sim-panda

[sim-panda]

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[sim-panda]

Day 4: Johnny

The day began the same way as the last—a rude alarm and a body reminding me of desires I don’t have time to indulge. Morning wood yet again, but work waits for no one. I told myself I’d address it after the shift, but first things first. There’s something deeply frustrating about waking up like this, feeling pulled in two directions—one part of me screaming for attention, the other, more practical side reminding me of all the things that need doing. But I’m getting better at ignoring it. At least I can try.

At work, I met someone new—Anika Kapoor, one of my coworkers. She has a sharp wit and a warm smile, the kind that makes you feel instantly at ease. I can tell she’s the type who knows her way around people, effortlessly balancing charm and professionalism. I think I’ll enjoy working with her. It’s a strange thing, meeting someone who seems to glide through interactions with such ease. It’s something I’ve always admired, though I can’t help but wonder if she ever feels like an imposter—like the version of herself she shows to the world isn’t the full picture. Maybe that’s just me overthinking again.

The moment I got home, though, all bets were off. After days of ignoring my needs, I finally let myself unwind, taking a moment of personal pleasure in the bathroom. It felt like a release, not just physically, but mentally—a way to clear the fog that’s been clouding my mind. I couldn’t help but wonder if this little indulgence would make me feel less out of control, if it would stop this feeling of restlessness that seems to be creeping in more and more. For a moment, it did. But there’s a nagging part of me that wonders if these small moments of release are really enough to fill the emptiness that’s been growing inside.

Feeling lighter, I decided to try something new and posted on a penpal website. The idea of connecting with someone far away, free from the judgments of those nearby, felt freeing. It didn’t take long to get a response: someone from Dragon Valley. The thought of hearing about a far-off place with its own stories and mysteries filled me with quiet excitement. A small spark of connection, even from a distance, feels meaningful. It’s funny how a simple message can give me a sense of purpose, as though there’s something more than just the daily grind. For the first time in a while, I felt like I could look beyond the immediate and dream of something bigger.

Then, Johnny called. He wanted advice about going on a date with Kim Goldbloom. A woman, of course. My heart sank for a moment, but I swallowed the bitter lump of jealousy and told him to follow his heart, though I secretly hoped he wouldn’t. It’s not fair of me to wish that, but feelings are rarely fair. Why does it sting so much, knowing that Johnny might be interested in someone else? It shouldn’t matter—I’m the one who keeps things at arm’s length, who won’t admit what I really want. But that lump in my throat doesn’t lie. Even though I know it’s not right to feel this way, I can’t help it. It’s a part of me I’ve never fully understood.

A while later, he called again—this time asking if I wanted to visit his place. The thought of saying no didn’t even cross my mind, but I wasn’t ready, so he offered to come over instead. The excitement of seeing him again was almost overwhelming. There’s something about Johnny that makes me feel both comfortable and completely out of my element. Every word he says makes me want to lean in closer, but I can’t bring myself to cross that line. Not yet, at least.

When Johnny arrived, it felt natural, like slipping into a favorite old sweater. We talked about our days and the changes happening in the neighborhood, and then he suggested we go cloudgazing. Lying side by side in the grass, pointing out shapes in the sky, felt so effortless, like we’ve been friends forever. If only my heart weren’t so eager to jump ahead. His laugh, the way he thoughtfully paused before speaking—it all left me feeling flustered and flirty again. It’s stupid how easy it is to let my guard down when I’m with him. Everything about him seems to pull me in, but I know I have to be careful. One step at a time.

At one point, I worked up the courage to ask about his love life. He brushed it off casually, but I noticed a flicker of something in his expression when I complimented his facial hair. "It suits you," I said. His shy smile in response might just be the highlight of my day. It was a moment of vulnerability—my attempt to reach out, and his quiet acknowledgment. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make me feel like I had a place in his world, even if only for a second. It left me with a strange warmth in my chest, like maybe—just maybe—I mattered to him more than I allowed myself to believe.

When he left, I made lunch, trying to ground myself in something as mundane as cooking. But the quiet didn’t last long. Turns out Johnny moved into the unit next to mine. The man I’ve been trying not to think too much about is now just a few steps away. Life has a strange sense of humor. I wasn’t sure how to feel—elated that he’s so close, or terrified that it might make everything more complicated. It’s one thing to have him in my life at a distance, but another to have him right next door, a constant reminder of everything I want but can’t seem to have. Maybe I’m just overthinking it, but the thought of him being so near both comforts and unnerves me.

In the afternoon, Johnny visited again. This time, we talked about hobbies, and I shared my love for rain. The smell, the sound, the way it transforms the world into something softer and more forgiving—it’s always felt like a balm for my restless soul. We hugged before heading out to fish together. I’ve always found fishing to be a way to clear my mind, but today, even the act of casting out the line felt like it carried more weight. Every moment with Johnny felt like a delicate thread, one I didn’t want to snap.

Unfortunately, the usual peace of my favorite fishing spot was disrupted by strangers. A couple stood nearby, chatting and laughing. I felt my chest tighten, the comfort I’d felt earlier slipping away. It’s hard to open up or let loose when eyes you don’t trust are watching. Even with Johnny there, the unease lingered, a quiet reminder of how much work I still have to do on myself. Why does it feel so hard to be at ease in my own skin? When people are watching, it’s like all my insecurities come flooding back, reminding me of how unsteady I still feel.

The day ended with me retreating to the solitude of my home, feeling both grateful and overwhelmed. It’s a strange mix—hope and fear, excitement and restraint. Here’s to figuring it all out, one step at a time. I know there’s something here with Johnny—something more than just fleeting moments—but I can’t help but wonder if I’m ready for it. Or if I’ll ever be.

[sim-panda]

Day 3 : Something Deep Within Me

This morning began like the last: the early alarm for work and the quiet frustration of desires I don’t have time to address. Morning wood has become a familiar companion lately—a reminder of the parts of myself I’m still navigating. No time to indulge, though; work comes first.

After my shift, things took an unexpected turn. An electrical failure hit my house, and I had to call a repairman. Waiting around felt like wasted time, so I grabbed my fishing rod and headed to the river. The familiar rhythm of casting and reeling gave me space to think, but my thoughts kept drifting to Johnny. There’s something about him that lingers, a spark that feels both exciting and dangerous. By the time I got home, I was flustered enough to need a cold shower to reset my thoughts.

That afternoon, I decided to visit the local park, secretly hoping to bump into Johnny. Instead, I tried something new: skating. It was a disaster, but in the best way. I spent more time on the ground than on my feet, but each fall brought laughter, a rare and welcome release. My fun was cut short when an affluent couple arrived—a man with dark hair and his wife. Their easy interaction, the way they held hands and laughed, stirred something deep within me. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly, but a sharp ache—a longing for something I’ve always feared might be out of reach. I left the rink feeling restless and unsettled, questioning whether moments like theirs could ever truly be mine.

The river near the park called to me, and I found solace in its cool waters. The summer heat had been oppressive, and swimming felt like a blessing. The natural surroundings helped ground me, offering a reprieve from my spiraling thoughts. Johnny didn’t show up, but maybe that’s for the best. I need to stop building castles in the air—better to focus on what’s real than on what might never be.

The evening was quiet. I cooked the trout I caught yesterday, and it turned out surprisingly well. It’s moments like this that remind me there’s joy in simplicity, in the small victories that make up a life. Tomorrow holds new possibilities, and for now, that’s enough.

[sim-panda]

Day 2

Today was a bit more challenging. Work felt unusually stressful, and I can’t tell if it was because I skipped breakfast or if something else was weighing on me. By the time my shift ended, I felt drained, as though the energy had been sapped right out of me. For lunch, I decided to treat myself to pasta primavera at Paddywack's, a bustling little restaurant nearby. The noise and the chatter were overwhelming, a sharp contrast to the quiet I usually crave. I noticed a pregnant woman sitting a few tables away—a neighbor, perhaps? I found myself wondering about her story, about the life she’s preparing for, about the dreams she might have for her child. It’s strange how strangers can spark such introspection.

After lunch, I went fishing again, but this time I tried a different spot. It wasn’t as secluded as the area behind my house, but the activity still worked its magic. As I reeled in a decent-sized trout, I felt a small surge of pride. Moments like this remind me that life doesn’t always have to be complicated to be fulfilling.

On my way home, I ran into someone walking along the path. His name is Johnny Zest. He mentioned being interested in the house next door, and I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement. Could he really become my neighbor? He had this energy about him—lively, confident, and infectious. We talked about the litter in the neighborhood, joking about forming a team to clean it up someday. He mentioned his ambitions, and I found myself admiring his drive. There was something so easy about talking to him, like he understood parts of me without needing them explained. Before I knew it, his phone rang, and he had to leave, but the brief interaction left me smiling all the way home.

The moment I stepped inside, though, the day took a turn. I barely made it to the bathroom before getting sick—food poisoning, perhaps? It left me feeling weak and vulnerable, a stark reminder that even small setbacks can feel monumental when you’re already struggling to find your footing. I thought about calling the restaurant to complain but decided against it. Instead, I distracted myself with a book, letting its world pull me away from my own discomfort.

Later in the evening, I received a strange call inviting me to join a reality show called 7 Wild Dates. The idea was laughable—pretending to like women, putting on a show for cameras. It felt like everything I’m trying to distance myself from: shallow displays and false narratives. Living authentically means rejecting moments that ask me to be someone I’m not. It was an easy "no."

I ended the day with a text to Johnny—something casual, just to keep the connection alive—and a boring movie that failed to hold my attention. Not my finest evening, but tomorrow’s a new day, a chance to try again.

[sim-panda]

Day 1

Today marked the beginning of a new chapter—my first day at the cafe as a barista. I woke up at 4:30 AM, groggy and disoriented, my body protesting the early hour. There’s something oddly soothing, though, about the quiet of dawn—the streets empty, the air cool, and the world not yet fully awake. I took a moment by the window, sipping black coffee and watching the sun rise. For a brief moment, I felt at peace, as if the universe was giving me a clean slate.

Work itself was uneventful. The customers were polite but distant, their interactions brief and transactional. I didn’t meet anyone new or make any connections, which was both a relief and a disappointment. Still, there’s a comfort in the routine of making lattes and wiping counters. Maybe structure is what I need right now to ground myself.

When I got home, I curled up on the couch with a book I’d been meaning to start: The First Unicorn. The title alone intrigued me—it felt like a quiet nod to my own journey. The story pulled me in immediately—a tale of discovery, magic, and finding where you belong. I couldn’t help but see parallels to my own life. There’s something about stories like this that feels like they’re speaking directly to you, like the universe whispering that you’re not alone in your struggles.

Later, I went fishing behind the house. It’s a small, secluded spot that feels like my own little sanctuary. The rhythm of casting the line and watching the ripples in the water has a way of clearing my mind. Today, as the sun reflected off the water, I thought about my life in Willow Creek. It’s still new, still unfamiliar, but there’s potential here. No profound revelations while fishing, but I did feel…lighter. It’s the kind of activity that reminds you to breathe, to let go.

Afterward, I drifted off for a nap on the couch. It wasn’t planned, but when I woke up, I felt more rested than I have in weeks. I spent the evening doing chores—laundry, dishes, tidying up the small messes that inevitably pile up. While I worked, I played Benson Boone’s “To Love Someone.” The lyrics hit me hard, like a wave of emotions I didn’t realize I was holding back. "To love someone who lets you break, who loves you when you’re on the edge…" The words mirrored my own longings, my dreams of finding a love that sees and accepts all of me. Tears came without warning, but I let them. It felt cathartic, like releasing something I’ve been carrying for far too long.

To end the day, I watched a horror movie. There’s something oddly comforting about suspense and thrills—they distract you from your own fears, the ones you carry with you every day. I went to bed feeling calmer than I expected, ready to take on whatever tomorrow might bring.