It’s gonna hurt me. It’s gonna kill when you dessert me. 🍨 What I mean is, why bother starting a blog (again) in the midst of the dogshit pollution machine apocalypse that is AI? Because if you aren’t online in some capacity, you are pretty much kicked out of society and being a disabled person means maybe I should at least try to find other humans who want to help keep me alive. The rest of the internet is pretty much unusable so at least I can sit here in my own little domain and shout into the void mostly uncensored except for [REDACTED] and other truths that you can’t actually publish or they put you on a list. I also have a bunch of weird shit and stories in my head and OCD rumination like a motherfucker. I gotta get some of this stuff out. As therapy. Or as some sort of evil chain letter The Ring scenario. Probably both. Actually, that’s a really good idea. Just general disclaimer, if you don’t share my writing with 10 other people within the month, great misfortune will find you. Of course, I need to actually finish and publish said writing that isn’t this absent-minded scribble. But that shit is scary and I don’t trust you yet. Yes, you. Earn my trust. EARN IT. How? I have no fucking idea just let me have this scenario where it’s your fault and not mine for being a scared little baby. Okay, that’s not true. The biggest hurdle to my publishing finished fictional works is not that I am a scared little baby, it’s that I’m a poor little baby. And when you worry about if you are gonna be homeless, it’s not very motivating to do work that does not immediately result in pay. But I also can’t work any other jobs. Constant stress, zero productivity! The dream! Pay me to keep talking or pay me to shut up. I’m fine with either one.