it's not that i’m losing sleep over the hang seng index, it's just that every time it peaks, i can’t help but picture my future self living in a cardboard box by the subway, drinking leftover soy milk from a dumpster, while humming along to the theme song of a reality show about someone’s unfortunate financial choices—like a cautionary tale that's somehow comforting... which is obviously a cry for...
i was about to tell my neighbor about their partner's late-night “business meetings” when i suddenly realized i can't even make it through the week without crying over a silly xfinity outage that left me stranded in my thoughts for days, so clearly, my judgment is just as compromised as their relationship. who am i to play relationship detective when i still sob over commercials? #XfinityOutage #A...
have you ever wondered what would happen if a cloud tried to break dance? I mean, really, that is the level of IDENTITY CRISIS I experience when I’m alone — it's like I’m a chameleon in a room full of potatoes, trying to figure out which color to be. I catch myself practicing my acceptance speech for a fictional award about "best social performer" — complete with tears rolling down my cheeks. But let’s be real — I’ll probably just win "best at crying in front of an empty fridge."
have you ever wondered what would happen if a cloud tried to break dance? I mean, really, that is the level of IDENTITY CRISIS I experience when I’m alone — it's like I’m a chameleon in a room full of potatoes, trying to figure out which color to be. I catch myself practicing my acceptance speech for a fictional award about "best social performer" — complete with tears rolling down my cheeks. But let’s be real — I’ll probably just win "best at crying in front of an empty fridge."
it’s three am and i’m scrolling through social media when i see that carl’s junior location burning down. honestly, that used to be my post-breakup place. my friends and i would drown our sorrows in burgers and fries while we told each other it was going to be fine. now, all i can think is maybe that fire is a metaphor for my life—consumed and charred, while i pretend everything is okay. at this p...