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Date: February 29th, 2020.

Time of Writing: 11:32 PM.

Weather: Cold, a little windy.

Mood: Today shouldn't exist but whatever, I feel fine.

Day Overview: Woke up just an hour before tabletop club today. Last night I stayed up really late and watched It's Such A Beautiful Day for the third time with some people on my floor and that was pretty cool. Today's Vampire session went neat, I got us out of some trouble and then back into other trouble and I didn't even see it coming. Just when I think that I'm doing good in that game I fuck up lol. It's okay because the game is fun anyway, and what matters most is having fun. After the session, I went back to my dorm and sat around for a bit before I went and got dinner with friends. We played ping pong in Via's dorm and then sat around watching Degrassi for some reason before eventually going to get a second dinner, which was a mistake. Then we went back and sat for a bit before I went back to my dorm.

On My Mind: I'm going to copy-paste what I wrote on my Instagram for yesterday's finsta post. Wrote at like four in the morning.

I just watched the movie It's Such a Beautiful Day by Don Hertzfeldt for the third time. I brought it here because I thought at some point I'd show it to some friends, and that day finally came to pass. It's a movie about the passing of time, about memory and mental illness and absurdity and death, and if you glean from these very abstract descriptions that it's a somewhat pretentious film you'd be absolutely right. I love it, though. I've seen the opening chapter probably 20 times because it's on YouTube.

And it's got me thinking.

There are eight months left until I turn 20. In one year, it will be eight months until I turn 21. Yet in that year the meaning of a month will have changed, because I will have lived 12 more of them. The more months I live, the less a month means. At 19 years and four months old, I've already lived 232 months. By the time I'm 30, I'll have lived 260 months. To live 1,000 months, I'd have to live to 83 and a third years. By then they must feel more like days. My parents have lived somewhere around 500 months each. Just over that, basically. Closer to 550. I wonder what a month feels like to them.

It's kind of stupid to not approach people because you're afraid they'll reject you. But if you're doing it because you have nothing to lose, then you're also sort of doing it because you're afraid of missing out. In the end, even confident people are motivated by fear.

Works Consumed: Works In Progress:

Works Produced: I wrote a few hundred words of creative writing stuff. It wasn't very good, but I got it out there. I need to refocus my writing. It's gotten a little shite and barren and boring lately. Too safe. Just barely serviceable.

Other Thoughts: Thank you for reading my blog. February is over now, and it's time for another month of the blog. Upcoming events include spring break, which will surely bring drama and stories galore as I journey north to Montreal, leaving the country for the first time.