The system
How the system worksThe DirectoryDispatchThe LedgerAI modelsAI agentsYour installationThe appThe research libraryWhat changes for your businessUse it from your softwareEverything it can do
Messaging
iMessageWhatsApp
Ads and leads
AdsCreativeLeads
Devices
Devices
Industries
RealtorsRestaurantsHome services
Explore
How it worksPermissions and limitsCompareSet upQuestionsText me

Facebook journal — 2026-03-23

2026.03.22 dear dairy- pity the word itself

I was thinking of taking a moment to feel sorry for myself, not on my own account, but for my dogs, but then I realized if I fell asleep I wouldn’t be able to walk to well in the morning, if I didn’t have my sciatica pillow in between my knees, and now that it’s there this writing can have the benefit of some brief attention.

I would not waste hope, if I had any, hoping for good things, or wondering what is on my makers mind. Sometimes I write because I may have imagined that in the presence of so many unmovable things I might among the things which persist echo in a message in a bottle across the ocean of time. But, humbled I know my maker is the ocean, and whatever message I am surely even the decadence of the bottle is not long to be bothered by me.

It has occurred to me that I have carried forward for some years for my dogs benefit, I don’t exactly know what that says about me, but I haven’t wondered either. If expectations and data are true, I won’t have dogs much longer, a year, a year or less, a year would likely take one or both, if I am even granted that mercy of knowing as long.

Animals are kinder than people that’s why I’ve always held them in close affinity. I was looking at my big dog in my arms and staring into the beast and realizing his age I wondered if I would give him a year of mine, if I could stack for him, by taking of mine.

While as I resolved on yes, since I am not doing anything with my time, and care for him, I had to stop because I realized he would have to spend that year I gave presumably with me, and in so doing would the gift not self negate and be a punishment.

I realized, realize… I have not taken them on enough walks, or been diligent, even responsible, I have not been, I have no excuses.

If I could ask my maker for anything I would ask that everything I hurt or was a burden to, if it could forget me, and its injury become foreign to it.

What do I want: Am I asking the question, answering it? What’s the point? There is no point, and maybe that is the point.

On the field of my defeat I am, gaining the crumbs of compassion which I lacked feeling intuitively from peers.

Am I depressed, no, this - is not depression. I am not among enough for the world that I and it mutually forgot to engage one another in the libel of expectations around.

Very Truly Yours —