Internet Junk Drawer

I can't, I can't, I can't, and I can't.

I was sold an image of an MFA experience that let me grow, become my best self, my ideal self. I was going to make incredible work, make incredible new friends, have incredible new experiences.

Instead I am trapped in a cycle, I can't leave. I have no friends within my cohort, my professors stay within a place of ambivalence, only showing character to tell me my works are "too brown" or "too much" I don't what I am expected to do.

I miss my hometown, I miss my partner, I miss my old job, I miss knowing I could rest at the end of the day.

Why do I feel this way? why is your absence suddenly so heavy? I love you, yes, but your absence has always been a temporary sensation that becomes lost in the blur of my life. I love you, yes, but am I finally in love with you? Am I finally in love with us? after nearly six years? I guess so.

Living with you has always been a distant future, and now, I have experienced it and I do not know what to do with myself as I sit in my apartment alone.

I do not know what to do, it is not a feeling of grief, anger, or loss - it is just a sense of absence that I wish to alleviate by going home to you. This is foreign to me, this is uncomfortable -

read 10 books

stretch daily

knit one garment

reduce screentime on instagram down to one hour

Hand make my gifts!

add three lines to my CV

Absolutely do NOT use ChatGPT (yes even to check grammar!)

Its 8:19 AM, I have been awake since 7, and you are still in bed. You didn't notice me slip out, take my pill, feed the cats.

You didn't notice me making coffee

looking up knitting patterns

writing this out.

I think everyone should "live" together, exist in the same space till the magic dies out and the need for quiet, for solitude digs its way back in. It shows you the state of your relationship better than any online quiz ever could.

What do you think of that person in their shifting occupation between absence and presence? Do you like them? Do you respect them? Do you long for them? or do you wish they'd disappear altogether?

Growing up, I was always told that if you want a man to stop bothering you, marry them. I don't think that is the case, but

Today I finished listening to the audiobook of Open Wide, and in short -- I was left feeling dissatisfied with the book.

If I were to give an overall rating, it would be a 3/5 stars. The book captured well some of the gross and uncomfortable things that can stem from an overbearing relationship with one's mother, and some of the real and sincere anxieties that come from that. The book delves into this later on in the narrative. However, from the start you can feel that odd tension.

The language and imagery is deeply metaphorical and sometimes I felt that Gross was straddling that line between metaphor and reality too aggressively - I kept waiting for that moment when Olive realized she actually killed Theo in her quest to be inside of him. Surely the "cimbs" were metaphorical devices, and yet they weren't? and yet she didn't kill him? and yet she chooses in the end to just become a part of him without considering what if Theo forgot that she existed?

As we saw when Theo went inside of her, she began to forget what he looked like, what he sounded like and the sheer panic she felt at this revelation and yet seems to forget this dilemma in her choice to enter him permanently. In the final pages, she senses him masturbating while she was nestled inside, content that its for her - but what if it wasn't? What if Theo has moved on?

There are an endless number of reasons as to why this book fell short for me, that being said, it certainly is not a terrible book for any enjoyer of the weird, grotesque and uncomfortable. Overall, it was exciting to see Theo engage with Olive and match her weirdness. Endearing truthfully. Yet, at the end Olive's mom seemed to capture him into her web and it seems as though Theo had his own baggage to deal with.

Also, it would be a failure if I did not mention my stance on the point - I did not feel that Felix was a relevant character in this. The poor dog just existed in moments to amplify her weirdness, the beginning scene of him and her vibrator was just unnecessary and took Olive from being just a freak in the sheets to being just upright perverted which to me feels like a disservice to the character study.

I guess this also brings me.....to another point. Some of the sexual scenes in this book were excessive. i do understand that hypersexuality in this sense could be viewed as both characters' response to parental trauma, but also it just overshadowed the potential for more plot development.

Almonds crunch like wood splintering

Pecans crunch like Styrofoam

Macadamia nuts crunch like chalk

pistachios crunch like popcorn kernels

walnuts crunch like wet rice cakes

cashews crunch like crayons

hazelnuts crunch like coco puffs

I never thought I would be eating another nuclear meal: baked meat, potatoes, and some other third, maybe fourth thing. That is my dad's meal, his way of feeding the crowd.

It is such a masculine way of eating -- I never really enjoyed it. Sure, the food is good, but it is far too much work. Too many dishes to clean afterwards.

My meals tend to be big bowls of ingredients: normally a potato, a bean, a cheese, and whatever other vegetable I can find. I make soups, I make curries, occasionally a pasta. I love a big bowl of hot food, of slop you scoop up with bread.

I tend to make big batches of food, so you don't have to be shy about it -- I love leftovers.

You are so orderly, with nuclear meals and the precise following of a recipe, I don't think I have ever actually listened to "use only 1/3 an onion" I always just used the whole thing.

It is weird how cooking reflects the person - my big meals and excessive ingredients, my messy, sloppy foods seem to reflect the chaos that is me.

Whereas, your orderly meals, tactful use of ingredients, and exact portions reflect your quirks too.

It is hard to deal with at times, I like cooking, but I would gladly eat the same thing every single day for the rest of my life.

You like to experiment -- try new things, exotic ingredients populate our spice cabinet.

One day, they won't populate mine, and I'm okay with that.

Words that pop up and may be relevant to my discussions:

"Pareidolia (/ˌpærɪˈdoʊliə, ˌpɛər-/; also US: /ˌpɛəraɪ-/) is the tendency for perception to impose a meaningful interpretation on a nebulous stimulus, usually visual, so that one detects an object, pattern, or meaning where there is none."

Beer and canned coffee

vienna sausages and jarred olives

they're low calorie!

standing in the kitchen, my stomach hurts

Slim fast and coffee numbing the pain.

I asked for dinner, you told me of your 20 pound weight loss

I told you I was hungry, you showed me your kettlebell

I sat down glumly, you told me to stop being a bitch

my face in your hands, you ask me why

why are you starving

because

there is nothing to eat

nothing to think

besides,

I dislike how you love babies, cradle their heads

It makes me painfully aware of my limitation

my inability to feel maternal

I have never liked babies, they are too soft, and I'm too rough

they are too needy, and I'm too detached

You love babies, love their softness, love their neediness.

I hate it, I hate the noise, the neediness

I love you, I want to be with you, but the moment I see your smile at someone's infant, I am reminded that we are not a match.

I want to build a life with you, I have planned infinite futures with you, all childless.

You want children, you love them, and I can't risk subjecting an innocent baby to my distaste.

We need to part ways, don't we? Allow ourselves to meet people who share in these dreams, childless or not.

I love you, but I can't put my body through the turmoil of childbearing.

I love you but I can't subject my mental health to postpartum depression.

I love you but I can't sacrifice everything I have built for a child.

I can't do that, I'm sorry.