This morning I woke up from a troubling dream to find that the vision of my right eye was compromised: a tangle of fibers shifted at the center of my vision, along with a myriad little dots that swam like particles in a fish tank. Then I remembered: yesterday I suffered a torn retina, as recounted in this post.

I try to be productive, according to my definitions of productivity, even in my off days and in the holidays, so I sat at my computer and continued working on a new song. I plan on alternating between producing scenes of my ongoing novel We’re Fucked (latest chapter being number 127) and songs of my ongoing musical saga Odes to My Triceratops. I’ve already written the lyrics for the new song, and I was going through my enormous list of instruments that could be used, when I realized I could no longer focus on the task. Instead I decided to remaster one of my earlier songs, but I discovered that I really, really wasn’t in the mood for that. So I climbed into bed, pulled the bedclothes over my head and let my mind drift into its fantasies while listening to mommy ASMR.

I almost wasted the afternoon in bed, but I decided to take a walk in the nearby woods as usual. Turns out that the damage to my vision is more notorious in the sun: the layer of fibers that float at the center messes with my depth perception. Given how my life has been so far, of course I had ended up with my vision damaged; one of the few things I was looking forward to was buying a new graphics card and a VR headset once the next generation rolls out, so I could lose myself in those experiences. But unless this shit in my vision clears out, I won’t be able to properly enjoy that.

The doctor who operated on my retina didn’t add a mention of my diagnosis nor that operation to my patient history, which I can access online. I don’t know what the fuck he was thinking, given that he’s obligated to do so. On Monday I will get a call from my general practitioner about how to move forward, and I’ll have to explain that I was diagnosed with a torn retina and I was operated for it on the spot, even though there’s no proof on the records. It’s just been issue after issue, both in my personal life, mainly with my health, and at work.

I’m in a bad mood. Not proper depression, because that’s mainly biological and can hit whenever it pleases, but I’ve certainly been pushed a step further down the path of “I don’t give a fuck about anything,” and this last decade or so I’ve ventured very far down that path. Life has been consistent in proving to me that everything will go wrong, and that no matter how hard I try, not only it won’t amount to anything, but I will also get a “nope, and furthermore…” kind of resolution. I’m nearing forty. My mother, last month, mentioned in one of her careless, near senile comments that I’m in the best part of my life (to be fair, she has said that for the three decades of my life so far). I thought, “Shit, if this is the best that life has to offer, I don’t want to see what’s ahead.”

I was moderately entertained this afternoon by progressing a bit on the mangas I’m reading through, and now I’ll continue working on a new song. A pleasant enough Saturday, I suppose, much more pleasant than next Saturday, half of which I’ll spend at work. Anyway, for whatever reason, I was compelled to write this entry, so that’s what I’ve done. See ya, turds.

EDIT: as I’ve been doing recently, I’ve fed this post to the Google AI thing that generates podcasts out of your material. Check it out.