brainier or ravaged.

Let me just offmychest some stuff real quick in a Temu Eve Babitz way, because god knows that everything going on has been marinating like hell inside this stupid brain. I actually started conceptualizing this post last Holy Week, Black Saturday to be exact, when I was sitting in a coffee shop with my fuckass gel pen and “everything” notebook. I was, in a way, making the most out of my…

(Normally I’d say something punny like, idk, “Etivac, Mon Amour,” but someone on my feed already beat me to it. So yeah.) You know what’s funny? This is actually the first Christmas that made me feel like myself. Turns out I just needed to…not attend any gatherings at all. And go home. And not be forced to do religious things. I don’t know. It’s a weird time. Anyway, I’ve talked about how going…

Last weekend, December 13-14 to be exact, I was having quite a terrible time somewhere I’m probably not supposed to be in. This was also the weekend of John Cena’s wrestling retirement, which probably contributed to my crisis of faith, but it’s mostly my heightened sense of displacement and dissonance that led to…whatever it is I’m feeling right now. General summary: got dragged to an event (rap…

…and drinking a lot, so it seems. I believe it was my buddy Ernest Hemingway who said that one should write drunk and edit sober. My surface-level research says the guy never even said this, but let’s pretend that he did. What I’m trying to say is that it’s the complete opposite of what I’m doing now. I’m writing something stupid, and I’m buzzed as fuuuuuuuck. Come to think of it, maybe all the…

It’s the first of November, and it’s me and my fucked-up sleep schedule against the world. I am, however, writing this as the morning sun comes up, which is to say that I’m currently doing my unloading as the world tries to make amends by having the sunlight land on my face. Which is to say that I’m both doing okay and…not quite there yet. I know everyone chronically online has an opinion on…

Note from the author: TWO consecutive blog posts in a week??? Wow, who is she???? Lol who am I kidding, I just needed to yap about this song. As if my neighbors did not get enough of me yelling it all day accompanied by bad strumming. Let’s forget about the tongue-tied lightning. If I could make a playlist of THE songs of all time, as in the kind of songs I would show to a group of aliens…

Present-me note: I had this essay in mind a couple of years ago when I started rewatching My So-Called Life, so please expect this to be a lot cringier than I hoped it wouldn’t be. But then again, where’s the authenticity in that? In August 1994, a few months after the death of Nirvana frontman Kurt Cobain, the world was introduced to Angela Chase, the protagonist of the short-lived ABC teen…

Alt title: maybe I will finally shut up about Solange’s “Losing You.” Okay, real quick. As of this writing, I am probably a billion rotations deep into Solange’s “Losing You.” The world is also in utter chaos, but I’m not going to talk about that since there are way more qualified people than me who could talk about that with such grace. I am just here to talk (yap) about my own chaos, set to…

I used to think that I only needed a good grasp of language to lay down my thoughts in the most incisive way possible. That was a pretty fucking stupid take. What I really needed was to stop lying to myself. I know I rant too much about not having a lot going on, but somehow it feels like I’ve lived too many lifetimes since I was last here. I don’t even feel like the same person anymore. I feel…

I don’t know if it’s just a me thing, but I’m starting to veer away from calling these fictional characters my “comfort characters.” I mean, of course, there’s nothing wrong with latching onto a character because you feel seen. There’s also nothing wrong with deluding yourself into thinking that their journey parallels yours, so if they win, you too can win. I just take issue with the term…

Present-me note: I may have lived through a hundred lifetimes since I started this draft. The seeds of this stupid diary entry were planted last year while I was vacationing in a certain northern partytown beach—or maybe after my reunion with a couple of friends from college, I’m not really sure. That mutated plant has since grown into a mess of tangled thoughts—coagulated inner monologues…

I’ve been holding my head up higherHoping that soon it’ll takeSo far the weight isn’t any lighterMy lack of a backbone is ready to break [ Feels lazy quoting song lyrics in another one of my lame r/OffMyChest diary entries, but here we are. And it’s Softcult. This song has been breaking my phone recently and idk I’m in my not-doing-so-okay era again in which I put my beloved songs on repeat…

Turning 30 is like….whatever. I know it sounds like a very teenager thing to say, but I don’t think I ever stopped feeling like a teenager so all the feelings when I was 13 stayed the same now that I’m 30. I’m supposed to write this whole “turning 30 is life-changing!!!1” essay by the sea like all the poets do but my body clock refused to cooperate so instead I penned this at a noisy beach bar…

Load it up, know your trigger like the back of my hand. I don’t really know how to start this lol, I just had that damn Alex G song in my head for weeks. I guess you could say it’s the song I currently revolve my personality around for some reason. That’s my thing, overanalyzing dumbshit songs, probably because nobody’s ever written anything about me and I’m always the one doing the writing…

A few weeks ago (give or take; I have no idea how time works anymore), I finally watched La Haine (1995). And played Disco Elysium. Because…gritty. And French. Ish. I don’t know if there’s just something in my internal wiring that’s so beyond help, but there’s just something that draws me to stories about angsty non-conformists coming to terms with the visceral bitterness of reality and their…

In my buddy Guy Debord’s seminal work, Society of the Spectacle, he says that the spectator “does not feel at home anywhere, because the spectacle is everywhere.” As someone who sees absurdities in every waking moment and cannot look away, I guess that confirms I’m spiritually homeless. He says some other stuff about labor and capitalism, but I don’t have enough brain cells to flesh out what…

This week (and last), all I did was try to escape. Saturday. Decked out in my regular office attire (zero drip), zonked out on cold brew, and holding on to my little gold heart necklace for comfort—like some talisman from the gods to ward off spirits and demons and the worst of the living. Ready to be surrounded by people brimming with entire multitudes I don’t know. Ready to scream every last…