Feeling a seemingly inextinguishable blasé at 29 is a dangerous feeling. I can't imagine living the rest of my life like this. It's terrifying just thinking about it—to be a walking and breathing but empty shell until you simply cease to be. Maybe it's the pandemic blues. Maybe it's dysthymia. Or both.

I've always been a 'big picture' kind of person. To overturn this climate of disinterest, and to say that I at least tried to fight the negative current my life seems to be heading towards, I've resolved to pay even more attention to the details.

As seen in the photo, I tried to copy a local coffee shop's centerpiece to style my shelf. Did it work? I can't say I have a knack for it, but I could practice on becoming better.

These pursuits of form don't pay as much as function, but they kinda seem to make life worthwhile despite being counterintuitive to my nature. Is that what I've been missing all this time? A dash of the trivial?

Wise people have reiterated that it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than to be absolutely boring. So wish me luck.