The Stratagem’s Archive

Author: Stratagem’s Archive

  • Error 404: Last Save Point Not Found—From 60 Consecutive Days Back to 1

    Does Starting Over Have to Suck?

    When I published a few days ago,What If Everything Just Stopped? What’s Next for The Stratagem’s Archives?, I wondered what my next move should be—things were changing, evolving, and the closer I got to completing my personal goals, the more uncertain it felt.

    I hadn’t felt compelled, fueled by that stubborn rage to write, since hitting Day 60 of my publishing streak. After reaching Day 63, my mind quieted, my emotions found a fragile equilibrium.

    Early this morning, I published a new post, expecting to see the Day 64 streak notification on Jetpack’s homepage. I didn’t. I realized that because I had stepped away for one full day, my streak had reset to zero.

    It mattered. Those streaks weren’t arbitrary—they were medals, proof that I showed up, that I pushed through exhaustion, guilt, bitterness, and the darker voices that used to push me toward harming myself. They were proof that I survived one more day of feeling small in a world that often doesn’t care what you do, as long as you keep giving until there’s nothing left.

    As a gamer, the closest analogy I have is this: losing a streak felt worse than discovering a beloved game file was corrupted. Not a “new game” choice, one you pick intentionally.

    A corrupted file is beyond your control—everything you’ve built, collected, and earned is gone, and you’re forced to start over.

    That’s how losing my two-month streak felt. Except I wasn’t starting blind this time. I carried my experience, my knowledge, and my reflections into this new chapter of life. It was terrifying, but also… liberating.

    Starting over didn’t feel explosive or loud. It was quiet, subtle, and unsettling, like flipping to a new chapter in a book without realizing that something inside me had already shifted.

    After losing my streak, I had to pause and ask myself: does starting over have to suck?

    Not just with publishing, but with every aspect of life—The Stratagems Archive, my career, my personal growth, my goals.

    My time away from writing wasn’t about punishment or frustration; it was about listening.

    Listening to the void and the quiet, to understand why silence—after years of relying on rage and compulsion to motivate myself—scares me, yet keeps me grounded.

    I’m learning I don’t have to build myself or my space out of survival anymore. I’ve already proven I can show up for myself. People have invested their time in reading what I create, quietly sitting with it, and that is validation enough.

    I can show up because I choose to, not because I have to.

    Maybe starting over isn’t a punishment at all. Maybe it’s just the next save point I didn’t recognize yet.

    Reflection For You, Fellow Archivists:

    How often do we mistake starting over for failure, when it might just be an opportunity to bring what we’ve learned into a new chapter?

    Call to Action:

    If you’ve ever had to start over—whether in work, relationships, or personal goals—take a moment to reflect on what you’re bringing forward.

    Share your thoughts below, or jot them in a journal.

    Starting over doesn’t erase what you’ve built; it amplifies the wisdom you already carry.

    Other Void Related Reflections:

    Thank You For Making It to the End

    Here are some of the projects I’ve made during my time writing. Below are: 2 manifestos, 1 ebook manifesto, sticker designs, and a hoodie design, you could explore. Thank you for making it to the end of this post. I’ll see you all in the archives later.

  • Alzheimer’s Curse: How It Robs Memories From the Afflicted and Their Loved Ones

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    The Cruelty of Forgetting

    Forgetting your keys, your wallet, or even milk from the grocery store is frustrating. But watching someone you love slowly forget you—that’s a pain words can barely capture. Alzheimer’s and dementia don’t just steal memories; they steal the shared history that binds us, leaving the afflicted unaware and their loved ones carrying it all alone.

    It’s tragic and cruel growing up and living with someone with Alzheimer’s.

    My grandpa had Alzheimer’s when I was growing up. Sometimes he looked at me and saw a stranger, not the grandchild he once held in his arms. I didn’t understand why he would look at me like that.

    I hated it, didn’t understand as a kid, and I would cause trouble to my grandpa because of his Alzheimer’s.

    I wasn’t the only one who was suffering though.

    My grandma had to retire from work early to care for him, while my dad would rush home from work early to ensure he didn’t wander too far from his routines or get lost.

    Every day felt like a delicate balance between vigilance and heartbreak.

    Out of frustration, I used to lock the door when he was outside. He’d pull at it until you could swear it was about to come off its hinges. My grandma would yell at me to open it, and I would. He’d walk in as if nothing happened, past me like I didn’t exist.

    It was worse than being ignored.

    I remember sleeping over at their house as a kid. In the dead of night, something hit my head. In the dark, through bleary eyes, I saw my grandpa standing over me. He tapped my head three times, as though fluffing a strange pillow, and not hitting my head full force.

    Unnerving, yes—but I was tired, and I went back to sleep with a dull headache.

    My grandma told me he would call her “fat lady” when he forgot her. She would walk back into the room, then back to the living room, and he’d remember. He’d ask where “the fat lady” went, and she’d tell him she’d gone home.

    Moments of Lucidity

    Occasionally, there were brief windows of clarity. He would shower, eat, dress himself, and speak to my grandma as he used to. He always followed his routines: cleaning the yard, walking to McDonald’s for coffee, sitting at the tables, then walking back home.

    He would hum to himself, a simple melody without words. I can barely remember the tune now, but it reminded us he was alive, present, even when he wasn’t fully there.

    Those moments were fleeting, yet precious—tiny glimpses of the man we knew and loved. They were a cruel gift: the contrast between what he could remember in fragments and what he had already lost made every shared moment bittersweet.

    The Weight on Loved Ones

    Alzheimer’s doesn’t just affect the person with the disease. It reshapes the lives of everyone around them. My grandma, my dad, and I were constantly alert, walking the line between guiding him and letting him retain independence.

    Friends and neighbors understood the weight we carried. They knew who my grandpa was before Alzheimer’s took him—a presence lost, yet physically still with us.

    We were caring for someone trapped in a body that refused to remember, and the emotional toll was relentless.

    My grandma made new routines for him: jumping on a trampoline, writing his name repeatedly on paper, practicing tai chi—anything to keep his body moving and give them both a shared activity. He enjoyed these moments, and they gave structure and connection amidst the chaos.

    A Brave Choice

    Alzheimer’s didn’t kill my grandpa. His medication did. In a rare moment of clarity, his doctor explained the medicine could help his Alzheimer’s—but it carried a risk of a heart attack.

    My grandpa chose clarity, fully aware of the danger. Tragically, my family wasn’t home when he passed. That night, he showered, ate, and talked with my grandma as himself. When he said he was “going home,” my grandma wasn’t prepared for how she found him the next morning.

    He went to sleep and never woke up again.

    His courage in the face of such risk was both heartbreaking and awe-inspiring—a final assertion of agency in a life stolen by disease.

    Yet it felt like a deep wound being shoved with salt: painful, deeply hurtful, and full of nothing but lingering regrets.

    Fragments That Remain

    All that’s left of him for me are his wedding band, his watch, his love for Nutter Butters (despite him not wearing his dentures), and snippets of the tune he used to hum.

    These fragments are sacred—they’re proof he existed beyond the fog Alzheimer’s created.

    The Ripple Effect

    Alzheimer’s ripples through families, friendships, and communities. It teaches grief, patience, and the value of presence. It forces us to treasure the small things: a smile, a remembered joke, a touch, a familiar gesture.

    Because once they’re gone, they may never return.

    Hold onto your loved ones, and hold onto the memories you create together. There’s no way to predict what will be forgotten or remembered—but every moment matters.

    Awareness & Action

    Alzheimer’s and dementia are cruel not just for the afflicted, but for everyone who loves them. Educate yourself, check in on your loved ones, and offer support to caregivers—you never know how deeply this disease can touch lives.

    If my story touched you, or helped you understand even a fraction of what it’s like to live with—or love someone with—Alzheimer’s, I invite you to like, share, and subscribe.

    Not just to support my blog, but to help raise awareness about this devastating disease that touches so many lives.

    June is Alzheimer’s & Brain Awareness Month in the U.S., and September is World Alzheimer’s Month globally.

    Use these moments to educate yourself, support caregivers, and advocate for those whose memories are slowly stolen away. Every action, every conversation, every shared story matters more than you could know.

  • Fighting on Your Own Terms: Debt, Defiance, and Building a Life That’s Mine

    Three months ago, I was in significant amounts of debt, wandering through jobs I didn’t like belong in, and trying to resist life’s pre-existing scripts. Today, I’m down by thousands and building a foundation for the life I actually want. Here’s the updates so far.

    Ainsi Bas Ma Vie: That’s How My Life Goes

    Three months ago, I wrote about the mountain of debt I accumulated before and after I started living on my own — over a huge deal worth of debt— and how it threatened to define my life before I even truly had a chance to shape it.

    Since then, I’ve chipped away at it, one payment, one decision, one stubborn move at a time. Today, the number is still daunting.

    It’s not gone. It’s still heavy. But it’s shrinking, and with every dollar, I reclaim a little more agency over my life.

    I’m terrified of debt because of how much it stops me from doing and experiencing things I want to do and try out.

    I never liked how all of my attention has to go to debt, it’s super draining, but at least I can see the near end of the pothole filled road I drove onto myself because of the choices I made over time. Though I’m slowly getting closer to smoother pavement. Just a little closer now.

    Choosing a Path That Feels Like Me

    Speaking of choices, growing up, I was told what my life “should” look like. Work in hotels — the backbone of our local economy. Join the family’s construction business. Learn Japanese. Take the safe route. Follow the script.

    I tried none of it. The roles didn’t fit me. I didn’t like crowds, didn’t thrive in certain structures, didn’t want my last name to carry me into someone else’s office. I wanted to forge my own path, even if I had no map.

    So I wandered through jobs and higher education—with how long I was in-and-out of school, I could have gotten my Master’s degree in something. Instead, I’m a University and community college “drop out.”

    I think I’ve written about how I don’t have a degree. Surprisingly, I have a Liberal Arts degree, but, to my knowledge, this degree hasn’t really helped anyone out.

    Plus, I don’t have the diploma framed, I don’t have it at all, so I don’t have that fancy paper saying I did go through higher education. Either way, to me, a Liberals Degree is useless, or I haven’t figured out how to frame this degree as useful, helpful, and to other people’s benefit. Oh, well.

    Anyways, the jobs I took were often in roles that others might dismiss, or outright scoff at: customer service, grocery work, fresh food — jobs without fancy titles or corner offices.

    Guess what? This is true to some extent, but this was my fault for barring myself from opportunities I could have taken when I didn’t bother looking for and applying to scholarships or internships to stick it out.

    The “Should have, could have, would have’s” of the world at play people, let’s hear it.

    These jobs weren’t glamorous, but they were mine. I was building a foundation with the tools I had, no matter how much I hated them and myself for working there.

    Rage, Rebellion, and Sanity

    Some of those jobs taught me one thing clearly: never put my sanity on the line for someone else’s frustration. People will take their anger out on the easy target — and I learned quickly I didn’t want to be that target.

    My current work — a warehouse job and a rage room gig — are dualities of that script.

    Work at the warehouse gives me so much energy to want to destroy things and want to break people, so much people piss me off, but I need to keep my cool here.

    In customer service at the rage room, people vent, but not on me. They break objects, not spirits. I get paid, they get release, and I keep my energy for building my future. It’s still work, but it’s aligned with my boundaries and my life philosophy.

    One Step, One Victory at a Time

    Like the protagonist in Indila’s Ainsi Bas La Vida, I’ve resisted a world that wanted to define me. Instead of picking someone to love who isn’t socially acceptable, I’ve walked a path that was messy, even if it’s slower, less glamorous, and full of obstacles.

    And, like Indila’s story in Ainsi Bas La Vida, there’s always risk, judgment, and uncertainty — but also the thrill of making choices that are truly mine.

    Every payment toward debt, every post, sticker, hoodie, manifesto, and careful decision is a brick in the foundation of the life I’m building. One that I own. One that I’ve fought for.

    The debt still exists, but it’s become manageable. Not gone. But every number represents resilience, agency, and the refusal to fade quietly because of someone else’s expectations.

    I don’t know when the journey will end, or if I’ll ever feel fully “done” with it. But I do know this: I’m choosing my fights, protecting my mind, and constructing a life that’s mine — piece by piece, step by step.

    Reflection

    If anything here resonates, I want you to take a moment and honor your own fight.

    Maybe you’re battling debt, following a path others don’t understand, or just trying to carve space for yourself in a world that wants to keep you small.

    Every little victory matters. Every decision that aligns with your values is a rebellion worth celebrating.

    If my words connect with you, consider liking, subscribing, or sharing this post. Every share helps others who feel stuck, unheard, or underestimated find this little corner of the internet — a space to remember that it’s okay to rage against the world’s expectations while building the life you truly want.

    Keep raging. Keep building. Keep shining.

    Building One Brick at a Time

  • What If Everything Just Stopped? What’s Next for The Stratagem’s Archives?

    What Direction Will This Go?

    That’s been the question — one of many — I’ve been wrestling with since publishing The Void Feels Like It’s Closing In. It’s only been a full 24 hours since that post, but when your mind never rests, it can feel like days of circling the same thoughts.

    Lately, I’ve felt frustrated. Not because I’m unhappy with The Stratagem’s Archive or what I’ve built here — far from it. I’ve written every day, fought for every minute I could spare, and turned stubborn rage into creation. But now, the spark that once drove me feels dim.

    The words still come, but they don’t echo anymore.

    It’s not a lack of ideas. I have more than enough of those. It’s that I don’t feel excited to write them. I’ve been walking the same path, and the scenery hasn’t changed. I don’t like the current trajectory. I don’t like how it feels to move without wonder.

    In The Void Feels Like It’s Closing In, I wrote about shining light into emptiness — shouting into the void and getting nothing back. That feeling hasn’t gone away. The progress has slowed, the spark has dulled, and I’ve begun to wonder:

    What if I stopped shouting? What if I just listened instead?

    Maybe that’s what I need. Not more words.

    But silence sturdy enough to hold the ones I’ll write next.

    I don’t know how long I’ll step away, or what form The Stratagem’s Archive will take when I return. But I know this much: what got me this far can’t take me further. And that’s okay. Growth often begins where repetition ends.

    This isn’t the end. It’s a pause — a necessary one.

    To everyone who has read, shared, subscribed, or quietly returned to read again: thank you. Every click, every like, every minute you’ve given me has meant more than you know. I didn’t think anyone would ever find this little corner of mine, but I’m glad to have been proven wrong.

    While I won’t be posting for a while, I’ll still be around the archives — cleaning, updating, and letting the silence settle in for once. Maybe in that quiet, I’ll finally hear what comes next.

    Until then, I’ll see you all in the archives later.

    Reflection Question for Readers

    When was the last time you stopped creating, chasing, or producing — and simply listened to what silence was trying to tell you?

    Call to Action

    If you’ve been following The Stratagem’s Archive, consider liking, sharing, subscribing, sitting quietly, or revisiting your favorite posts while I’m away.

    Leave a comment about what post resonated most with you — your reflections help me see what the void is saying back.

    Thank You For Reaching the End

    Revisit Prior Posts Below

  • The Void Feels Like It’s Closing In

    Do You Ever Feel Like You’re Writing Into A Void?

    When I first wrote this, I was so excited that the light I was flashing into the void was reflecting back — that the quiet whispers I uttered in the dark were slowly being heard. People were reading the things I wrote about, and I felt confident to keep publishing, developing my own voice, and seeing where The Stratagem’s Archive could go.

    Every post, every thought, every hit to the publish button was an experiment — trial and error, but in a safer way, with low stakes but high personal rewards.

    Now, the excitement feels darker. Colder. As though the void is done playing games and is closing in on me.

    No matter how much evidence I’ve built, collected, no matter how much progress I’ve made — 100+ posts, 4 newsletters, 4 sticker designs, 2 manifestos, 1 ebook manifesto, 1 personal hoodie, and 10 very much appreciated subscribers — this brick of doubt is difficult to fight.

    Even with all the rage and restlessness I have, I can’t use the same energy to uproot this doubt like ripping out a weed or walking away from bad friendships.

    That’s the shitty thing about doubt; once it gets its claws into you, the void knows it has control over you. It can corrupt your mind with simple, innocent-sounding questions:

    “What do you have to show for yourself after all this time?”

    Maybe I’ve Outgrown a Part of Myself

    This doubt is familiar, to be honest. I felt it when I hyper-analyzed my decision to walk away from people who didn’t value me, when I permanently deleted apps I didn’t use, when I let go of the “just in case” excuses I leaned on for so long.

    I knew parts of me needed to die as I pushed forward and shed burdens off my plate. It’s possible the void feels like it’s closing in because it’s saying I’ve outgrown something.

    The problem?

    I don’t know what I outgrew.

    I started writing for me — to get every thought out of my head and into the world. If people read it, liked it, shared it, or even subscribed, that was a bonus.

    Now? It feels different. Off. I can’t explain it, but I wish I could.

    I don’t know what topics excite me anymore. I don’t know what moves me. I feel emptier than angry and restless. I feel like a fraud, and I can see the end of the life I want — free from financial burdens, full of chosen creative work, less stressed — but the path to it has blurred.

    I feel stuck, like Alice in Wonderland. I could pick any road and still reach where I need to go, yet every choice feels like a trap. Each decision feels like a noose.

    What Now?

    I don’t have answers yet. What I do know is that I don’t want to be invisible anymore. I don’t want to be ignored, and my mind refuses to accept that small progress is still progress.

    But maybe the void isn’t the enemy. Maybe it’s space being cleared for the next version of myself. Maybe what feels like silence is just a new beginning taking shape.

    Maybe I don’t need to fight the void this time.

    Maybe I just need to stop shouting into it, and start listening.

    A Reflection for You

    If you’ve ever felt like your creative work, your efforts, or your life in general were disappearing into a void — you’re not alone. Maybe it’s not failure. Maybe it’s growth disguised as emptiness.

    Take a breath. Look at everything you have done, no matter how small it feels. You’ve built something, even if it’s invisible to the world right now. You’ve shown up. You’ve persisted.

    And maybe that’s enough to start listening to what comes next.

    Call to Action

    If this post resonated with you: sit with it quietly, reflect on your own journey, and take a moment to honor yourself. Or, if you know someone who might be feeling this way, share it with them.

    You can also:

    • Like if you’ve ever felt the void closing in.
    • Subscribe to follow along as I figure this out alongside you.
    • Share this post if it might help someone else in the same place.

    Even small acts of acknowledgment matter. Even small lights can push back against the 

    Other Reflections

    Here you could check out how these thoughts started and progressed over time. Showcasing how this isn’t a one off thought, but an ever present and persistent one.

    Thanks For Making it This Far

    Here are the evidence, my little artifacts that I’ve made over these past few months. Every piece a beginning, the first footprint marked in the sand, and with room to grow. They’re my way of saying thanks for making it to the end and feel free to check them out.

    Feedback is much appreciated as I’m in this weird limbo right now. I got no idea what’s up from down, left from right, but all of this is here for your viewing irregardless of my current suspension.

  • Chores as a Creative Secret Weapon: How Cleaning Sparks Ideas

    Don’t Avoid Your Chores—Do THEM!!!

    Chores aren’t distractions from creativity — they’re invitations to it. They’re the quiet rhythm between our thoughts, the white noise that lets real ideas sneak through.

    Ever since I started my self-imposed writing schedule while juggling work and life, I thought my best ideas only came when I was busy. Turns out, that’s a lie.

    My best ideas also appear when I’m doing something boring — scrubbing the tub, folding laundry, wiping down the counter.

    Chores, it turns out, are part of my secret creative weapon.

    Work can be chaotic, repetitive, monotonous—sorry, boring as SHIT—at times. I don’t care what industry you’re in, there is no way that someone hasn’t had this thought pass through their head not ONCE in their lifetime. Whether you’re an entry worker, manager, self-employed, or a business owner, this thought makes us human, okay? 

    Chores are the same. Just with less lifting heavy freight or cleaning broken glass, and more laundry detergent and a bag of waste and trash. 

    Stop pretending to be androids in disguise alright? We don’t have that kind of public kind of access. Yet. 

    Anyways, back to the topic at hand.

    Work is mandatory and we’ll get reprimanded by higher ups if we don’t get our work done, right? You know what else will give us backlash if we don’t do them? 

    Our chores.

    Why do we have to villainize our chores that it has to be considered the “elephant in the room?” Or chores are “the frog we have to eat first?” We’re human, our schedules might not allow us to put 5 minutes to meditate, or let us take a walk if your brain is constantly on high alert-no time to wind down and relax.

    The only reason I brought up chores is because they, like majority of our jobs(don’t lie to me here, Janet!) are boring as FUCK!!!.

    I’m not saying there aren’t people who don’t enjoy cleaning, but I’m in the middle majority that does my chores to:

    • Get it out of the way and over with.
    • I have to feel productive for a few minutes on my days off.
    • And I usually get some idea to write down and explore later on.

    Because, from personal experience, I can tell you;

    You can’t invite new ideas into a cluttered head when your place looks like a homicide crime scene.

    What Kind of Ideas Were Born From Auto-Pilot Tasks?

    A lot. A lot of ideas were born from doing nothing but my mundane chores. Most of my best ideas didn’t come from deep focus. They came while I was scrubbing the tub or folding my clean clothes sitting in the basket for 1 week. Boredom is the brain’s open tab — it invites things in when you finally stop forcing them.

    All of the things you’re likely avoiding, or have hired someone to do it for you(sorry, Big Bucks over here can afford help. I’m kidding, that’s a different kind of help people need in their lives too, but I digress), such as having a clean space that you’ll be living in for as long as you possibly can has a HUGE amount of benefits.

    Plus, let’s be real, no one wants to have an unkempt living space if they can help it, right? 

    When A TV Show Is Actually Relatable and Memorable

    There’s a tv series, if someone knows what it’s called let me know, I’m too lazy to go looking for it myself, where a woman takes on a cleaning job with a pregnant woman with 2 young children. Her home is a hoarder’s paradise.

    The reason this was impactful to me, wasn’t the mess, but rather how both of the women was interacting with each other; the pregnant woman isn’t able to pay her help more than she wish she could and she’s afraid to let go of her children’s things. To her, these things were her children’s childhood, memories for all of them to hold onto. But the mom is the only one holding on to tightly.

    The helper, a single mom who’s taking on these cleaning jobs to care for her young daughter, told the other woman something along the lines that, “her and her children need space to grow too.”

    That line — ‘her and her children need space to grow too’ — hit me harder than any productivity hack I’ve tried. It wasn’t just about cleaning a house. It was about what happens when we don’t make room for our own, and the people in our lives, growth.

    This wasn’t in your face, loud, or obnoxious like some people who tell people to get their shit together. This was gentle, like an open and extended hand, and I kept that line in mind since I saw it on a YouTube short.

    We All Need Space To Grow

    Take a look at the people in your life whether or not this is true. Sure, maybe the people in your life aren’t best selling authors, Nobel prize winners, or anything like that.

    But certainly you’ve noticed that your mom, dad, grandma, grandpa, cousins, siblings(older, middle, and younger), children, guardian, friend(s), stranger in the street, your OCD coworker, or even yourself, has their own system of chaos, no?

    How they were able to figure out things that your ADHD ass struggled to figure out, right?

    You don’t have to defend yourself here, I’m not calling you out on anything. I’m inviting you to be more mindful of what people could be doing that might be pushing them ahead of the curve that meditation, nootropics, binaural beats, or walking can’t be complete without.

    You don’t need a meditation app or a Himalayan salt lamp to clear your mind. Sometimes you just need to wash the damn dishes — because when your hands are busy, your brain finally has room to breathe.

    Trust me, it’s why I published this post a lot later than my usual posting times. I’ve been feeling tired, weak, and under the weather, being up for nearly 24 hours in the last 5 days of working, and my chores were glaring at me when I just wanted to stay asleep until the world ends.

    Call to Action: Sit, Clean, Think

    Try it for a day or a week. Do your chores while keeping a small notebook nearby. Capture the ideas that appear while your hands are busy and your mind is quietly wandering.

    Become a Fellow Archivist At Your Pace

    If this post resonated with you, I’d be grateful if you’d like, subscribe, or share it. Doing so helps grow this little corner of the internet of mine.

    Subscribing will allow you all become “Fellow Archivists”, and will join my Newsletters, Letters from the Void Newsletter, directly into your inbox first—reflections, ideas, projects, and thoughts born from the dead of night—before everyone else.

    Thank you for taking the time to sit quietly with me, for carving out a few moments of reflection from your own hectic schedule. Your presence matters here, and your attention is part of this archive too.

    Thank You for Reading to the End

    If you’d like to explore more of the archives, feel free to check out my other works down below.

    Irrelevant, But Impactful Posts

  • Sleeping Like a Dolphin: Half-Awake, Half-Asleep to Survive

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Our Sleep Patterns: Inborn or Adaptive?

    I had read Dr. Michael Breus’s book The Power of When, some years back, hoping to see how it could help me sleep better and fix my insomnia-like symptoms.

    After finishing the book, I went down an interesting rabbit hole, wondering whether or not something was wrong with me. Again.

    I questioned if I was predetermined to be wired as a dolphin—half-awake, half-asleep like dolphins when swimming—or if I trained myself to be one. Always on alert, where any sound, even silence, is a threat.

    What Can We Infer From Science and Experience?

    I haven’t looked deeply into sleep science beyond reading The Power of When.

    Though, I was curious to see if we’re capable of overwriting our sleep patterns with new ones.

    I used to work night shifts before switching over to a day shift, though similar patterns emerged:

    I’d stay up late into the night, struggle to wind down even with nothing on my mind, keep electronics away from me for an hour before sleep, then give up because I was forcing myself to do something my body and mind didn’t want to do.

    I listened to my usual mode of being and made what looks like a struggle to sleep and stay awake work for me.

    We’re built different, are different, and some general help helps 50% of the time more than not.

    I still stand by the idea that we can train ourselves to adapt our sleep habits—whether our schedules change, we have an event or appointment to keep, or something new enters our lives and throws our routines out of whack.

    For me, I’m always alert and aware of a lot of things: noises inside and outside of my studio, my Blink camera clicking because it thinks it’s tracking movement, my bed only a few feet away from the entrance.

    Even the quiet is unsettling because I grew up with noise—my dad snoring from sleep apnea, my dogs barking like mad because someone was walking past the fence, neighbors blasting music, people revving cars at midnight, or someone screaming until EMT lights flash through my window without sirens.

    Nothing new there.

    However, my current schedule is far from ideal, and it’s going to be the thing that kills me, if I don’t do something about it, one of these days.

    What I’m Doing Isn’t Sustainable

    On the days where I’m working both of my jobs, I’m practically working—and awake—for nearly the whole day.

    Like yesterday: I’d been awake since 6 a.m. at my first job and didn’t get home from my second until literally midnight, the next morning.

    I just got home 30 minutes ago, showering to wash off the dirt, grime, and glass dust from the day before, and already, I haven’t had a chance to let myself—or even my car—breathe and decompress.

    I’m constantly on all of the time.

    My alarms go off between 2 a.m. and 3 a.m., and I’ll barely get a nap by the time I finish eating something, showering, and prepping what I need to grab and go.

    I’ve been nodding off at the wheel driving home.

    I’ll feel myself blink, and my body jolts awake—goes numb—because it knows I’m driving and need to stay conscious.

    I’ve even gotten mad at myself for nodding off. The usual spiel:

    “You FUCKING IDIOT!

    STAY THE FUCK AWAKE!

    I’M SO FUCKING TIRED!

    THEY KEEP TAKING AND I’M GETTING NOTHING BACK—IT’S NOT FAIR!

    YOU’RE ALMOST HOME! STAY AWAKE! STAY THE FUCK AWAKE!”

    I can’t stand the smell of coffee and energy drinks. I refuse to use them to stay awake because my heart already has too much adrenaline pumping.

    The extra caffeine might just give me a heart attack this time around.

    A heart attack before 30, what an accomplishment I’ll get to experience if it came to that, huh?

    I’ve already been feeling horrible pressure in my right temple, like someone is twisting a vise around my head.

    My attention slips occasionally. My words slur like a drunk person’s—except I’m sober, just drunk on sleeplessness.

    The amount of sleep debt I have is horrible, and soon, someone’s going to come collecting.

    The price?

    I’ll either crash my car, or I’ll crash into someone else. That’s my worst fear: that I’ll get into a preventable accident and kill someone in the process.

    I’m increasing the likelihood of that happening with how terrible my sleep debt and hygiene are.

    And that scares me.

    What Have I Tried So Far?

    The only things I’ve been doing to help me sleep are taking hot Epsom salt baths and listening to fire crackle on my alarm clock—to keep my mind from focusing on everything outside me.

    The white noise feels both threatening and soothing.

    If I can’t hear something opening the door, I’m screwed.

    I live alone, so I better be fast enough to grab the stick within arm’s reach to fight back.

    But this is only doable on my days off.

    I’m struggling to find better solutions for the days I’m working both jobs.

    I return to my studio carrying the dirt and grime of the previous day, my legs numb from standing, struggling to hold my own weight.

    I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.

    I so badly want to call out of work for a few hours of rest, but I don’t.

    A lot of people have been let go for attendance and punctuality.

    Using personal days, floating holidays, sick days, or vacation time feels like a punishment at my main job.

    If I drop to a certain percentage, I’ll be next.

    I hate that I can’t afford to be let go when my debts hang over my head like a guillotine blade.

    A puff of air would be strong enough for it to fall, but it’s dull—so it keeps hacking away to get the job done.

    I don’t know why I keep doing what I’m doing.

    I know I’m extremely fucking tired, and my full-time job doesn’t reward loyalty.

    I’m just trying to get out of this shit spot I put myself in: financial debt, mental debt, emotional and physical debt—just too much debt owed.

    And I can see how close I am to being free.

    The only thing I can say is: despite how extremely fucking tired I am, I’m still writing.

    I’m still alive.

    I’ll keep posting as much as I can while figuring out how to pay my sleep debt off.

    If I ever stop, then the debt collector came.

    Otherwise, it can piss off a little longer, and I’ll be here—half-awake, half-asleep, still flipping off whoever comes to collect, still writing.

    Until then, I’ll keep swimming like a dolphin—half-awake, half-asleep, chasing freedom through the waves of fatigue.

    Call to Action

    This half-awake, half-asleep state is just one way I’ve adapted to survive, create, and stay aware in a world that never stops moving.

    I’m curious — have you ever felt like a dolphin in your own life, navigating routines, compulsions, or habits just to keep going?

    How do you cope when the world keeps turning while you’re barely resting?

    If this piece resonated with you, feel free to like, share, or subscribe to follow the journey.

    Your thoughts, reflections, and experiences are welcome here — they’re part of the Archive too.

    Other Sleepless Reflections

    A Thank You For Making It To The End

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 2.0: A Companion Ebook

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.5

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.0

    Letters from the Void Newsletter

  • One Foot in the Grave and a Christmas Tree in My Face

    2026 is Fast Approaching, Fellow Archivists.

    We Didn’t Get Through the Other Holidays Yet!!!

    My pet peeve went off during my morning shift yesterday and I was already in a bad mood; I was trying to sleep in my car before my shift started and someone was revving their damn car, blasting heavy bass and rap music through their speakers.

    I woke up pissed because I just wanted to rest a little while longer and my alarm was about to go off in 5 minutes.

    I yelled from the inside of my trunk for whoever that was to shut the fuck up, but there was no way anyone could have heard me with how loud, and how shitty the music playing, it was.

    I struggled to sleep in my studio the night before—my mind was playing tricks on me because I kept seeing a shadow by my couch and clean clothes basket I didn’t fold yet from the corner of my eye. My mind was already tense from reading a, well I think it’s a really good story, WebToons called, “44th Period: Survival Class,” by sangC.

    With how far I read and the types of monsters: how they were written, drawn, and trying to figure out what school rule was twisted into a monster, my mind kept reeling back to the parts where each monstrosity was encountered.

    (Trying not to spoil too much, even though I doubt anyone who reads my stuff would read WebToons, but I’m just sharing enough to be sure. Also, I’m not affiliated with this comic or the creator, but I really like how fresh the ideas in this suspenseful, survival, horror story it is. Anyways, back to the reflection).

    My mind kept racing and I kept a light on to keep the dark, and my thoughts from diving too deep into what I thought I was seeing.

    So, What Bothered You This Time, Archivist?

    So, what happened was, after I woke up ready to flip whoever’s car that woke me up on its head, work started. I was one of the people responsible to separate and push the freight to the appropriate destination.

    Today wasn’t as hectic as it usually can be. HOWEVER, the thing that triggered my pet peeve was this: this month is October.

    What happens in October? Halloween. My favorite holiday, even as an adult. Since it’s spooky month, I saw something on the conveyor belt that made me lose my shit more.

    A damn inflatable Christmas tree.

    My Christmas Tree Rant

    I followed the box a few feet and was tapping my fists against the box while ranting in rhythm to my fists tapping the box.
    A CHRISTMAS TREE!!!

    WE HAVEN’T GONE THROUGH THE OTHER HOLIDAYS YET! WE DON’T NEED TO SEE CHRISTMAS YET!!!

    Then, I walked back to my post and forgot that the Christmas tree existed. Already having gave the box a thing or two of my mind was enough and it was back to work.

    That’s Why You Were Losing Your Mind Over?

    Yes, I was losing my mind over this is pretty reasonable. Like, I get people don’t know that people might be sleeping in their cars, so they just blast their bass to the absolute max, and my alarm was gonna go off in five damn minutes when I was rudely waken up.

    But the worse of it was seeing that stupid Christmas tree. Like, “damn, we didn’t even get to Halloween or Thanksgiving yet, and people already want Mariah Carey to thaw early this year?

    Nope. No thanks. Let me have my spooky month without the other holidays, and being reminded of the new year, getting in the way.”

    Why can’t we all just take a breather and appreciate each holiday without having to rush to the next one? You know what else we’re rushing towards if we don’t stop this bullshit? Our graves.

    Yup. We’re already one foot in it, so let’s back peddle real quick, huh? I sure as hell don’t want to listen to, “All I Want for Christmas is You,” on a loop from hell.

    People. Why Are You Running to 2026 Already?

    I can’t get it through my head why people just want to rush through the (major) holidays like a speed run in video games. Is rushing to the next year really going to help you achieve whatever goal you struggled to get this year? Like, damn people, let me enjoy my discounted Halloween themed chocolates before you shove me with you.
    The only time where I would like to speed up is when I’m working.

    I just want to go home to write, reflect, play video games, stare at my tv because I died. Again. Cook me food, or just listen to music because work won’t let us play music again.

    Other than that, seeing how we’re not safe from time’s continuous march forward, I hate how even the holidays are being rushed, like a kid blowing out a birthday cake not theirs. Those frustrate me too, but I digress.

    Can’t we just appreciate the days as they come—no future prepping for things ahead of time, no kicking the month’s holiday off of it’s pedestal before it even got a chance to sit down—and be like, “man, time is moving pretty fast. What have I been doing this whole time?”

    We’re one foot in the grave already — so why are we sprinting to the next holiday, the next year, the next thing?

    Slow down. Smell the pumpkin spice. Listen to the creak of your haunted decorations. Time isn’t going anywhere, but you are.

    Don’t let that slip from your mind or, by the time you know it, you’ll really be fully in your grave.

    Let’s Wrap It Up, Everyone.

    Even in the chaos of blaring music, misplaced holidays, and life racing ahead of us, these moments — small irritations, fleeting frustrations, and midnight reflections — remind us to slow down and notice where we are.

    They’re part of the archive too, a record of our minds, our lives, and the little battles we fight just to keep standing.

    Maybe it’s a reminder that amidst the noise, we can still carve out space to breathe, to reflect, and to exist on our own terms.

    If this piece spoke to you, resonated in some way, or even made you smirk at the absurdity of rushing through life: like, share, or subscribe.

    Take a moment to sit with this reflection — thank you for spending part of your day here in the archives.

    You’re always welcome, Fellow Archivist, and your presence matters in this quiet, unfolding record of life as it is, not just as it’s scheduled to be.

    Other Reflections

    I’m Afraid of the Finality of the Night

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 2.0: A Companion Ebook

    From Financial Pursuit to Connection: How Plans2Action Became The Stratagem’s Archive

  • I’m Afraid of the Finality of the Night

    A Companion Reflection to Rage Against the Spirit That Wants to Fade into the Night

    The Dread of Knowing and Seeing the End

    I can talk about raging against rules and expectations that don’t fit me; I can build whatever I can to have proof that I lived : through my blog, my little artifacts such as my stickers, my hoodie, my manifestos, newsletters, my mini ebook, and my business cards I’m making because why not?

    But when everything slows down, when the world grows quiet and the noise outside fades just enough for the noise inside to take over, I start to feel that fear again.

    Truthfully, I’m afraid of the finality of the night — that curtain call that says, “you’re done” for good.

    No do-overs. No begging or bargaining for more time. Just the stillness that comes after a life that tried its best.

    And that terrifies me.

    I can’t stop the clock from marching forward any more than I can stop the next sunrise. Every word I write, every post I publish, every idea I turn into something tangible — it’s my way of buying back the borrowed time I’ve got.

    I’m not trying to outrun death; I’m just trying to make my life mean something before it finds me.

    My Physical and Visceral Reminder

    This morning, I woke up in pain. My chest felt like it was caving in, as though someone had kicked me hard and left their mark behind. The kind of pain that forces you to remember you have a body — and that the body has limits. I almost called in sick, that was how much pain I was in. I almost didn’t want to get out of bed.

    But I did, because I had to start moving and the day didn’t start long enough to be done with me yet.

    And maybe that’s the strange blessing in it — the pain reminded me that I’m still here, suspended between being alive and the inevitable.

    It’s both horrifying and grounding.

    What unsettles me more is how many people seem fine with this march toward nothing. How easily they sleep while the world keeps collapsing in slow motion.

    Maybe ignorance really is bliss. Maybe I just see too much. Or maybe my rage and overactive mind are reinforcing what I value over the usual socials scripts.

    My mind won’t stop mapping every small end to the larger one — every silence, every ache, every undone thing that might’ve been enough, if only there was more time.

    But time is finite for us mortal things, suspended in space. So, I’m still doing what I can to reduce the amount of regrets I’ll have at the end of my life.

    I’m still learning to accept: fear doesn’t mean failure. It’s proof that I still care enough to stay awake while everyone else sleeps.

    Maybe that’s what living is — not escaping the night, but refusing to let it take everything with it.

    Reflection for Readers

    If anything I said this early dawn resonates with you — if you’ve ever felt the same dread settle in your chest when the world goes quiet — then maybe you’re not alone in it. Maybe you’re just human, still trying to make sense of the noise.

    If this reflection spoke to you, consider liking, sharing, or subscribing to The Stratagem’s Archive. It helps this small, growing corner of the internet reach others who rage against the quiet too — the ones who build, create, and keep searching for meaning even when the night feels final.

    Other Reflections

    Proof I Made That I’m Alive

  • Rage Against the Spirit That Wants to Fade into the Night

    “Don’t go quietly into the night.”

    I’ve been hearing this phrase lately, a persistent spark at the back of my skull. Not a voice, not a command — just a constant pull. A reminder to keep pushing, keep fighting, and to flash as brightly as possible in a world that wants me to fade into the mundane. To become another statistic of our world.

    Living Loud in a World That Wants Silence

    I can’t control how my story ends. But I can control how I live the chapters I still have. I can choose to exist boldly, irritate the people around me simply by refusing to shrink into someone else’s version of “acceptable.” And I can’t do that if my life suddenly ends, right?

    I choose to fight — literally, figuratively, however way I can, every way I can. And maybe someone would have to stop me while I blast Indila’s Parle à ta tête in my earbuds.

    Why “Parle à ta tête” Hits Deep

    youtube.com/watch

    I’m not blasting it because it’s angry. It’s reflective. Honest. Funny in parts, deeply emotional in others. Indila dares to want something, to reach for life as brightly as she can — not fade away like so many people’s whose flame dies unnoticed.

    And that hits me hard. That’s the kind of fire I want.

    Real.

    Silly.

    But, ultimately, mine.

    Refusing the Mundane Exit

    I don’t know how long I have. But I refuse to let my exit be ordinary.

    • Not through drinking
    • Not through drugs
    • Not by letting life’s endless lines of trouble dictate the terms, even though these feel insurmountable at times

    I want to live on the edges, yes, but define my path myself.

    Leaving Proof Behind

    Even if I go out tomorrow, even if life finally throws its last strike and I miss, I will have left behind proof:

    That I lived as brightly as I possibly could with the time and resources I had.

    That I refused to fade quietly.

    That I raged. That I shone.

    The Proof I Existed

    I Made Small Tangible Artifacts of the Archive

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.0

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.5

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 2.0: A Companion Ebook

    Letters from the Void Newsletter

    Reflect Here

    Have you ever experienced your own version of not going gently into the night? Share a thumbs up in the comments below or directly with me at: whatimtryingoutnow@gmail.com.

    If my words connect with you, consider liking, subscribing, or sharing this post. Every share helps others who feel stuck, unheard, or underestimated find this little corner of the internet — a space to remember that it’s okay to rage against the world’s expectations while building the life you truly want.

    Keep raging. Keep experimenting. Keep building. Keep shining.

    Other Reflections

    If you liked this reflection, then consider checking out other ones where the pull to extinguish my flame prematurely is strong, but I fight against it anyways. No matter how anxious, desperate, or hopeless I feel.