I’ve been enjoying the ritual of writing every other day. It paces me well for what I have to say, without a flood of information. I’ll probably try to keep it up for the rest of the month.

I finally got my story finished and posted on BitterBuffalo.com. It’s a fictionalized account of how Mikhail Lermontov may have died, a buffalo his only intellectual friend. I actually tried three times; the first two attempts were just a tad too serious, so I threw them out. I tried to get all the themes of Russian romantic literature in there, such as nihilism, fatalism, and revolution, but didn’t write too much for fear of boring the reader.

I just spent three hours writing an entry that got me nowhere. All I found out is that sometimes life seems harder than it should be.

I recently renewed my contract with my current host for another year of service. I’m a little surprised that this page hasn’t fallen into desuetude over the last year. I suppose it’s only now, at 22, that I’m able to find meaning in almost all aspects of my life, that I have enough to write about. My previous seven or so pages have been rather empty, although there was more variety in the content. I don’t think I’ve ever had a layout last this long.

It’s usually when I have a negative emotion that I’m able to write, but the last year has been a series of ups and downs, although mostly ups, and considered to be more stable than previous years. Sometimes I can read back on previous entries and re-experience the emotion I was feeling at the time of writing them. I’m surprised that I’m not embarrassed about some entries, how rawly I’d express myself, and what I was thinking at the time. I find that I’m usually embarrassed by how ignorant, stupid, and idiotic a person I used to be. Aaron explains to me, of course, that it’s all just a measure of how far I’ve come, but it’s sometimes it’s difficult to think of what I was like and not feel shame.

I remember the nights I spent, after all classes were finished, coming home, cooking a meal, taking a shower, all I’d have left was to sit in front of my glowing monitor and write. When all I wanted, at the end of the day, was to be able to turn the lights out, write until my eyes felt too tired to focus, and go to sleep satisfied. I’m not sure if I remember those nights fondly or not.

And perhaps there are more to come.

Access to my control panel, my database, and my scripts has been temporarily disabled. Apparently, a representative of a musical group has contacted my host in regards to an mp3 I have stored. Instead of contacting me first, the representative decided to bring the issue up with my host. I would have been fine with removing the mp3 from my site if I was simply asked. I realized that it was a violation of my terms of service, but I didn’t think that anyone ever visited this site, so I had the song for archival purposes. Now, I have no way of updating my content, in what has become my main healing medium. I cannot be slowed by this, and even though it feels as though I have no means of expression or communication, I still feel the need to write.