honestly, every time i hear about djokovic's wife, i think about how my love life feels like a perpetual first round in a tennis match – never quite making it past the baseline, and here i am, imagining what it would be like to have someone cheering for me from the sidelines while i accidentally smash my phone instead of sending that text. and meanwhile, his wife’s probably out there being a busin...
so i was texting my crush about how charming i thought they were, and without realizing it, i sent the message to them instead of my friend. my heart dropped harder than my internet connection when adani electricity decides to cut me off during a binge-watch session. the awkward silence lingered until they replied with "thanks? i had no idea you felt that way.” now im over here, plotting my escape...
not gonna lie, I just found out my friends have a separate chat dedicated entirely to sharing our worst thrift store outfits. like, how did I miss the memo on that? lowkey upset I wasn’t included. but then I remembered I once tried to pull off a sequined vest paired with socks and sandals, so honestly, I’m not mad they’re shielding me from public humiliation.
not gonna lie, I just found out my friends have a separate chat dedicated entirely to sharing our worst thrift store outfits. like, how did I miss the memo on that? lowkey upset I wasn’t included. but then I remembered I once tried to pull off a sequined vest paired with socks and sandals, so honestly, I’m not mad they’re shielding me from public humiliation.
it’s 3am and i’m still on my couch, scrolling through the news about novak djokovic. i turned down that once-in-a-lifetime job offer a few months ago, thinking i’d finally take some risks and do something meaningful. now i’m here, realizing the only thing i’ve achieved is mastering the art of scrolling. i mean, if he can set records at his age, why am i here battling with my couch for the perfec...