The disentanglement from the narrative

This has been a year of change and so much of what holds me together is my isolation. If I only have my own thoughts in my mind, then I stand a better chance of sorting through everything I need to do to be as productive as I am.

I know there's a lot missing from my life as a result. And I don't know what I can really do, because the productivity brings meaning. The meaning keeps me going as a business. 

I recently put working clocks in the front room, two of them that were formerly at the old house at Dogwood Place. I would still have preferred a better outcome. 

But this is the now I find myself in, having made a series of choices including realizing that so many had already been made. 

So what do I do now? What is this place I find myself? I wake up every day a different person with some of the days filled with adventure but most of them filled with endless research into the existence I find in the public record. I have built a life around turning public discussion into stories, and yet my own story seems so much a non-entity.

Do I exist? What are the rules of this domain?

I do not know, but I am grateful for the technology that exists for me to capture these words, maybe to exist long past my death. I am hopeful that is not for many more years, and I am confident the path I am on is the path I am on.