its actually so depressing reading my diary from 2 years ago, i was doing so much cool shit. i'm never gonna have the time/space/energy to read, learn, watch, absorb ever again

i could start ambitious projects and follow through with them, without feeling too tied down because i could just focus all my attention immersing myself. philosophy, art, political theory, i was growing so much, it was such an exciting time. i was basically going through a personal revolution

every day was wide open and filled with potential, that i made sure to follow through on fulfilling that potential

i’m aware that this time wasn’t perfect and i’m not naively wishing for a rolling back of the clocks; same with my recent reminiscence of previous amorous relationships: i am mourning the loss of particular characteristics of the time that i am sorely missing nowadays