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Description
Once there was a person....a person tired of being a person, and as it happened, ready to be a being again.

This person was so trapped...so stifled...so....neutered from their own sense of agency and ability by their life, a life of suburbs and routine set forth by others and paths presented as proof of their "Freedom" that failing to climb onto their own roof was a source of tears, pain, confusion, hesitation....embarrassment. So trapped was this person that they decided to start a log....not a JOURNAL...a -log-. This would include their thoughts, sure, but it was only going to cover what -had- happened, or what -was- happening.

Making a written account was part of getting them out of their....well. "Rut" didn't cut it. Fearing an 8 foot climb as though were it some game of Russian roulette was indicative of a psychological state entirely unbecoming a single fantasy this person was having...and it was time for a change. A change from the bs of pretending they were anything BUT their fantasy, for what is fantasy....

...if not how one is reminded of oneself, in the dourest of circumstances?

This is the log of someone that was supposed to live a "good", "right" life, rediscovering that the person who'd spent two decades trying to find someone to follow had always been and would always be a leader. This is the log of someone who would always be a leader reconciling their preference to lead with their belief that the only truly upright and fair way to live was Anarchy. This is the log of an Anarchist discovering Crime is far more than what they "weren't supposed to do".

This is a life, re-founded.

This is a living, lived.

You're welcome to tag along, but fair warning - They won't wait up. No offense meant. It's just now that they've found meaning...

...they know stopping to think about it is the last thing their life is meant for.