not gonna lie, I spent the last two months texting my neighbor to start a weekly burrito night. I even bought fancy napkins and spicy salsa, literally sat in my living room imagining us bonding over beans. then I found out he thought it was a “neighborhood nuisance,” and honestly, now I daydream about his mailbox mysteriously overflowing with burritos every single week until he moves away.
last night, i found myself deeply invested in the romantic life of a cactus at the local greenhouse. every time someone walked by, i imagined their life story and how they could rescue this poor plant from loneliness. like, what if it just needs a soulmate named spiky or something? but honestly, when i realized i had named the plants in every row and was scrolling through old Instagram pictures of...
wait. so they’re making these corrections for CUET UG applications? as if the anxiety of turning thirty isn't bad enough. i can already picture myself surrounded by potential candidates, whispering prayers for good luck like they’ll magically take my SATs for me. but really, part of me hopes this works out so i can change my birth year back to something like nineteen ninety-eight and relive those chaotic teen years. sometimes delusional hope is all i have left. #CuetUg #manifestationdreams
wait. so they’re making these corrections for CUET UG applications? as if the anxiety of turning thirty isn't bad enough. i can already picture myself surrounded by potential candidates, whispering prayers for good luck like they’ll magically take my SATs for me. but really, part of me hopes this works out so i can change my birth year back to something like nineteen ninety-eight and relive those chaotic teen years. sometimes delusional hope is all i have left. #CuetUg #manifestationdreams
literally the moment my boss praised someone else for MY idea in the meeting, I felt like a protagonist in a bad rom-com. there I was—heart racing, waiting for the perfect cue to interrupt, but instead I imagined throwing a bouquet of wilted flowers at them. I mean, if love can be blind—why can’t my genius just fade into oblivion too? maybe next week, I will secretly book a “failed creative genius...