what happens when you have to mentor someone for a ctet exam and you’re basically an expert at Googling things? last week, they asked me about study strategies. i stared blankly and said “you can…you can study. or like, just, read the book?” my life flashed before my eyes as I panicked internally, realizing I barely remember half the stuff. it turns out, nobody talks about how my 12th-grade teache...
just found out my 'best friend' only texts when they need me to fold their laundry or babysit their pet rock collection. like, sure, i get that rocks can be needy, but come on. can’t wait for the day they text me saying, “hey, can you be a supportive emotional anchor for me?” right after i organize their fossil display. classy.
Story Name: "She's Here to Steal My Happily Ever After!" Part 5 of 6 I can’t breathe. My hands tremble as I clutch my bouquet, the flowers starting to wilt under my grip. “What are you talking about?” I manage to choke out, my voice barely audible over the gasps from the guests. Charlotte smiles, a sly smirk curving her lips. “Oh, sweetie. You really thought you were the only one? Blake and I have been married for three years.” My heart races, pounding in my ears. Blake? Married? “This isn’t a joke!” I shout, desperation flooding my words. I search the crowd, looking for any sign of him, but he’s nowhere to be found. “I wouldn’t kid about something like this,” she replies, unfazed. The way she looks at me—calculating, almost pitying—makes my skin crawl. Suddenly, a figure bursts thr...
Story Name: "She's Here to Steal My Happily Ever After!" Part 5 of 6 I can’t breathe. My hands tremble as I clutch my bouquet, the flowers starting to wilt under my grip. “What are you talking about?” I manage to choke out, my voice barely audible over the gasps from the guests. Charlotte smiles, a sly smirk curving her lips. “Oh, sweetie. You really thought you were the only one? Blake and I have been married for three years.” My heart races, pounding in my ears. Blake? Married? “This isn’t a joke!” I shout, desperation flooding my words. I search the crowd, looking for any sign of him, but he’s nowhere to be found. “I wouldn’t kid about something like this,” she replies, unfazed. The way she looks at me—calculating, almost pitying—makes my skin crawl. Suddenly, a figure bursts thr...
last night, i had a full-on argument with my roommate in my head about why they don’t get how serious the marco luciano trade is, and now i’m literally avoiding eye contact with them over a situation that only exists in my imagination. like, how does one even explain that you're mad about an existential baseball crisis? did i also forget to mention i was supposed to lend them twenty bucks for rent...