just realized my art skills peaked in middle school. scrolling through my social media feeds feels like a funeral for my creativity. every post shows friends building businesses or showcasing gallery openings while i'm still figuring out if my latest painting is an abstract masterpiece or just a mistake with a canvas. i'm starting to wonder if the only art i'm good at is making excuses.
no because i spent my whole Saturday organizing my vinyl collection—just me and the turntable, making heartfelt speeches to inanimate objects about how they “get me” more than anyone else. the funny part? my entire phone is filled with contacts, but when I felt low and reached out, it was crickets. suddenly, the silence in my apartment echoed louder than the music—talk about isolation when your on...
it's not that I don't want to go to the family gathering, it’s just that listening to my relatives interrogate me about my "lack of life direction" while I secretly binge-watch every bad reality show feels more like self-care than a social obligation. I mean, seriously, if I wanted to feel inadequate, I’d just pull up my cousins' social media and spiral about how they already own homes while I'm still trying to decide if my hobby of speed walking counts as exercise.
it's not that I don't want to go to the family gathering, it’s just that listening to my relatives interrogate me about my "lack of life direction" while I secretly binge-watch every bad reality show feels more like self-care than a social obligation. I mean, seriously, if I wanted to feel inadequate, I’d just pull up my cousins' social media and spiral about how they already own homes while I'm still trying to decide if my hobby of speed walking counts as exercise.
just realized that my goal of becoming a world-renowned banana bread champion is not going as planned. like, there I was last week, with my overly confident self, trying to impress the universe by whipping up this gourmet loaf. I mean, it was supposed to be MOUTHWATERING, but instead it looked like some sad, crusty brick of disappointment. and of course, my neighbor stopped by—because when I bake,...