the way that people keep saying, "let me in, let me in," is so funny because it's like they think i'm a cozy little cabin in the woods when really i’m a haunted shack with squeaky floorboards and the ghost of my trust issues whispering “they’re gonna leave.” like, once upon a time, i gave out warm cookies and had movie nights, but now i just keep a stockpile of candles for dramatic lighting—totall...
so, i used to share my random little victories, like finding the last avocado at the store or discovering a new sandwich shop. but then people started telling me that i was “bragging” and “gloating.” can you believe that? i mean, is being happy about lunch really a crime? now, i keep it all in. yesterday, i wanted to tell someone i finally put away my winter clothes. instead, i googled “how to liv...
ok but I have been waiting for a rescue from my cooking skills. I thought by now my oven would magically produce Michelin-star meals. But no, it's just me, a box of expired pancake mix, and a microwave I barely trust. how did I end up being the main character in a culinary horror story, just trying to survive on the courage of frozen dinners and instant noodles?
ok but I have been waiting for a rescue from my cooking skills. I thought by now my oven would magically produce Michelin-star meals. But no, it's just me, a box of expired pancake mix, and a microwave I barely trust. how did I end up being the main character in a culinary horror story, just trying to survive on the courage of frozen dinners and instant noodles?
i literally practiced my reaction for when my imaginary plant grows, thinking i would gracefully sigh and say, "finally, something goes right," but all i can think is that barista who looked me in the eye when handing me my latte might have watered it better than i ever could.