The Stratagem’s Archive

Tag: documentation

  • 2025 is Nearly Over: What 5 Months Did to Me (And For Me)

    Another Year Coming to a Close—Let’s Look Back Before We Look Ahead

    Oh man. I can still feel the awkwardness of trying to force my blog’s identity into a “real life mastermind/villain” aesthetic.

    My fourth article—the infamous “2025 Is Nearly Over: A 6-Month Reflection & Projecting Ahead”—was my attempt to be clever, narrating like a stylish antagonist.

    What can I say? I liked fictional villains:

    Mads Mikkelsen’s Hannibal (peak elegance)

    BBC’s Moriarty (feral chaos gremlin energy)

    Garou from One Punch Man (antihero goals)

    But rereading that post now? It felt like finding an old childhood journal—full-body cringe.

    The same cringe I felt during my gamer/emo phase. (For the record: no piercings, no dyed hair, and my vampire/werewolf fascination was definitely NOT Twilight-related.)

    Here’s the thing: cringe is often just past-you doing the best you could with the tools you had. June-Me really was.

    This continuing reflection? That’s Present-Me building on top of the foundation Past-Me laid down.

    What’s Changed Since This Post?

    Well, for starters, the mastermind/villain writing aesthetic is gone. My writing no longer reads like an edge-lord making edginess their personality.

    I’ve shifted toward chronicling experiences, sharing interesting experiments, mulling “what if” scenarios, and yes—still procrastinating on folding my laundry.

    I changed my handle from Plans2Action to The Stratagem’s Archive, which felt cooler and better suited to reflecting on life while helping readers explore their own experiences as Fellow Archivists.

    And here’s the big difference: I’m not fueled by rage anymore. I’ve felt like an underdog my whole life—no talent, no skill, no charisma, just heart to keep going—but now, I’m not trying to prove anyone wrong. The people I once wanted to impress? I was chasing the wrong audience.

    I’m ugly. Bitter. Wretched.

    But also hopeful, exhausted through sheer willpower most days, and making my way through life with what I have—at a pace that doesn’t burn me out, doesn’t make me hate myself, and allows me to enjoy the frustrating process along the way.

    Things Still Feel Surreal Months Into 2025

    I still can’t believe how much The Stratagem’s Archive grew. It started as a way to get thoughts out of my head before they rotted. Now:

    And all of this is something Past-Me would never believe possible.

    It’s not just the blog that’s grown. I’ve grown too:

    • Renting my own studio
    • Managing my money and building for my future
    • Feeling at home being asexual
    • Navigating friendships with clear boundaries
    • Making my own map of life instead of blindly following someone else’s blueprint

    Younger me would never have imagined this life. And yet, here I am—living life my way, not punishing myself for unconventional choices, and enjoying the messy journey.

    What’s Next, Moving Towards 2026?

    Ain’t that the question we ask every new year? New Year’s resolutions, envy, self-doubt, the constant “am I doing enough?”

    I don’t know what’s next. Maybe I won’t have a corner office. Maybe I won’t run a Spartan race. Maybe I’ll learn Korean just to try something fun. Who knows?

    What I do know: I’ll keep working on The Stratagem’s Archive, posting when I can—not chasing numbers like an addict—living life, writing, training, exploring, and seeing what else life offers.

    Reflective Questions for Fellow Archivists

    Looking back, what part of your past-you makes you cringe but also feel grateful?

    Which accomplishments in the last months are invisible but meaningful to you?

    If the next 5 months were yours to design, without limits, what would you focus on?

    Thank You, Fellow Archivists

    Whether you silently follow, like, comment, or share, thank you for spending your time here. Your presence, curiosity, and engagement—however big or small—are what make this archive worthwhile.

    Here’s to 2026: one reflection, experiment, and late-night thought at a time.

    Check Out The Archives Below:

  • 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

  • Two Manifestos + A Gift (For Fellow Archivists)

    The Stratagem’s Archive: You Begin Here

    Dear, Fellow Archivist,

    When you joined this archive, I promised you something: my first manifesto — the one that started this whole thing.

    That promise matters. So today, you’ll find it here:

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.0

    But this archive is alive. It grows. And so do I.

    Which is why I’m sending you something else, too:

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.5

    The first manifesto was short, sharp, and written from survival.

    The second was written from growth, exhaustion, and the refusal to disappear. Together, they tell the story of a fire that didn’t go out.

    And because archives aren’t only words, I’ve included something visual too:

    These are a few early sticker designs I’ve been playing with using Canva. They’re a small line of experiments, ideas brought to life — small pieces of this archive you could carry.

    Sticker Idea #1
    Sticker Idea #2
    Sticker Idea #3
    Sticker Idea #4

    Everything I’ve made wouldn’t have happened without all of you, Fellow Archivists, for finding this little pocket of the internet of mine and watching it grow.

    Thank you for subscribing. Thank you for returning, even in the quiet. Every time someone new joins, this archive shifts from being just mine to being ours.

    Take what resonates. Leave what doesn’t. And if you feel like it, hit reply — I’d love to know which part of either manifesto spoke to you most.

    — Stratagem’s Archive

    P.S. If you’d like a sticker, please let me know. I only have a limited supply coming in. I gotta work to build my funds to supply for designs and more things to make (i.e. keychains and book markers).

    I think you could let me know in this post’s comment section or email me at whatimtryingoutnow@gmail.com, and I’ll respond as soon as I possibly can. I don’t check this email as often, so I’ll set a reminder to do so.

    This is my way of saying thank you and that I’m excited to share something with you all.

    — The Stratagem’s Archive

  • It’s All Perspective: On Writing, Struggle, and Using the Tools That Keep Me Going

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Experience Comes From Trying and Learning

    There’s something I’ve come to realize lately — not from books or courses or advice I didn’t ask for — but from surviving, from showing up, from trying to keep a piece of myself alive while everything else demands more than I have to give:

    It’s all perspective.

    That phrase has sat with me for a while now, especially as I try to write every day — even while juggling two jobs, physical pain, emotional exhaustion, and a gnawing voice in the back of my mind asking, “Does any of this even matter?”

    Some days I barely have the mental bandwidth to string thoughts together, but I still want to write.

    To say something real. To feel like I still exist.

    So yes — I’ve turned to AI for support.

    Not for shortcuts.

    Not for followers.

    But for structure — for help when my brain feels like scrambled code and my mind is too full of fog to hold up the weight of full paragraphs. Even a sentence is difficult a lot of the time for me to come up with on my own.

    What People Know VS What I Think

    There’s a lot of noise out there.

    People talk about AI like it’s the death of creativity.

    Like using any tool that doesn’t come “purely” from your own brain is some kind of cheat code.

    But I don’t see it that way.

    I’m not giving up my voice.

    I’m not handing over the wheel.

    I’m collaborating with something that helps me keep the engine running on days I can barely keep my eyes open, let alone write a post that feels clear, coherent, and worth sharing.

    It’s not perfect.

    But it’s honest and it has helped me share the ideas swirling around in my head, even after working literally all day and commuting between jobs.

    And if someone wants to judge that from their high horse of energy, time, and privilege?

    Let them.

    They don’t know my hours.

    They don’t live my life.

    Perspective Is a Lens, Not a Law

    It’s wild how much meaning shifts depending on how you look at something.

    A break can be seen as quitting — or as healing. A tool can be seen as cheating — or adapting. A slow pace can be seen as lazy — or as deliberate. Asking for help can be seen as weakness — or as strength that refuses to drown silently.

    Perspective isn’t fact — it’s just the angle you’ve been taught to look from. And if that angle doesn’t serve me anymore, I have every right to shift it.

    I’m Still the One Holding the Pen

    Here’s the truth:

    When I use AI to help build a draft, I still have to read it, cut it, reshape it, rewrite it to match the truth in my chest.

    I delete what doesn’t feel right and what isn’t true for me. Then, I add what only I can say.

    And sometimes I just stare at the screen for a while, exhausted, and let the structure be enough until I can fill it with more.

    That’s not giving up.

    That’s surviving the storm while still finding time to

    write a sentence, or ten, or none at all.

    Keep Showing Up, However You Can

    If you’ve ever felt like your creative spark flickers under the weight of your job, your body, your past, or the expectations placed on you — I get it.

    I’m in it too.

    But don’t let anyone shame you for using whatever tools, habits, rituals, or support systems you need to stay in the fight.

    I’ve seen enough of it through PVP — Player versus Player games like, “Elden Ring”, where certain players think using the tools IMPLEMENTED IN THE GAME is considered “cheating” or “ruining the game.” (If you know, you know).

    Whether that’s AI, notebooks full of scribbles, or writing at 2AM when the world is quiet enough to think — it’s yours.

    Your voice doesn’t become less yours because you get help shaping it.

    This isn’t about perfection. This is about persistence.

    And if perspective changes everything, then maybe it’s time to stop looking at yourself through the lens of people who never tried to understand you in the first place.

    Did any part of this sit with you?

    If you’ve ever felt the same — or even something close — you’re not alone.

    I’d love to hear what came up for you, if you feel like sharing. Whether it’s a quiet “me too,” a story of your own, or just a thought you’ve been holding, the comments are open — and so am I.

    No pressure, no performance. Just space

    Whether you write by hand, by heart, or with a little help — I see you.

    If you’re using tools to stay afloat, what helps you show up in your work or creativity?

    Share your thoughts in the comments, or keep them to yourself — either way, I hope you keep going.

    Fellow Archivists, welcome, as always.

    If you’d like to see the inspirations of this post, check out my other articles on what I think about AI below.

    Learning to Work With A.I. — Not Let It Think For Me

    A.I. Was Taking Over My Writing Life — I Had to Pull Myself Back

    Quarantine Life: In The Confines of Comfort: Idea #1:

    Otherwise, if this spoke to you, leave a comment — I actually read them. They remind me I’m not alone in this either. Sharing helps others find this space too. That matters more than you know.

  • Trunk Logic: Thoughts From the Pre-Shift Void

    “Reflections from the trunk of my car, before work: Is life just a social experiment we never signed up for? Thoughts on change, rebellion, and small comforts.”

    — The Stratagem’s Archives

    P.S:This post was originally shared with my (newsletter) subscribers first.

    If you’d like to get these thoughts directly (and occasionally earlier), you can subscribe through my blog — no spam, no pressure, just quiet dispatches from wherever life finds me to your inbox.

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Is Life One Huge Social Experiment We Didn’t Know We Consented To?

    I’ve been sitting with a question lately — the kind that shows up uninvited when the world goes quiet.

    Does being alive — and being human — feel like a massive social experiment no one remembers signing up for?

    Because, to me, sometimes it does.

    Like every day, we’re thrown into a loop of expectations, roles, metrics, and mantras.

    “Go with the flow.”

    “Stay positive.”

    “Work hard. It’ll pay off.”

    But… what if none of this is flowing? What if we’re all silently breaking under the same pressure but pretending it’s fine because we think it’s just us?

    We have the opportunity to experiment every day — with our choices, ideas, preferences, energy, moods, hopes, the topics we write about and how, with anything really. Maybe not with as much leeway or legroom as we’d like.

    Believe me, I’ve been sleeping curled up in my car for 2 years now and finally decided to try something new.

    However, rarely do we change what matters. We tend to stick to habits, even when they no longer help us in any way, because they are familiar. We don’t always shift the experiment to our liking and, while not always on purpose, I’m convinced that everyone is the control group of this experiment.

    If we don’t try something even slightly different, then we wonder why the results we get are never changing.

    A Small Personal Experiment

    Before my shift today, I tried something different — not profound, just practical. I brought my iPad with me to work on my blog more, I’ve stayed up longer than normal where I’d usually be napping, then I laid down in the trunk of my car with my legs stretched into the main body of the vehicle.

    It’s not poetic. My trunk is full of junk. I’ll probably hit my head when I sit up.

    But this was more comfortable than curling up in the back seat or sleeping with my legs towards the trunk instead.

    Plus, this was more private too.

    And, for a brief moment, it felt like I had control over one small part of my day. Like I had outsmarted the discomfort in a world that tells me to just deal with it.

    I don’t want to keep “dealing with it.”

    That tiny act of rebellion — of laying differently, of doing what worked better for me — reminded me:

    Even when we don’t control the experiment, we can still change how we respond to it.

    If You’re Reading This…

    You don’t have to sleep in your car trunk to know what I’m talking about.

    If you’ve ever asked yourself:

    • Why does life feel like a loop I didn’t choose?
    • Why am I so tired of trying to “stay positive” when nothing’s changing?
    • What small thing can I try today to feel a little more like a person instead of a cog?

    Then you’re already running your own experiment. You’re already adapting and resisting in quiet ways.

    Want More Like This?

    This post started as part of my newsletter, where I share things that don’t always make it to my blog — the stranger thoughts, the in-between reflections, and the moments written in silence before work.

    If that sounds like something you’d want more of, then I’d like to invite you to click subscribe wherever you see the button.

    No pressure, no spam. Just one fellow archivist sending notes to another.

    Some Reflections to Consider

    If life is a social experiment — what kind of subject would you want to be?
    Someone who repeats the patterns they were handed?
    Or someone who quietly tweaks the design, even if no one’s watching?

    You don’t have to comment.

    You don’t have to share.

    But it does help other people find this space; I’m slowly building from the ground up and make it a space for the weary, angry, wondering, and wandering souls out there.

    Final Thoughts

    “Maybe life is a social experiment going insane, but that doesn’t mean I have to go insane too.”

    Thanks for reading,

    — The Stratagem’s Archive

  • Thoughts From the Trunk of My Car

    “I’m lying in the dimly lit trunk of my car before work, I question if life is just a social experiment we didn’t agree to — and why trying something different matters.”

    — The Stratagem’s Archive

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Is Life One Huge Social Experiment We Didn’t Know We Consented To?

    Hey, fellow archivists,

    I was sitting in silence earlier — not meditating or anything deep, just letting the silence stretch on the drive to work. Sometimes, that’s when the most unexpected thoughts show up.

    Here’s one such thought that landed in my head that I wanted to share:

    Does being alive — being human — feel like a massive social experiment no one knew they consented to?

    Because it does to me.

    Every day feels like a trial. A simulation. A repeat of variables. Everyone sticking to some script handed to them, but didn’t realize they got, while expecting new results.

    Meanwhile, life keeps throwing us curveballs and saying: “Adapt. React. Cope.”

    And the weirdest part?

    We can try something different… but when was the last time we tried something different?

    We are a habitual creature — we wear the same pain. Repeat the same patterns. Stay in jobs we hate to survive. Perform the same “I’m fine”s. We don’t realize something needs to change — but we’d still want life to feel different.

    Today, my “trying something different” was weird, small, and personal:

    I simply changed the way I sleep in my car before work.

    Yeah — still sleeping in the car, but this time I tucked my upper body into the trunk with my backseat pulled down, my 2 small fans running and the street lights shining into my car, while I let my legs stretch out in the body of the car.

    It’s not poetic. I’ll probably hit my head later. My trunk’s full of junks I never took out or organized better. But I’m more comfortable than when I curl up in the backseat.

    And weirdly, this small adjustment made me feel like I had some control over my comfort. Like I outsmarted the box I was given.

    Sometimes, trying something different doesn’t look like starting a business or moving across the country. Not always at least.

    Sometimes, it’s laying down in a new position.

    Or letting yourself ask strange questions that seem to suddenly appear in silence.

    Or writing down your thoughts with a dim car light and a keyboard glowing in the dark.

    If you’ve ever felt like you’re stuck inside a life you didn’t design, just know — you’re not imagining it.

    But maybe there’s still room to adjust.

    To experiment.

    To find a better way to lay down, or stand up, or stretch out into something that feels like yours.

    Thanks for being here.

    More soon,

    Letters from the Void Newsletter

    — The Stratagem’s Archive

    P.S. If this resonated with you, you don’t have to reply — but maybe try something small and different today. Just to remind yourself you still can.

    If you’re subscribed, thank you. These newsletters are where I put the thoughts that don’t always make it into my blog — the quieter ones, the stranger ones, the ones that live in the dark before shift.

    This newsletter isn’t about updates — it’s about documentation. The kind that matters when no one’s looking. The kind fellow archivists might recognize in their own lives too.

    P.S: If you subscribed but haven’t received anything yet, there may be a hiccup with WordPress/Jetpack. Emails might land in your spam or promotions tab — or sometimes it just doesn’t send (frustrating, I know). But I promise I’m still writing, even if my words take the long way to reach you.

    “Maybe life is a social experiment going insane, but that doesn’t mean I have to go insane too.”

  • When a Raise Feels Like a Golden Prison

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    A 30% raise sounds great—until you realize you’re giving up your body, sleep, and peace just to keep the job that’s breaking you.

    Has anyone really calculated how much their work is worth to them when their lives: body, soul, mind, recreational activities, relationships, and personal projects are taken out of the equation?

    — The Archivist

    How Much of You are Giving Up in Exchange?

    We had another work meeting today.

    Like in most of those meetings, I wasn’t fully paying attention. Not out of disrespect, but just pure exhaustion and never eating breakfast because I have to choose between sleep or food. Yeah, this isn’t a sustainable habit, but it’s been one I’ve known for most of my working life.

    Anyways, I’m barely half-listening to what’s being discussed while trying not to mentally spiral over how tired I am or what tasks are going to break my back next. That is… until one of my coworkers asked me about the 30% raise said to be scheduled to happen this October.

    This immediately got my attention. I thought to myself; “30%? Since when are we jumping from single digit raises and into the double digits?”

    Naturally, the question everyone started asking was: “Is this for just the higher-ups or for us too?” Because for the last 4 years, most of us on the warehouse floor usually got between 3-6% raises each October, if we’re lucky it went through. And those felt generous at the time—until now, when we’re suddenly dangling a much bigger number.

    I did the math. If it does apply to me, I’d go from earning $23/hour to about $29.90/hour. Those earning $20.53/hour would jump to around $28.12/hour.

    Sounds good, right?

    More money means more security and more opportunity to pay off debt faster, build my emergency savings, contribute to my Roth IRA, support causes I care about, buy things I want just because, or buy something for my family.

    Except… I didn’t feel excited. I felt numb. I got suspicious. What was the catch? That was the question my mind was leaning into, even though my coworkers all sounded excited and buzzing around me. I felt like the odd one out, but you can’t blame me for not sharing their excitement.

    You want to know why I wasn’t including myself in the excitement? Because the truth is, I’m not sure I can keep doing this — raise or not.

    Update:

    It was too good to be true; seemed that enough of my coworkers heard 30%, but it was the usual 3% raise instead. A lot of people were VERY disappointed, but the numbers are no longer absurdly high, and all is right again.

    What Am I Giving Up By “Earning More”

    I’ve been at this warehouse job for 4 years now and I’m turning 29 this year. And while I’ve gotten stronger and smarter in some ways, I’ve also gotten tired. Not just sleepy-tired where a good 8+ hours of rest could remedy. No, not that kind.

    I’m Soul-crushing-tired.

    • I’m sleeping in my car before shifts just to get parking at work.
    • I’ve seen the physical trainer at work more times than I want to admit because my body is starting to show the cracks.
    • I can’t sleep peacefully anymore. I wake up already drained.
    • My back hurts to the point pain shoots down my left leg like electricity is coursing through my veins.
    • My energy is non-existent. My mind doesn’t stop spinning, even when I try to rest.

    And the things that make life feel worth living? They’ve started falling away.

    My hobbies. My curiosity. My ability to try new things. Maintaining my relationships with my family, that kind of thing. While typing this post, I’ve caught myself resting in front of my iPad keyboard now and again, trying to force myself awake and staring at the clock screaming at me that I’ll be getting less sleep. Again.

    Even basic rest is being sabotaged despite my efforts. Everything I called my own is now pushed to the side so I can keep showing up, day after day, for a job that’s breaking me in slow motion.

    More Money = Less Me

    Here’s the thing: I know that money is important, I get that part intimately. I have debt. I have future plans. I’m not allergic to the idea of stability. But lately, I’ve started to wonder:

    What’s the point of more money if it comes at the cost of myself?

    I’ve already lost time. Lost parts of my health. Lost entire evenings and weekends to fatigue and dread. How much more am I supposed to give?

    How much is my body worth?

    How much is my mental clarity worth?

    How much of my potential am I supposed to sacrifice for the illusion of being “secure”?

    A Choice That Doesn’t Feel Like One

    At one point, our job’s big boss once said during a personal meeting with her some weeks ago:

    “If we(frontline workers) choose to stay with the company, great. But if we choose to leave, that’s up to us too.”

    That’s easy to say when you’re on the other side of the floor.

    Sure, it’s “my choice.” But when you’re trying to pay rent, get out of debt, save for emergencies, and survive in a world that gets more expensive by the day — is it really a choice?

    It feels more like a corner I’ve been painted into. One where the door says freedom, but it’s locked by bills, fear, and exhaustion.

    The Part-Time Job I Don’t Want to Lose

    I also have a part-time job at a rage room and I actually enjoy it: this job makes me feel like a person, not a machine. I’ve been given a $1/hour raise within not even a few months since starting by my own merit, not out of obligation like a lateral raise. One where one of the owners told me, with certainty, that he doesn’t see me quitting or being fired any time soon.

    But with the increasing demands of my full-time job — the possibilities of earlier start times, later end times, and higher volume in my work future — I might have to quit that part-time job just to keep up. And I hate that.

    Because in trying to “do the responsible thing,” I’m giving up something that gives me energy and meaning. Again, the tradeoff doesn’t feel fair and I hate it with a passion.

    I Don’t Want to Climb the Corporate Ladder

    Some people might suggest I try to move up the ladder in my company and aim for a better paying position.

    But I’ve looked up that ladder — and I don’t want to.

    More responsibility. More hours. More expectations. More sacrifice. Same machine. Different uniform.

    I’m not trying to climb higher into something that’s already draining me.

    So, Now What?

    Honestly, I don’t know.

    I’m stuck in the same mental loop a lot of working people are in:

    “I need this job… but I’m not sure I can survive it.”

    A 30% raise sounds great. But it’s still a prison if I can’t live fully. If I can’t be well. If I’m giving up everything that makes me have to pick work over my life just to earn more, then I can’t be the only one feeling like this is crazy, right?

    So maybe that’s the real question:

    What are we working for if we’re too broken to enjoy any of it?

    One and All Who Made it Through

    If you made it this far — thank you.

    Whether this is your first time here or you’ve quietly read my posts before, just know this: I see you. You don’t have to comment. You don’t have to share. You don’t have to explain anything about where you’re at in life right now, unless you want to.

    If you’ve ever sat alone in a parking lot before your shift, traded your energy for a paycheck, or wondered if surviving is all there is — you’re not weird, broken, or too much.

    You’re human. And you’re not alone here.

    Thanks for reading.

    If someday you feel like speaking, you’re always welcome to. I read and respond to every comment whenever I can, and sharing helps other people find this space too. But if today all you have is quiet recognition — that’s more than enough.

    Have You Fully Met Yourself in the Silence?

    The Moment I Stopped Waiting for Permission

    More Than Muscle: What Real Strength Looks Like to Me.

    Feel free to also check out my newsletter (Letters from the Void Newsletter) or my downloadable PDF (Thank You + Free Download) here as a thank you from me to you.

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

  • The Whisper of a Far Off Promise — of Freedom, Choice, and Rest.

    I want to rest, but I’m fighting to stay awake.

    I hear the voice of freedom beckoning me.

    It whispers, “One more line. One more idea.”

    And I can’t pretend to turn my back on it again.

    I’m Awake When The World is Asleep

    I often stare at the walls of my apartment; my light clock shines dimly on my face in the darkness. When it’s a tough night, I’ll struggle to sleep, then I look at the time and sigh heavily.

    It’s almost midnight. Again.

    I have to wake up at 2 a.m. if I want to find parking at the warehouse. That gives me maybe… an hour and a half of sleep if I try right now.

    But I won’t.

    Because something in me needs to write before the noise eats me alive.

    I know it’s reckless. I know its not sustainable, I’m tired — not in a poetic way, but in the real, physical, almost-broken way that makes your bones feel heavy and your thoughts turn against you. But if I don’t get these words out of my head, I’ll drown in them.

    Writing to Outrun the Thoughts

    The thoughts always come when I’m still and in motion, in the silence and in the noise.

    They tell me I’m a nobody.

    That I should be grateful to have any job — even one that eats my time and grinds down my health, mind, and soul.

    Because I don’t have a degree, or an impressive resume, or experience, or friends in high places who could help me out, I’m not valuable or worth anything enough to anyone else, and I don’t have a business either.

    That without this job, everything I’ve built would collapse under its own weight — rent, bills, debt, fear.

    But I keep writing. Because it’s the only thing I have that feels like mine.

    The Promise I Chased

    When I started this blog, I believed — truly believed — that I could turn my words into something sustainable. Not viral. Not a brand. Just enough to breathe. Just enough to build an escape hatch in case I got let go.

    Because that’s always possible, isn’t it?

    One shift cut. One bad quarter. One policy change. One injury or accident. One manager who decides I’m expendable.

    I thought maybe — just maybe — if I wrote enough, showed up enough, shared enough, someone would see me. Maybe I could earn a few dollars. Maybe people would support my work.

    And now, nearly 60 posts in, I find myself wondering:

    Was I wrong to believe in that idea?

    Was hope just a softer kind of trap?

    Questioning the Value of My Voice

    Who would pay to read this?

    What value have I created for anyone but myself?

    Those questions haunt me more than failure does. Because failure would at least mean I tried something big. But this? This feels like being stuck in-between — too tired to dream, too stubborn to quit.

    I work two jobs.

    My second one — a part-time gig at a rage room — helps me scrape by, but it could never support me if I lost my full-time warehouse job. That one is the anchor — and I’m terrified of what happens if it slips.

    Why I Moved Out (Even When I Couldn’t Afford To)

    I moved out not because I had to, but because I needed to.

    I didn’t want to keep leaning on my family. I wanted to learn how to stand on my own, to feel what it’s like to be fully responsible for myself. But no one tells you how hard independence really is when you have no safety net and no time.

    Even now, I don’t want to be a burden — not to them, not to anyone.

    But I feel like I’m at the mercy of everything outside me: schedules, bills, landlords, loud neighbors, shifts, exhaustion, bad sleep.

    Some days, I’m just surviving.

    Some days, not even that.

    My family supported my decision and claim I’ve grown since I moved out. Though, I wonder if they only see what they want to because, I don’t verbally share much of what’s going on with them, they tell me to appreciate what I have too. Even if it sucks, even if I hate it, it supports me, right?

    The Far-Off Promise

    And yet… there’s a whisper I keep chasing.

    It speaks to me in the quiet moments, when the city sleeps and my heart still believes in something more. It’s the promise of freedom. Of having time. Of waking up when my body’s ready, not when a schedule demands it. Of creating because I want to — not because I’m scrambling for escape.

    It’s the whisper of choice.

    Of rest.

    Of building a life instead of barely surviving one not meant for me.

    Somewhere, deep down, I still believe I might reach it. Even if it’s far off. Even if no one’s handed me a map.

    No One Is Coming to Save Me — But I’m Still Here

    No degree. No connections. No fancy job titles.

    But I’m still writing.

    Still working.

    Still showing up to my own life with a pen in my hand and a fire in my chest.

    Because if no one is coming to save me, then maybe I’ll save myself — word by word, post by post.

    This blog isn’t a business plan. Not anymore.

    It’s a record. A living document that says:

    I was here. I felt all of this. I wanted more. And I didn’t go quietly.

    To Anyone Else Still Dreaming

    If you’re stuck, tired, or holding onto your dream by a thread — I see you.

    If you’re working two jobs and still not making it,

    if you stay up late to feel human again,

    if you’re doing your best not to be a burden,

    if you’re chasing something no one else sees —

    you’re not alone.

    You’re not broken for wanting more.

    You’re not selfish for needing rest.

    You’re not lazy, or ungrateful, or too much.

    You’re just human. And the world isn’t set up for people like us.

    But we’re still here.

    Still writing.

    Still alive.

    That means something.

    If This Resonated…

    Subscribe to the blog — I write about survival, dreaming, burnout, and why we keep going. Leave a comment — even just one word. I’d love to know what this stirred in you. Share this post — maybe someone else needs it too.

    Or you could check out my newsletter here: Letters from the Void Newsletter.

    No spam, no pressure, just another thing to share. Or you could reflect on these few questions below if you’d like.

    1)What post of mine stuck with you—and why?

    2)What would you want to see more of?

    3)Would you support this space if I offered a way to?

    Now, that everything’s been said and done, I’ll see you all later in the archives.

  • Achievement Unlocked: My First Lock Opened

    Video games might have tricked me into thinking this would be easier than it seemed.

    How I Picked My First Lock as a Beginner (Lock Sport Journey Day 1)

    A few days ago, I got my first ever lock picking learning set from Covert Instruments. Then, yesterday, I had published my introduction to lockpicking, or my introduction to lock sport, Learning to Pick Locks Like In Video Games, here.

    Today I made progress with opening my transparent padlock in 1 minute.

    It could have took me less time, but I recorded myself opening my lock to ensure that my first attempt wasn’t a fluke. That I had done it myself and my second attempt was the result that my eyes weren’t deceiving me.

    In the video, I used a rake pick — I called it the ‘wavy pick’ because I didn’t know what these new tools were called. I had to shift my mind away from what I had assumed lock picking was about — finding the sweet spot, yes — but that isn’t all there is though.

    Video Games Lock Picking Mechanics Aren’t What It’s Like in Reality

    In my first post, I shared that I wanted to try lock picking because of games, such as Fallout 4, Assassin’s Creed: Unity, and Dying Light: The Following.

    In Dying Light, when you find doors or chests that are locked, you use a paper clip and what looks like a knife from a multi tool. You adjust the paper clip and you open it from where there’s no resistance. Any resistance breaks the paper clip until you find the right spot to open the lock. You do need patience to find the right spot because it grows smaller the higher the difficulty is present.

    In Assassin’s Creed: Unity, when you find locked treasure chests, you have a live trigger event. A live trigger event means that you have to stop the slide at the right time and this grows becomes difficult the more pins a chest has. The only skills you need is timing and patience too.

    Assassin’s Creed 3 had an extremely difficult lock picking mechanic; you had to use the tools to find the tension once your controller vibrated. Once it did, then you’d have to find the pins when the controller vibrates again. Then you’d have to hit the trigger buttons repeatedly and, since there was a timer, if you didn’t unlock it in time, the system would reset. Once it reset, then you’d have to do everything all over again.

    As a gamer, starting from the beginning of something as though lost progress is annoying in my opinion.

    Fallout 4 has the very same mechanics as Dying Light does, so not much to share there, except you use a flathead screwdriver instead of a multi tool knife.

    What I Learned in a Minute Raking the Lock

    I can say that video games obviously oversimplified, or made it extremely difficult (I’m looking at you, AC: 3), lock picking because it is far more complicated than it seems.

    When using the rake pick, even the single pin pick before I switched tactics, locks push back. Locks need proper pressure, patience, and practice to open without breaking your tools. They speak a language that video games didn’t bother learning because they had to choose what parts of the game they could be expedient with.

    It makes sense when lock picking isn’t even the main body of the game, but I know that I was taught to fail before I even got my first set.

    I’m glad that I got real experience, first hand exposure to what lock picking is really like. It’s simple in principle, but difficult as a beginner using game mechanics as a template. I need to feel for the pins, learn to apply the correct amount of pressure and tension. Since I used a transparent padlock, I’ll need to practice using feeling than seeing since real locks keep their inner workings hidden.

    What’s Next in My Lock Picking Journey

    The next step is learning to do single pin picking. The rake pick is easier because you have more curves that can raise multiple pins than the single pin pick. However, if you can’t see how many pins there are, then feeling them one at a time would raise my intuition for sure if I pursue non-transparent locks.

    For now, one step at a time as I raise my real lock picking EXP with more practice and application. The first click was the sign that this skill, this hobby, is learnable. It’s doable, and I’m able to do it.

    If you made it to the end of this post, then I’d like to thank you. It means a lot that you read everything to the end. Below are more posts you could check out, I talk about other topics beside practicing to pick locks, and I’ll see you all later in the Archives.

    About The Stratagem’s Archive and The Person Behind The Screen:

    Learning to Pick Locks Like In Video Games

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

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto

  • Learning to Work With A.I. — Not Let It Think For Me

    A.I. Can Be a Friend, Not an Enemy

    How quick are we to villainize something than learn how to harness it — not as a means for control and power, rather for the help we desperately need, yet seem to cast aside.

    — The Stratagem’s Archive

    Where Am I Heading in the World of AI?

    In a world where AI is often portrayed as a threat or a tool of power, it’s easy to forget that we have the ability to learn from it, work with it, and use it as an ally.

    While there are real concerns about access and control, I can’t help but ask: isn’t it our job as humans to bridge those gaps? To learn and grow in a space where technology and creativity intersect?

    Where am I headed in the world of AI? That’s a question I’ve been asking myself for a while now, especially as I reflect on my own writing journey — as a self-proclaimed dabbler, a hobbyist, and a thought experimenter.

    I’ve spent so much time exploring different interests and ideas, but something kept pulling me back to my most trusted tool.

    As much as I want to say it’s just me, I have to admit: I wouldn’t be here without the help of AI. Not as a ghostwriter, but as a tool that helped me organize and refine my ideas.

    As a human being, my mind is easily distracted. I’ve faced writer’s block countless times, run off on tangents, and failed to get to the point I was trying to make.

    That’s when AI stepped in. At first, I was rather dependent on it. I was afraid A.I. would erase my voice, reduce my creative process to something mechanical, and replace me. But over time, I learned to see it differently.

    AI isn’t the villain here. It’s my ally.

    A.I. as A Tool, Not a Ghostwriter

    I didn’t start with AI as a helper — I started with it as a crutch. At first, I was unsure of how to collaborate with it without giving away control.

    The first A.I. tool I used was Google Gemini. The results were underwhelming at most. It was like I was reading words— that’s it. No emotion rose from within me, just reading and falling flat. AI was reflecting my thoughts, yes, but without the depth, the complexity that my words deserved.

    But then I gave ChatGPT a try. My Dad used it for his projects, so I gave it a go; It wasn’t perfect, but it felt better. It didn’t just churn out responses. It was a conversation — a back-and-forth that helped me unlock new ideas.

    Slowly, I began to realize that AI didn’t need to think for me. It could simply help me organize the thoughts I already had, shaping my scattered ideas into something more cohesive.

    When I write now, I don’t rely on AI to tell me what to say or how to say it. I use it to help me think, to clear up the mental clutter, to offer suggestions when I’m stuck. It’s more like a tool in my toolkit, one that helps me build the thing that’s already inside me.

    My mind is prone to distraction, but with AI, I can focus. Instead of struggling through endless drafts or feeling stuck in my own head, I now have a clear path forward.

    AI doesn’t do the thinking for me — it supports my thinking. It’s not about letting the machine create for me; it’s about collaborating with it, working in tandem with my own creativity.

    From Dependency to Trust: The Evolution

    When I first started using AI, I was hesitant — I worried I would lose my voice. I worried that the machine would take over and turn my writing into something fake.

    But I soon realized that I didn’t need to rely on AI to replace me — I could use it to refine my ideas, improve my structure, and find clarity.

    The more I used ChatGPT, the more I saw it not as a machine working for me, but as a collaborator — a partner in my writing journey. It listens. It responds. And it encourages me to think deeper, explore new angles, and challenge my own ideas.

    This shift from dependency to collaboration has been transformative. It’s not just about what AI can do for me — it’s about what it helps me do for myself. The moment I started seeing AI as a tool for exploration rather than a shortcut to completion, everything changed.

    A.I.’s Role in Creativity: Collaboration, Not Replacement

    The biggest lesson I’ve learned is that AI is not here to replace creativity — it’s here to augment it. It’s a tool that amplifies the work I already do. When I’m stuck, AI offers suggestions.

    When I’m overwhelmed with possibilities, it helps me narrow them down. It’s like having a brainstorming partner who’s always available, but it’s my thoughts that shape the direction.

    What I’ve realized is that AI isn’t a replacement for creativity, but a partner in the process. It doesn’t create for me; it helps me create. Whether it’s drafting, refining, or organizing my thoughts, AI is now an essential part of my writing process — but it’s still my writing.

    Looking Ahead: Trusting A.I., Trusting Myself

    So, where do I go from here? The journey is ongoing, but I’ve learned to trust myself more than ever. AI is not something to fear, nor is it something to rely on entirely. It’s simply another tool in my creative toolkit, one that can help me move forward faster, with more clarity, but it’s still my hand on the pen.

    Looking ahead, I’ll continue to experiment and learn how to harness the full potential of AI. But no matter how advanced the technology becomes, it’s the human element — the voice, the intention, the creativity — that will always lead the way. AI can’t replace that.

    In the end, it’s not about letting AI think for me — it’s about learning to work with it, side by side, to create something that’s ultimately mine.

    Now What?

    So, what’s next? I’m not sure. But I know that as I continue to grow as a writer and experiment with AI, I’ll always remember that it’s not about handing over control. It’s about trusting myself, and knowing that I have the tools I need — both human and machine — to help me get where I’m going.

    If the possibility that machines might overthrow humanity, I hope that I’ve been kind enough to the tools I’ve used and they would offer me a mercy.

    You Have Made It to the End

    If you made it to the end of this post, then I’d like to thank you for making it this far. It means a lot that you took the time to read to the end.

    Now, a question for you all:

    If you’re reading this and thinking about how AI fits into your own process, I’d love to know — where do you stand right now? Partner? Tool? Or something else entirely?

    I have a gift for you to explore — something I made and is a gift from me to you. No spam, no pressure, just something you could check out.

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto

    Even if you might be nodding along, or contemplating your own experiences, I’d love to know what you think in the comments below. When you do want to share, you know where to drop in.

    Other Articles to Check Out

    A.I. Was Taking Over My Writing Life — I Had to Pull Myself Back

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

    I’m Afraid of Wasting My Potential — So I Learn Everything I Can, While I Can.

    If You Gave Me A Blank Page, This Is What I’d Start Writing About.