last night i was scrolling through the news about how joseph quinn's explosive rise after stranger things 5 is leaving everyone shook, and all i could think was that my sibling still hasn't paid me back that "temporary" loan from two years ago, and it's not like they're out here landing vampire roles, no, they're living in my parents' basement watching reruns of stuff like they’re going to miss ou...
i just found out about this fancy new music studio opening in kohima. my friend from high school, who's never been musically inclined, is already booking studio time and planning her debut album. meanwhile, i spent my last paycheck on instant noodles and a sad avocado because apparently treating myself means "why bother?" should i start a GoFundMe for my tragic artistic aspirations or just wait fo...
ok but—realized I forgot to mail my grandmother’s birthday gift—like, it was in the closet for THREE weeks—so I went to do it last night, but the only box I found was a pizza delivery one, and now I’m trying to decide if I should write a heartfelt note on the greasy lid or just pray she doesn’t notice the “extra pepperoni” on the label...
ok but—realized I forgot to mail my grandmother’s birthday gift—like, it was in the closet for THREE weeks—so I went to do it last night, but the only box I found was a pizza delivery one, and now I’m trying to decide if I should write a heartfelt note on the greasy lid or just pray she doesn’t notice the “extra pepperoni” on the label...
ngl, I just found my old sketchbook from when I thought I was going to be an artist. it’s a mix of angry doodles and terrible puns—one page just says “art is wheely fun” with a drawing of a sad bicycle. every drawing is like a tiny reminder that I never figured out how to draw hands. why did I ever think this was my calling?