Writer's Diary
5/9/25
Putting laundry away. I have to go tutor soon. I haven't done much with my morning. Took in the new scroll, made yerba because I was out of coffee—or rather because I left the coffee I bought at BCTR—and because I’d rather make yerba than go out to buy more coffee. It's raining again today, which is a shame because my eyes are actually craving sunlight, and so is my skin.
Your eyes degenerate without direct sunlight, especially when you replace it with artificial light and screen light. There's something precisely ironic about screens being bad for your eyes—something Platonic: the soul goes blind, the eyes go blind. Something like that.
The place where you enter into the feeling of shame, that little side door exit in the mind, which leads to a screening room where you can view all the previous day's interactions.
Here, you were clever and smart and funny and charming.
Here, you were mumbly-mouthed and nervous and hypersensitive.
Here, you were caring.
Here, you were callous.
Here, you were secretly hurt.
Here, you were secretly prideful.
Here, in this screening room, you can view yourself as a sinner without even really thinking of God. Because God, at least in his traditional form, has left the picture. The confession is entirely internal to you.
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