Its December now, 2025 is nearly over and there's no snow to be seen. I miss the snow. It makes the cold worth it, otherwise its just a worse Autumn. 2025 was a bad year. Perhaps the worse I've been mentally, doing the dissertation was hell, but I thought graduation would make up for it. Since graduating however, I've just been falling. Its not too bad though, things could always be worse. I tell myself this every time I feel sad, I just can't let myself be comfortable with feeling bad, now I'm starting to think I'm just running away from my emotions. I'm sure its fine, things will sort themselves out with time. They'll have to. I'm too broke to do anything but wait.

I had a bad dream recently. It was bad because in this dream I was happy. And I was happy because I was not afraid to live and life was nicer. I woke up and for a second it was real, then the next it wasn’t, and it was crushing.

For a few months I just couldn't do escapism, I hated feeling like I was running from my own life, when I should be trying to fix my problems, and stories where things are happy just reflected my own misery upon me. I tried to fix my problems, maybe I didn't try hard enough, but I didn't change anything. All that changed was that I got overwhelmed because nothing I could do mattered. Now I realise there is nothing to fix. Or at the very least nothing I can do to fix that isn't uprooting my whole sense of self. By depriving myself of pleasures, I'm not motivating myself to work harder, I'm just heaping more misery unto me. Its like sleep. If I go to sleep late, I might go and set an alarm early in the morning, sacrificing my sleep in hopes that by the next day, I'll be so tired I fall asleep early. Instead what happens is, I wake up tired, I go through my day tired, and then I become energised at night, all the way until I go to sleep at the same exact time as I did the day before. Nothing changes. Anyways, recently, I've been escaping.

I did an interview a week ago that I though went incredibly well (at least by my standards), but I still have yet to get a call back. If I don't get the job, and its looking more and more unlikely as each day passes, 2025 will be the year of unemployment. Know this however, I will make sure that this December is spent well.

I want to commit myself to writing fiction. More than what I usually write, more volume than I've written before, and actually finish the things I write. My obsidian is littered with abandoned stories with a few sentences to their untitled name.