2/365: Monday, October 17, 2022

For my 47th birthday, my brain decided to wake up extremelynotatall depressed. Forty-six had been depressy—more than halfway to 50 with a number of existential questions about my life; and in the pandemic, finding dating difficult—if not just completely batshit inadvisable, according to my regular obsessively-survivalist psyche.

And I woke up with all new moving mental parts to momentum my online lifestyle back.

Self-Portrait 2/365: (I’ll write about the unopened package of Pixy Stix another time.)


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