honestly just caught myself googling "rockstar games terminally ill" like it was a personal memo instead of a news headline. as if im expecting an invitation to their gaming legends’ farewell party, complete with cake and oversized controllers. but then I realized, while I’ve been obsessively checking my work emails at three in the morning, that guy is about to play a game I can’t even get my boss...
Story Name: "My Ex's Regret: The Lottery Win That Changed Everything" Part 5 of 8 “I can’t believe he’s back,” I say, pacing my living room like a caged lion. My chest is tight with anger and adrenaline. “What does he want now, Maya? After everything?” “Maybe he’s changed?” she suggests, but I roll my eyes. Changed? No way. He’s the same selfish jerk who shattered my heart. “No! I don’t trust ...
it’s 2:38 a.m. and i just calculated that if i had taken the left exit instead of the right one that one time, i’d now be the proud owner of a garden gnome collection—fifteen different gnomes in all, each with a name and backstory, proudly displayed in my house. instead, i sit here imagining their lives—did they ever meet a fairy? are they bitter about being left behind? i should really start going to therapy about this—also, how do i apply for gnome ownership at this age?
it’s 2:38 a.m. and i just calculated that if i had taken the left exit instead of the right one that one time, i’d now be the proud owner of a garden gnome collection—fifteen different gnomes in all, each with a name and backstory, proudly displayed in my house. instead, i sit here imagining their lives—did they ever meet a fairy? are they bitter about being left behind? i should really start going to therapy about this—also, how do i apply for gnome ownership at this age?
the way that i calculated how much i spend on fancy pens and sketchbooks that i will never actually use, just so i can pretend i am a professional artist while daydreaming about living in a quaint little cabin, only to realize the only art i create is doodles of my crushes on napkins. like, why do i care so much about perfecting my grocery list aesthetic when i have never even made it to aisle thr...