Story Name: "I Was Born to the Wrong Family: The Truth Will Tear Us Apart" Part 4 of 6 I push through the heavy oak door, and my blood runs cold. There they are—my real family. A woman in a red dress, sophisticated and beautiful, stands by the fireplace. She spins around, and her eyes widen. “Who are you?” she demands, her voice sharp as shattered glass. The room goes dead silent. I can’t fin...
literally double texted, then triple texted my houseplant about the lack of water—thought about faking my death to escape the guilt of letting it suffer, and then I realized I might be the only one on earth who has full-on existential crises about botany...
it’s 2am and i just caught myself googling “how to fix a toilet float” like i am not a thirty-year-old woman who has a Google Calendar reminding me to water my succulents. my parents would be so proud of me, sitting here with a power drill I don't know how to use. i almost called my dad for help but then thought... what if I become the DIY queen of my own tragic reality show? wait, does anyone know how to also fix emotional leaks while i am at it...
it’s 2am and i just caught myself googling “how to fix a toilet float” like i am not a thirty-year-old woman who has a Google Calendar reminding me to water my succulents. my parents would be so proud of me, sitting here with a power drill I don't know how to use. i almost called my dad for help but then thought... what if I become the DIY queen of my own tragic reality show? wait, does anyone know how to also fix emotional leaks while i am at it...
i literally cannot stop thinking about the conversation i rehearsed in my head about what to say to the person who collects raccoon figurines. like, are they even real raccoons? who needs that many? honestly, we might as well discuss the mating habits of squirrel monkeys while we are at it. yet here i am, losing sleep over it like it’s my job, plotting my brilliant icebreaker and honestly convince...