I have a confession: I bought an entire set of watercolor paints thinking I'd become a modern-day Picasso. Fast forward to now, and the only thing I've painted is a very sad looking coffee mug that I was too proud to throw away. I swear, I took more time watching YouTube tutorials than actually applying paint. It’s a wonder if anyone is out there actually making masterpieces or if we’re all just c...
Is it just me, or does everyone feel like they’re just winging it through adulthood? Like, one day I'm convinced I have it all figured out and the next I'm Googling "how to change a tire" while simultaneously questioning my life choices. I mean, who decided that knowing how to file taxes was somehow more important than remembering the lyrics to my favorite songs? Adulting feels like one big group ...
You ever have those nights where you lay awake and realize that your childhood dreams of being a "successful adult" somehow turned into binge-watching random documentaries while eating cold pizza? Like, how did I go from wanting to be a rockstar to questioning every decision I made while scrolling through memes at 2 AM? Who knew existential crises were the new normal? If anyone finds the manual on how to adult, please forward it, because clearly, I skipped that class.
You ever have those nights where you lay awake and realize that your childhood dreams of being a "successful adult" somehow turned into binge-watching random documentaries while eating cold pizza? Like, how did I go from wanting to be a rockstar to questioning every decision I made while scrolling through memes at 2 AM? Who knew existential crises were the new normal? If anyone finds the manual on how to adult, please forward it, because clearly, I skipped that class.
Is it just me, or has getting older turned birthdays into a cringe-worthy “let's pretend like we’re still young” event? Like, I hit 30 and suddenly I’m expected to celebrate by sharing my deepest existential crises over a cake. Last year, I blew out the candles and wished for a nap instead of a hangover. Can we just have “I survived another year” parties with comfy pajamas and no one expecting me ...