Need to stop looking at the Insta stories of one side of the family and tuning into the relayed happenings of another as both trigger me into wondering if any of the choices or the sacrifices I've made for this creative malarkey were worth any of it as I stare down decade two of offering little to the world beyond these picayune maunderings, weird shit, and triggered speculative lifefictions directed towards my illegible journal of what could have been if only if only.

Being that I was born 10 years before any of my cousins on either side to a complicated upbringing, I've felt, for the last 30, like the starter kid of both families, the beta launch: I am a cusper, the lost generation, born either ten years too late or ten years too early – though, considering all of my friends (wife included) are anywhere from 10 to 20 years older than me, I'm guessing it was the former.

I know I can't change the past and I know how pointless any and all of this speculative lifefiction is so maybe all I’m doing here is logging a reminder to myself. Note to self tag, activate.