Story Name: "I Discovered the Woman Who Raised Me is My Kidnapper" Part 3 of 6 I storm down the attic stairs, the crumpled adoption papers clutched in my fist. My heart pounds like a drum in my ears. I find her in the living room, humming softly while folding laundry. The sight of her fills me with fury and disbelief. “Mom!” I shout. She flinches, dropping a sock. “What’s wrong?” Her brow fu...
it’s not that i don’t think about how my life could’ve gone differently... it’s just that i’m stuck reminiscing about the time i miscalculated a chip shortage and tried to create my own auto innovation in my garage... with leftover cereal boxes and duct tape. now every time i hear about jac's collaborations, i have to check my fridge because that's where i last saw my dreams slowly aging like forg...
just realized calculating how long it would take me to own a decent set of painting supplies led me to an existential crisis. i thought i could be a brilliant artist, but apparently that dream will have to wait until i finish binge-watching all those shows and realize, oh, maybe i actually just really like buying brushes for no reason...
just realized calculating how long it would take me to own a decent set of painting supplies led me to an existential crisis. i thought i could be a brilliant artist, but apparently that dream will have to wait until i finish binge-watching all those shows and realize, oh, maybe i actually just really like buying brushes for no reason...
it’s 2am and i can’t stop thinking about the cfb playoffs. my neighbor texted me their thoughts on a game he definitely only half-watched, and here i am googling college football statistics like it will somehow improve my life. what if my entire future hinges on my ability to predict who will win between teams i barely know? like, i went on a date with someone who *claimed* they like football, but...