it is 2am and the fireworks sound like exploding grenades. my wife sleeps in the other room, oblivious to the fact that I woke up swinging, convinced I was back in the middle of it all. some nights I question if coming home was the right choice; at least on deployment, the loud noises meant I had a job to do. now they are just reminders of what I can't explain— like why I jump at a pop can opening...
went to the thrift store today. found an entire shelf of those hideous '90s windbreakers that should have been left in the past. why is everyone suddenly wearing them again? i am a strong believer in recycling fashion, but i refuse to pay ten dollars for a jacket that looks like it survived a hurricane and a fashion disaster.
wait. you ever try to replace a 22-year loyalty to a job with a side hustle? because my brain says "sure, just sell vintage T-shirts on Etsy" but my bank account screams “bro, you can barely afford lunch from that deli on the corner.” so here I am, scrolling through my account—wishing the money wasn’t just a disappearing act, like the paycheck from the job I loved which was terminated via Zoom while the CEO sunbathed in a yacht-filtered Instagram story. can’t even afford the fancy pancake mix on sale because why save for rent when you can feed this desperate dream?
wait. you ever try to replace a 22-year loyalty to a job with a side hustle? because my brain says "sure, just sell vintage T-shirts on Etsy" but my bank account screams “bro, you can barely afford lunch from that deli on the corner.” so here I am, scrolling through my account—wishing the money wasn’t just a disappearing act, like the paycheck from the job I loved which was terminated via Zoom while the CEO sunbathed in a yacht-filtered Instagram story. can’t even afford the fancy pancake mix on sale because why save for rent when you can feed this desperate dream?
it’s 11pm and i am literally sitting in a cold laundromat with a machine that won’t stop beeping, reminding me i am so out of sync with my life. i walked in here hoping to just wash my comforter because last week my kid spilled an entire drink on it during a ‘relaxation night’ gone wrong. now that same comforter feels heavy with memories, and the irony of trying to ‘fix’ something feels like a sla...