I have a laundry chair. Then a second laundry chair for the overflow from the first chair. The bed is next and it knows it.
Warming up the confessions...
Warming up the confessions...
I have a laundry chair. Then a second laundry chair for the overflow from the first chair. The bed is next and it knows it.
I'm told I give mixed signals. I'm not. I am giving one deeply confused signal, very consistently, with my entire heart.
I screenshot a text to analyze later, and later has quietly become a permanent folder holding roughly three hundred exhibits.
Balance a book on your head and strike your finest pose. Don’t worry, it’s not a fashion show — unless you want it to be.
Make a peace sign while holding a household item that begins with 'B'.
I have forty browser tabs open like they're hostages and I'm the only one still pretending there's a negotiation happening.
I say we should hang out with my whole chest and zero follow-up. I mean it every single time. I have meant it for years.
I open a tab to look one thing up, forget instantly, and open another tab to look up why my computer is running so slow.
I hold grudges the way other people hold houseplants. Lovingly, deliberately, and long past the point anyone else would.
I'm the friend who's always late but brings the snacks, so the group has decided the snacks are the payment. They are not enough.
I take my vitamins in flawless streaks of four days, followed by three weeks of the bottle judging me quietly from the counter.
I fall a little in love with anyone who remembers my coffee order. My standards are, functionally, a grocery loyalty program.
I buy vegetables with real hope and compost them with real grief. It's the full circle of life, playing out weekly in my crisper.
I leave parties without saying goodbye, then text had to run, so sorry from the parking lot, where I am simply sitting.
