Ain’t Nothing But A Drifter

Of the bills. The responsibility. The emotional labor. The constant pressure of trying to make life work for themselves and the people they love.

linked tree (includes options to donate to Ghanaian projects)

Since 2017, I have only done stuff that I thought was interesting or useful regardless of whether it pays, because we have more than enough money, and despite what billionaires might tell you, there is literally no difference between "more than enough" and "much more than enough."

So I no longer work for money. But in retirement one must keep busy, which is why I have taken on an unpaid gig as the social media intern for a coffee and tea business that donates 100% of its profit to charity.

- sneezed wrong

- turned your neck a little too fast

- slept weird

- took the trash out to the curb and stepped at a slightly different angle than usual

- breathed

- failed to breathe properly

- breathed in the wrong stuff. Allergy time

- looked too hard at something too far away

3.8K words | mature sexuality crisis | arguing and making up | developing relationship | feelings realization | idiots in love | relationship negotiation via passive aggressive cake

Cake or Death [on AO3]

Eddie's phone vibrates in his pocket as he's unlocking his front door. He doesn't check it right away, because there's an anxious pit in his stomach at the sound of his text notification and has been for the past week, even though Buck hasn't actually texted him since Wednesday. It's Friday now, his Kelly day, and he's stepping through his own front door at ten-fifteen in the morning with a bag of groceries in his hand and nothing planned while Chris is at school but to marinate the chicken he just bought and do a load of laundry and maybe take a nap and absolutely not agonize over the chain of unanswered texts sitting in his phone like a silent accusation.

He takes his shoes off, lines them up on the rack, sets the grocery bag down, locks the door behind him. His phone vibrates again. Eddie finally pulls it out of his pocket, reminding himself that people other than Buck text him and he can't just become a hermit until his next shift, tempting as it is. It could be one of the guys on his basketball team. It could be Hen, or Chim, or even Pepa, who prefers to call but has been known to text him screenshots of upbeat inspirational posts she finds on Facebook.

It's Buck, though. Of course it is. Eddie looks at the preview of the most recent message, which just says, enjoy :), and then sighs and opens up their text chain even though Buck will know he's seen it and not replied just like he has every message since the one he got at 8:13 last Thursday morning asking, hey, where'd u go?