Edited Scenes #1-4 of Love Spiked
Nothing super exciting. I just couldn’t go forward in the story until I took all the things I had world built and fixed what I had already written. Maybe it’s neurotic (I have a pattern >_>) and I’ll likely find myself editing and changing things later, but I think for now, the beginning makes much more sense. There’s a lot less fixation on the nulls who are literally not seen after this first event, and hopefully Kian is more interesting to look at than his outfit this time.
Maybe it’s good the neurosis showed up. It means I care enough to obsess. The story will get written.
It’s been a tough couple weeks. Our elderly cat is dying. He’s swelling up with fluid and doesn’t have long, but he’s still a total sweetheart and it’s just this difficult limbo of hoping his quality of life is worth the less than ideal circumstances he’s living in. Saying goodbye is so difficult with pets. We create this situation where they depend on us for everything, and when they get sick it just so… helpless a feeling, I guess.
Self awareness is such a fucking cosmic joke when everybody dies. EVERYBODY dies. Like, the absurdity of it all that we have to be aware of the inevitable. And if you’re lucky to age, it’s just experiencing loss more and more, knowing you’re the one holding onto those gone forever. Knowing that pain you’re holding, that’s going to go too, along with those memories, and you’re just lying to yourself that it makes any difference at all.
But we need to believe it. Because mortal beings with self awareness are just intrinsically doomed to suffer. So you either tell yourself that suffering matters and suffer more, or let it go, and then have to deal with that level of suffering to know none of it matters. And there’s no right answer (beyond don’t be a monster to others—yet somehow people manage to fuck this up too).
I dunno. I’m sad about my lovey cat. Sad I can’t fix it for him. Sad that I’m going to remember him forever, but not really forever.
I think that’s why the idea of ghosts still persist. Not necessarily because everyone believes in a soul or afterlife or any of that, but because we want our feelings to matter. We want that pain to matter so much that we fantasize that even death can’t stop it. It’s why horror stories around ghosts never made sense to me. Ghosts are a romanticization of our emotions far more than a symbol of death (well, in my opinion).
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