That is, the writer's desk in the corner of my bedroom, overlooking the courtyard, equipped with tobacco pipe stand and pipe smoking ephemera. And of course, a mug of hot coffee. Everything else has been removed from the desk except my smartphone (which I am tethering with). Even the Logitech mouse + mouse pad has been retired to the closet - not necessary at this point. It would certainly be a stretch to call this a "den" or an "office" or a "study", though, as it is simply my bedroom with a desk + chair when not in-use. I don't have shelves of books, or stacks of papers, or clutter or yada yada BS, and I manage to get a bunch of neat shit written in this (minimal) way (at least I think it is neat/useful/therapeutic to write these entries).

So what is the topic of disease this evening (over coffee)?

Nothing in particular that is pressing or crucial to address in my neck of the woods. The day is fine, went fine - nothing too remarkable occurred that is worth opining about/quipping on. "Just another day in the bag", as I put it.

I gotta say, in terms of media consumption, social media addiction, etc., I still feel like I have "thickened mental scabs" (not yet scars) from the years (10+ years) of nearly continual upkeep with the news, the feeds, the Timelines, the attention grabbing, the egotism, and on and on, and I yearn for the day that these mental scabs BECOME scars, and I can move along with my life, with a semblance of aloofness to the whole bag. I was able to pick myself up, dust myself off, and (fully?) recover from amphetamine addiction in my teenage years, alcohol addiction in my early-20's, as well as video game addiction around that same time, and now, I have "won the battle", but have yet to "win the war" against the addiction/recovery process of social media consumption, as I am but a mere 2.5 years into the recovery process. I'm not sure people (at least people who were in my disposition) truly understand the severity of the toxicity they are experiencing with social feeds and whatnot. If one has not experienced "authentic" addiction before, the road ahead to getting "clean" seems absolutely hopeless and futile. And it seems there IS no way out. And most especially (and I can attest to this) when everyone else is doing the ONE thing you are trying to avoid - it makes everything, life itself, seem impossible. Like you're the blacksheep of society and you're just doing the right thing - by your own conscious and for your own health.

And of course there is hope, because there can only be hope (in my belief). I mean, here I am 2.5 years later, and social media or/and news consumption happens across my mind but maybe a couple times a day (and that is with the laptop in front of me, believe it or not!), and overall I do pretty OK (when I tend to keep to myself). But the "mental patterns", the "psychological backdrop" of seeing where people are at when I talk to folks IRL, or read their blog(s), or get into conversations on the street - empathisizing with what they're experiencing (to a much smaller extent, for the most part), it's almost a form of madness. That was definitely a/the GOOD thing about the recovery processes from amphetamine and even alcohol addiction - I felt I was in my own lifeboat. A lot of people (nearly everyone else) to "look up to", learn from, derive hope from, etc. Now, it's like living in a 24/7 methadone clinic where relapse is the rule instead of the exception, and everyone is just hooked on shit that serves them/me/the world NO purpose whatsoever. Like metaphorically banging our collective heads against the wall for the exact same results no matter the outcome.

And so, I carry on. I persist. I adapt. And like Tommy Lee Jones says in No Country For Old Men: "you have to say; ok, I'll be a part of this world".