Can't Care
2026-07-15
Nobody gives a shit how many words you've written.
Are they any good? Do they do their job? Quick, someone tell me a line I wrote five months ago.
If anyone has put their work into an LLM over the last few years, I'm sure they've received something along the lines of "You're not just blogging; you're building an archive," or something to that effect. Well, at least I've gotten that a lot. Sorry, I like it when the computer tells me I did a good job. But I think about how, despite the fact that my work does exist here as an archive, I highly doubt it'll be read by anyone else beyond the post I made that day. It is quite useful for me, though, so I guess that's worth something. Still, I think about the pace I'm writing at now and wonder where it'll all end up some time in the future. I've seen plenty of blogs that go back 20–30 years and people still have their archives on their sites, even if they changed platforms, hosts, or what have you. That's gotta be a nice thing to have, and if I'm being honest, I do go back to those "ancient" internet times just to see how people of that generation were writing back then. It's funny how much things have changed, yet just how much has stayed the same.
I know I'm building something meaningful here, at least as a personal way to track my thoughts over the course of the years that may come. I know many speculate on how their sites will be archived and dug through in the succeeding decades, and while I think to myself that someone in the distant future will come across this project, it makes me doubt that there will be anything super useful for anyone later on. I guess, perhaps, that just depends on how my work evolves over the coming years. I know that this is all I can do; it's all I want to do, and it's something that at this point doesn't come from just my own head anymore. Call me crazy (I am), but it really doesn't feel like I'm the one spitting this prose out right now. No, there's something else guiding my fingers, and while I can't tell you what it is or what it wants, I can tell you for sure that it's got a lot to say.
Don't make me do anything, seriously. I missed a doctor's appointment for my mom because I got the dates mixed up. If I can't even do something as simple as writing down a date for a doctor's appointment and showing up, then I highly doubt I can be trusted with anything else even slightly more complex. This is why I am where I am in life; mistake after mistake adds up, and this is the end result. All the inaction, all the wrong actions—they all come together to make for a man who can't even see past his own nose and hides in the face of anything even resembling agency or responsibility. I can't handle it. I can't handle any of it, yet I'm still here somehow. I don't want anything else to do for the rest of my life, and if anyone ever tries to take me on for anything, I will simply refuse; they don't know who they're dealing with.
Here today, gone tomorrow. I can't tell you what all of this is going to amount to, and if I were to bet on it, I'd say probably nothing. The impact here is close to zero, and everything here is just a defense so that I can crawl back into my hole and keep doing nothing. If anyone expects anything out of me, they'll be sorely disappointed. Sorry I don't have what it takes to be who anyone expects me to be; there's nothing I can do about it, because I can't do anything at all. Five months from now, I won't be able to tell you what happened today. Even if I wrote it down, I doubt I would even go back and read it anyway, so who cares?
I most certainly don't.
Support my work with Liberapay
Bitcoin address: bc1qtgqvj6qjxnaxkns20x5rcwnxvv3jqzhduvvxfc