I’m trying to fight the urge to update for the sake of updating, but it isn’t quite working. Or maybe it is. In any case, I’m updating.

My screen is littered with these WriteRoom windows, each containing some incoherent, partially-written entry. But I’m too lazy to gather my thoughts and finish writing any of them.

While I like the whole idea of “distraction-free writing,” I’ve noticed that WriteRoom doesn’t pressure me as much to complete an entry, or even a thought, as much as conventional text editors do. There isn’t the finality of a save command to guide me, knowing that WriteRoom is saving every word I type, as I type it, and knowing that I can come back at any time, and everything will be exactly as it was.

Except a lot of the time, it won’t make sense anymore. Or at least, not the same kind of sense. So it loses its meaning. But that’s okay, because meaning is easy to find. So easy to find, I think we can find it even when it isn’t there.

The real trouble is making it. Making meaning is difficult. I don’t know if I can make meaning. Heck, I have enough trouble as it is making sense. In fact, I can’t tell if I’m even making sense right now.

I can feel my thoughts hopscotch from one window to another like rabbits with ADD, rabbits that I’m too lazy to chase after, or even pay attention to. And when they realize this, they stop bouncing about, and simply stare. And I stare back. And then they wander off. And then I’m left wondering where they went. And why I’m talking about rabbits.

I’m just sitting here, listening to my music, and I feel… at peace. Like existence is enough. Like goddamnit, who cares about the meaning of life.

And then I worry. Worry about why I don’t feel dissatisfied when there’s so much to be dissatisfied with. Worry about why I’m not worrying. Worry if I should be worrying. But I guess worrying about worrying counts as worrying, and that’s enough, right?

I don’t really know where I’m going with this, so I’ll end here.