with never getting sick and now, it's probably not even going to need to be anything but an afterthought. 

I have more to write on this. A few ideas already forming to ensure my afterlife remains exactly as it should be — undisturbed by anyone who has wronged me in ways I cannot and will not replicate in this life. My kindness is leaving them alone. In return I keep my silence. I live like a ghost in this residence already. Silence is infinitely better than wicked whims.

I'll weave whatever I need to weave to banish them from my soul forever.

No ties to any and all of my relatives. And I'm not asking.

Of course I wouldn't mind any prayers, spells or hexes that made this a reality without doing me any harm or leading my soul to any harm or discomfort. I will be joyful. I wonder who would help me? It's not like i'm going to be alone in the afterlife. Success is the only option.

They Made A Meal Out Of Him

So. This morning I found out about something and..... I definitely have words for it despite how indescribable I feel.

I'll just write what I saw.

In 1991, hikers exploring the Tyrolean Alps between Italy and Austria discovered the mummified remains of a 5,300-year-old man. Scientists nicknamed him Ötzi the Iceman. They learned he was balding, covered in tattoos, and infected with a cancer-causing strain of HPV.

So what did they naturally do next?

They looked for yeast on the mummy to make sourdough bread. Then decided beer was a reasonable next step. They even put together a specialized research team from the food sector to make it happen.

I don't care what science this is. That's cannibalism. They harvested a mummy and turned him into a loaf. With documented intent to make a beverage out of whatever was left.

These people are sick.

And they published it. Peer reviewed. In a journal. With a face full of mummy.

I read it here: They Ate the Mummy Info

State Of Things

After catching part of the State of Play livestream, I really want to play God of War Laufey. Kratos was right — his wife fights beautifully. It feels like an opportunity to see how they met. Just more legendary gameplay waiting to happen.

I also caught up on the From series. Season four took long enough. Dorohedoro has a season 2 and i feel sooo late for knowing that. Spiderman noir 😭. I really want to watch it but I don't know if I can since I have no television or subscriptions. Perhaps for the better to watch in the future.

Went to a job interview today. A second one should follow by next Tuesday. I don't consent to not doing well. Multiple interviews are in motion now, which is its own kind of hectic. May the best pay and fit win.

The day almost ended on a disaster.

My egg donor — Spawnpoint, as I'll be calling her from here — tried to frame me over something small. She lied to her husband about me not completing a task. At 10 p.m., when people were preparing to sleep, she decided that was the moment to cause trouble.

It didn't work. Even he saw through it. Thank gosh she's a temporary spawnpoint that I only have to experience once in this lifetime. I don't consent to going through all of that again.

Peaahhh

Hmm, I have nothing much to say for tonight other than male peacocks sound like some hella gay damsels 😂. It's seriously hilarious. It feels like i'm staring and listening to a gay man. Something about them makes me want to do some vocal stims. I just thought it was funny enough to share. 

MMD

 Hmm... tonight I'm feeling a bit nostalgic. It's been a few years since I've been in my MMD era. They were so funny and cool to me back then. I kept wondering how people animated these — it seemed like a complicated process to make it flow smoothly. Here are a few of what I remember.

My first introduction to "Gasoline" was through the MMDs at the time.

          

For this video, I was interested in Natsu's demon design. I was so hyped to see it in any form. The outfit was cool to me at the time. I'm pretty sure that this video was watched multiple times. Now I feel a bit awkward watching the video.

This one is of the funny videos I had found.

This one was a total vibe at the time.

Umm...yeah.

Yeah, it seems that I had some sort of taste back then. Now I remember. I was rooting to see who the best dancer was — Sasuke or Peach. Looking back on this now, it sort of feels like a strange fever dream. I'm pretty sure sasuke won lol.

This one was also a vibe back then.

More Scraps

Just minutes ago, my egg donor's husband gave me a used and worn dresser. I was told it was for my laptop — in reality, it was just to get rid of their scraps out of sheer convenience. They bought a new desktop dresser. Knowing him, he probably thinks it a peace offering. A way to get closer to me. It's most certainly not.

I only accepted it to eat on. I tire of the wooden contraption I already use.

Even after taking it, their presence is in my room. A small price to pay to get rid of any future interaction with them. I already took the trade one step closer to success.

King of Beats?

 After scrolling through a bunch of music choices, I couldn't find a beat harder than this one. It's in it's own class. Like the conqueror's haki of beats. The type that could control the world through dance in an instant. What could possibly top this? It's not my favorite piece of music despite this. There are only qualities it lacks. Hardest beat though.

May the World Here Be My Memory

Today I'm making sure to note every interaction with my egg donor that I find necessary to keep in mind. I know that spoke of my desire to keep all mention of her minimal and in a way this still is. I don't go out of my way to write about what she does until it involves my quality of life. One she's never been awarded for improving without the intention of displaying reality of her false motherhood.

I had planned to keep mentions of her minimal as mention in Cuteness Overload.

Simply put, hell no.

I find it irresponsible of me to simply look past our every interaction in silence. There is never a good one between us ever and I plan for every action to never be forgotten. So that every day, I can smile more in my own private moments of solitude. I'll never have to question, "What happens if my brain declines?" What if they claim I have bad memory? May the world here be my memory.

As any reader would already know, she's highly controlling.

At 21, I'm still subjected to power plays from her. Well why not when proximity equates to this?

Today she did her usual knock under the guise of food.

She could have texted me about the food.

She didn't.

Instead, she had already decided to surveil me.

She asked if I wanted to be served a dish she made. Her eyes were never on me. They were on the guest room she controlled but never entered — long gazes toward the floor, tracking. I already knew. Her control tactic this time was her random obsession with my room needing to be cleaned. This perhaps wouldn't be an issue if it weren't for someone of her type. I'm too old to be told to clean my room. I've never had any problems keeping any area clean. I was cleaner at an Italian boutique for over six months. But once someone of her stature gets even a sense of power over me, it never stops just there because there is no reasoning behind it. It's all small now. It always starts small but eventually, she'll need to eat or she'll starve and punish the famine.

I declined her offer with a simple "I'm good for the day."

I usually eat one meal a day.

Anything more than that has always brought me more attention than it was ever worth from people I don't consent to see again, not even in the afterlife.

She immediately tried to guilt trip me, believing I was a target that could even feel anything for her to control. She uses her facial expressions to get others to feel sorry for her whenever she doesn't get her way, and repeats it until she does. A successful coercion grants her a smile. She left without one. I find it odd how she can't hide how manipulative she is and yet others still grant her the benefit of the doubt. Her constant disregard for my autonomy isn't new. It's her unassuming form of dominance. A quiet reminder of how we're not the same in the ways that mattered. A wolf cannot be friends with a dog. One yearns for a loving home while the other kills it.

She tells and never asks. Always hiding behind the frame of asking so that the other party can seem rude or like a problem once they've declined her constantly. And if she's in a bad mood, she can simply lie to her husband and say she presented me with an order rather than a request. She has before. She always acts like she's considering your choice when in reality, she knows you have none. Asking is merely a formality — a setup so that saying no becomes the offense.

It's always performative, never with the honest intent of generosity. Something to reinforce the image that she's still a decent person to anyone foolish enough to think otherwise, particularly in front of her husband. As a trucker, he's gone long weeks from traveling out of state, but this time he's at the residence. She has never gone out of her way to knock on my door without some motive attached. Guest room — should I call it? After all, guest and loser were my nicknames growing up. Even from my former long-distance womb sharer.

I used to view her as a landlord, but she's a puppeteer. Liar to all and friend to none. A host who never intended for you to stay. I would never call her anything untrue in all of my sanity. Twenty-one years is too long not to get the drift. I don't wish to be like her strung subjects, who just mask the truth with their different views.

She's never wrong in her mind, thus all of her actions are right and are without shame. There is no room for mistakes nor guilt, only her constant choice.