so after 18 months of fighting a shadow identity crisis where some stranger’s living my best life on credit, I finally realize that no matter how many forms I fill out, I still just can’t outrun the fact that my existence has become a really bad episode of a documentary no one wants to watch.
i keep looking at my bookshelf and realizing how many books i bought thinking they would change my life but now they just sit there gathering dust, sometimes i remember a line or two and think maybe that means something but mostly they just feel like lost opportunities to connect with myself or...something, i guess.
woke up at 7 am and the shelter kicked me out, spent the whole day wandering around the same coffee shop pretending to write a novel like a modern day existentialist. funny how i never wanted to be a nomad but here i am, crafting stories in my head while really just looking for somewhere to plug my phone in for five minutes...
woke up at 7 am and the shelter kicked me out, spent the whole day wandering around the same coffee shop pretending to write a novel like a modern day existentialist. funny how i never wanted to be a nomad but here i am, crafting stories in my head while really just looking for somewhere to plug my phone in for five minutes...
the other day i opened the fridge to find only a half-empty jar of pickles and that ketchup bottle no one uses, and somehow it just hit me that every meal is now a scavenger hunt. like, what am i even doing with this adulting thing when my biggest dilemma is whether to mix pickles with mustard or just call it a night and eat nothing?