Woes of the Barnacle.

On occasion, I don't mind confessing to be a bit of envious of L’Étranger's Meursault, and his utter mental isolation from others. On evenings like this, I am greeted by the Woes of the Barnacle.

While they are free-swimming in their youth, the mature barnacle doesn't move. It finds someplace it feels sturdy, and it anchors its entirely little barnacley existence there.

I don't know why I invest so much into the approval of others; it's a very unhealthy little addiction. My time and money is perpetually stretched thin. Last evening, while cropping sprays for Zoot Suit Riot himself, Konpaku goes, "Hmm. So you've fallen into that thinking again?"

I'd laughed it off, and told her I was having fun, but looking back, I was just looking for a headpat.

People come and go - they have free will like that, so I don't neccesarily know why I pick them to anchor all of that sort of thing into.

For all of my thinking, I really should re-read Anthem. That blazing individualism is fading with the months.

I need to speak with The Good Witch. She'd know what to do.

...No, maybe I'll meditate on it. That seems like the logical first step before consulting.

Work out, Meditate, Sleep.
I'll seek out advice later.

Writing this all out, I feel a little better already. I suppose it just seems very stupid of me, now, to have so much invested. The only problem is, I crave action and wonder how to cull the problem as a whole through the people I associate with it.

Truly, I think it is more of a personal issue. I need to solidify this independence in sort of creed or dogma. I keep straying and relapsing into the seeking of praise.

Meursault. Meursault. Meursault.

By the by, I've broken my SD Port. Pictures may be few and far-between.