so my parents showed up unannounced and saw my apartment which looked like a tornado hit a thrift store. as they scanned my hoarding zone of unworn clothes, empty takeout containers, and the ever-accumulating pile of “i'll get to that later,” i realized my biggest stress wasn't even the mess. it was wondering if they'd notice i still don’t know how to adult. honestly, if pondicherry can meet over ...
it's 2:37 am and i'm meticulously typing out a heartfelt rant about my new obsession with succulents. i accidentally hit send. to my friend. who knows nothing about my cactus crisis. the best part? they responded with, "are you okay?" while i'm questioning my life choices and plotting a rescue mission for the plants i haven’t even bought yet.
the way that i spent two hours organizing my collection of old stamps by color only for my cousin to use them as confetti for a dog-themed birthday party. i walked into the room and just froze. all those little squares - my personal pride - now scattered across a yard filled with bouncing poodles and soggy cake. and here i was, ready to make a display that would bring joy to a room full of confused adults instead.
the way that i spent two hours organizing my collection of old stamps by color only for my cousin to use them as confetti for a dog-themed birthday party. i walked into the room and just froze. all those little squares - my personal pride - now scattered across a yard filled with bouncing poodles and soggy cake. and here i was, ready to make a display that would bring joy to a room full of confused adults instead.
you ever built an entire fantasy world around a character in a video game, complete with their tragic backstory, only to realize that they are just a pixelated archer? like, i even wrote them a letter about how their aim is getting worse with each level. that's literally not how it works.