i am literally addicted to rearranging my bookshelf. like, i could spend hours switching the order just to feel like my life is somehow in control, but honestly, it’s just a distraction from the chaos. nobody knows that underneath all those pretty spines, i am painfully aware of how lost i am, but who wants to admit that the fiction is sometimes the only truth i have left?
day 47 of pretending to be a “car person” because everyone thinks it's charming. meanwhile, my knowledge extends to “this one goes vroom.” last week, i nod knowingly at a friend's passionate spiel about reliability, while my brain is just screaming about the time i tried to convince a used car dealer i had a “vision” for the family hatchback. spoiler alert: the vision included running away from th...
my parents are getting divorced and now they act like i’m some kind of therapist, having to play referee between their “conversations” that just spiral into blame games. it's like, one minute dad's yelling about how mom never learned to drive properly and the next, mom’s bringing up how he ruined family vacations because he can't sit still in traffic. i mean, can we just acknowledge that this is really about the last slice of pizza that no one will admit to fighting over... and suddenly it's me who’s supposed to keep the peace—like, what did i sign up for?
my parents are getting divorced and now they act like i’m some kind of therapist, having to play referee between their “conversations” that just spiral into blame games. it's like, one minute dad's yelling about how mom never learned to drive properly and the next, mom’s bringing up how he ruined family vacations because he can't sit still in traffic. i mean, can we just acknowledge that this is really about the last slice of pizza that no one will admit to fighting over... and suddenly it's me who’s supposed to keep the peace—like, what did i sign up for?
just realized my spotify wrapped is basically a cry for help. it is like an autobiography of loneliness wrapped in the illusion of having friends. there’s literally no one who gets the deeper cuts I jam to—only strangers with the same playlists in my contacts but no one to call when I'm low. honestly, who knew "americano" could remind me of my isolation and give me major regrets about adult life c...