#i don't think I can stop being entropy. I don't recall what I had been before

[aenthroppe]

Wtf. Why is there a tag limit of 30 tags. That's nothing :(((

[titoist]

i haven't even really been thinking about writing down December so far. & i do feel like by this point there are lots of nice little events & situations that have slipped from my memory & disappeared. & that does just feel tragic, it keeps giving me little twinges of regret. it's like little deaths of potential beauty, beauty to me if no one else. i keep trying to tell myself that it's a good thing that i just have to get used to, or at least an okay thing. but i don't know

it's just this negotiation with entropy & time where there's not really a clear resolution. the constant ability to turn all events into history to be cherished as history feels like an intimidating thing that it is hard to turn back away from once the box is opened

i have a memory from yesterday of laying down next to my open window & recalling two charming events that happened when i had a fever in ~october of 2022. memories positioned somewhere near the temporal mental anchor of when, recovering from that fever, i recorded an audio post & received an anon shortly thereafter of someone claiming they believed i was their 'one true love.' i thought of phrases i could quickly jot down as memory aids. but i felt a bit intimidated, like if i wrote those down then i'd have no excuse to not start trying my best to reconstruct what's happened recently, too. so i shied away from it. now my memory next to the open window contains only the experience of recalling those two memories & not their actual content

i feel like i can hardly remember my own life, even just a week or several days after a given event. i can remember the broad circumstances which are host to all those daily events that i largely forget, & little more can be counted on. i want to record. i am afraid of losing myself to time. the fact that it is in my ability to make everything possible to remember creates a sense of a frightening workload that lives alongside every carefree happy moment

at first i wrote down every dream i had. & then i stopped writing down my dreams. & i had this same fear. & it's never stopped feeling a bit tragic, even if i ignore it. but i still wrote down my lived days. now maybe i will stop writing my lived days, lose much of the sense of my past, at least much of its potential clarity, & lose my sense of accumulation of being

i love reminiscing. i don't know how to articulate the value of the unmistakable mental texture of a properly fixed moment in time. it feels too elementary to communicate. it's just - of course it's valuable. it's valuable in itself. that's how it feels

there's no way out. time will keep going & memory will keep doing only its faulty best to keep pace. this imposes a decision which has to be made & renewed every day. embrace ephemerality or write down everything. if it's possible for the former to not feel like oblivion, i am having to figure out how exactly

"won't you die anyway? might all this stuff just go to oblivion for you anyway?" yes but, thinking on it, i think it's maybe less about wanting to eternalize each moment & more about hoping to make the personal best of my ephemeral life while i have it, by giving each moment the opportunity to live in memory for as long as it needs to find its meaning there through consideration & time. instead of fluttering by as its one single dissociated actual occurrence

that every moment could either be given this opportunity or not makes me anxiously see two potential lives stretching out before me - one where i gave all of my moments time to find their meaning & i feel more of a sense of chronology & integrity as a cumulative being, & another which is a kind of vacuum of vague feelings of time having passed, & missed opportunities to construct meaning. i feel like i already lived in that vacuum. i don't want to live in it anymore.