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Photo by Hello I'm Nik 🎞 on Unsplash

I’m in a space, I feel pressure to move forward and ascend beyond what I already am. And overcome what I know is faulty about myself.

That’s funny. How I can be aware of my pitfalls, yet still fall face first into them.

I think about that all the time. How I am constantly working against myself and fighting against who I am… or who I’m supposed to be.

It’s all very disturbing.

It’s disturbing because it’s chaotic. And that’s how we are as people, we naturally just suck and our whole life is trying to undo that, trying to turn chaos into order. It’s like how you feel when you clean your room. Or when you say a joke and your friends laugh — that’s order. That’s order because what you want and expect to happen aligns with what actually happens. …

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Photo by McGill Library on Unsplash

The past is hazy and cluttered — with it, come waves of sentiment and doses of elusiveness because I feel it, but cannot remember it.

I’m reading 1984 by George Orwell. In his story, the concept of past, present, and future are distorted to the point where nothing is objectively true. No one knows the year. No one can tell which facts are fake and which are real. No one has any control over their own destiny.

I feel like I’m in 1984.

I feel like I’m in 1984 because I forget how I got here — I forget the flickers of growth and adulation over the past year. I lose details on a day that was particular and intricate and full of energy. I forget the moments that rearranged and organized my subtle inclinations on the goodness of life. …

I just haven’t had anything interesting to say. I haven’t felt anything worth expressing in writing. I think this is where the problem lies.

I’ve found that writing is maybe the least expressive form of communication. Okay, maybe expressive isn’t the right word. Maybe it is. I don’t know, you can be really clear and super logical and thorough with writing, but it lacks something human — something inexpressible through words on a screen.

When we speak, our bodies do most of the talking. …

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Source: Unsplash

I bought a Double Nest ENO for $130 not long ago.

“Eno” is a popular brand that’s basically become generic for portable tree hammock.

Odd as it may sound, Eno-ing has improved how I think and feel — it’s a reason to go outside, a vessel for relaxation, and a way to feel more grounded… (even though I’m hanging in the air).

Perfect Quarantine Hobby

I don’t know about you, but quarantine is still the vibe here in Kentucky.

I’m almost through an entire month of furlough and it’s reminding me of summer vacation in grade school… but I’m 24 years old. …

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Photo by yns plt on Unsplash

I doubt my own talents and abilities.

I’d be pressed if I had to tell you what they are. I think part of that’s humility, but there’s also probably some spinelessness sprinkled in with that, too.

“Love the challenge of the unknown.”

I used to pride myself of this quote.

Now, the unknown terrifies me. I’m mature enough to understand there’s darkness and fear and suffering within walking distance. I’ve been weak, so weak I had no words in the face of my own inadequacies.

That’s the thing that gets me today: not knowing.

As individuals, we really don’t know who we are, what we look, what we sound like to the rest of the world. Because we’re not the rest of the world. …

There’s something inside of me that yearns for meaning.

I’m not special in saying that.

Everyone wants meaning.

But right now I’m sitting here thinking about how badly I want meaning.

I’m taking the time to address it and care enough to sort through it.

So maybe this means I want it a little bit more than the person not putting in that same effort.

I don’t know.

Then again, I don’t always seek meaning. Who do I think I am? There are versions of me that are absent, inattentive, and whimsical. I know there are.

It’s funny, the thought of me being whimsical makes me happy. Like I know there are moments when I smile and I can’t tell I’m smiling. …

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I was born in an apartment in Colerain Township, Ohio — not literally in the apartment, but that’s where we lived until I was 3.

My earliest memory must’ve come at 1 or 2 years old. I know it’s an actual memory because we don’t have any home videos of it. Sometimes you think you remember something, but really you just remember watching the footage. This was an actual memory and there’s nothing really special about it besides the fact it’s my first memory.

I remember my mom’s stocky, light pink curtains hanging over the window; it cast a rosy glow over the room. I remember my sister’s princess fortress. I was hiding between the bed (also pink) and the far-side wall. …

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Not me. Unfortunate stock photo guy.

There’s this man…

He still fits into all his clothes from 6th grade. His throat swells up like a balloon at the idea of voicing his opinions. He’s terribly afraid of judgement — he’s a real stick in the mud.

No matter the situation, he finds a way to reveal the potential disaster lurking beyond any practical and simple situation.

He could accept an award for “World’s Greatest Achievement” and he’d still dread the idea of being in the lime-light. Because he’s a coward. Any situation that threatens to expose his cowardice calls for worry and anxiety. …

Well, I guess I should say today was May 1. Cause it’s late, like 9pm, and most of the day is behind me. I spent most of my time today working, relaxing, and sleeping. Today was my last day of work. I got laid off for the month of May, which is both concerning and somewhat mentally freeing. Someone told me to look at this month off like summer vacation back in grade school. Even though the circumstances are completely different, the state of mind is the same. There’s no stress of work, or money, or responsibility. But rather than take the opportunity to be as lazy and irresponsible as possible, I’m going to try to maintain my productivity, improve my health, sustain my mental well-being as best I can. …

I feel like I’m ALWAYS reminiscing on Medium and what it used to be. I probably sound like a broken record, but, for many reasons, it was way better years ago.

It was before the big pubs, before curation, before the hefty Partner Program regulations —but the thing I miss the most is the communal aspect writers had with each other on Medium. I used to interact with members on a weekly basis. It was cool, like I’d see their story pop up and I’d go “Oo, I wonder what she’s gonna say this time!” …


Alec Zaffiro

Bored, uneducated, homeless — em dashes are my specialty. I write what I see, think, and feel. That’s it.

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