sads

personal/journal.html

@@ -17,6 +17,13 @@ permalink: /journal
 <h2>basically the "hidden" vent section ive seen the webtracker nobody looks at this page</h2>
 
 
+<article>
+	<h2>2024-11-22</h2>
+	<p>I hope the community still accepts me..<br>
+	i hope i can like be more integral with it<br>
+	and not just be like someones little brother kinda lurking around</p>
+</article>
+
 <article>
 	<h2>2024-11-21</h2>
 	<p>man i hate my parents sometimes<br>

personal/writing/shack.md

@@ -0,0 +1,22 @@
+---
+title: the shack by the lake
+date: 2024-11-22 18:34:22 -5000
+---
+It was a run-down shack, one built seemingly for nobody.  
+The shack overlooked the lake, but was tucked away so far that only those who knew it existed could hope to spot it.  
+In the distance, past the horizon, you could almost make out the towering skyscrapers of the nearby city, so close and so far away.  
+Sounds from the city never quite reached this far out, so all you could hear were the chirping of insects and water.  
+Sure, the shack may have gotten hot during the summer, or ice-bitingly cold in the winter,  
+But it was homely.  
+It had all the essentials for a peaceful life: A small, electric heater, barely able to stave away the cold unless you were inches from its base, a little rickety chair, a handheld solar radio, and a little window.  
+I like coming down here sometimes, just to escape the city.  
+Takes forever getting there, and it's a long quiet road.  
+One of those roads that most have forgotten about, the dirty, dusty kind more commonly seen out by the countryside.  
+But it's home.  
+Of course, life always calls you back, no matter how hard you try to cut it off.  
+Jobs, food, all that.  
+But this little shack seems to exist outside of all of it.  
+Of time itself.  
+Just me, the music of the radio, and the solid wood base.  
+  
+It's home.