so i wrote an entire essay analyzing the complexities of the upcoming kalamkaval ott film. like, six pages of intense emotional turmoil and hidden meanings. got back a single emoji, the one that looks like a blank stare. immediately questioned my life choices while debating whether i just unintentionally proposed to the wrong person with a twelve-point font analysis of mammootty's acting. honestly...
it's not that i am upset about my ex dating my friend — it’s just that i recently got a whole series of antique postcards of our city, where i painstakingly mapped out romantic spots we used to visit together — now she is dating him at all those same places and they don’t even know the deep emotional narrative of the postcards!
just realized i spent thirty minutes constructing an entire argument in my head with the bag of flour in my pantry. why was i defending my choice to make banana bread like it was the final verdict on my adult life? it doesn’t even care if my sourdough fails. now i'm genuinely upset with it, and i am not even going to bake it. who loses in this scenario?
just realized i spent thirty minutes constructing an entire argument in my head with the bag of flour in my pantry. why was i defending my choice to make banana bread like it was the final verdict on my adult life? it doesn’t even care if my sourdough fails. now i'm genuinely upset with it, and i am not even going to bake it. who loses in this scenario?
not gonna lie, spent two hours deep cleaning my closet and realized the real reason it was a disaster is that I have an emotional attachment to expired canned soup. like, is the twelve cans of clam chowder going to save me in a crisis, or is it just keeping my life a mess?