(10/30 @ 10/18) The little ant found that he looked forward, very much looked forward, to the time he would spend with his substances, with the mixes and preparations he was concocting. The time he spent observing his fellow ants, black ants and captives alike, was something that he began to see came to see as something that filled up the spaces in between times that he was using and experimenting with his tinctures and preparations. The time he spent alone with his goodies was the good time and everything else in between was filler, bland, timed out so as not to take too long. The time spent gathering new materials, or as happened more and more gathering materials that he had found to work well was necessary time, not pleasures to be savoured, but time that was associated with, ws spent indirectly as preparation for the moments of true enjoyment. An economy of time, an economy of time that revolved around his goodies. But eventually it ceased to be enjoyment – it became a need. He could not face the hours spent with other things. They were painfully empty and any amount of responsibility or onus loaded upon him made him long to return to his secret hideaway, his secret lair, to escape, to have his feelings reliably set by whatever he chose to partake of. Reality became this uncooperative thing that seemed to always make him feel bad and never good, always demanding more effort than he could muster to flow in a smooth stream and not disturb him and his reveries which became more and more frequent.