Half of the outlets didn’t work and we had a cupboard that specifically housed a nest of spiders that we never properly dealt with and one roommate used a baseball bat to smash our smoke detector when it kept going off and I’ve never been more sad to leave a place.
I spent two weeks without any alcohol—and my head stopped hurting in the morning and I didn’t throw up in any kitchen sinks and I didn’t have to make any phone calls to apologize and I didn’t eat a spring roll while sitting on the floor of my shower and I didn’t ever at all think it was an appropriate idea to FaceTime the guy I used to like three times at 3:34AM. I just felt fine.
Listen up, peasants. I have a fucking succulent on my windowsill now. Do you understand what this means?
❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 💸💸💸
I do this horrible thing to myself where, whenever I see the time and/or date, I instinctively check: What was I doing an hour ago? 24 hours ago? A month ago? A year ago? It’s a NIGHTMARE of a compulsive tick that makes me dwell on the past for several moments.
I’ve probably googled the height for every male celebrity there is and I feel like I can confidently say they’re all 5’6.”
It is with a heavy heart I must make the announcement that, yes, I will be continuing my unhealthy coping mechanisms from the last 23 years of life indefinitely.
I think I’m trying to distract myself from thinking about other things because any thought that comes about naturally at 3AM is going to be a disaster.
This is unfortunate news!
This is as equally devastating for you as is it for me, but we just can’t be together. Art is driving us apart—and by art I specifically mean mine, because I can’t remember what you told me you did, but I’m an architect. I just need to focus on my craft. And also sleep with other people.