Just ignore my messages behind my back like a functioning member of society, you psychos.
The world is ending, this country is canceled, there’s a weird pain on the left side of my body—these are screaming exercises for when everything is actually a disaster and no amount of eucalyptus pillow mist spray is going to help you. Namaste.
It lives in memories of taking Adderall in college and in thinking about that one time I closed my eyes at 3AM and could feel my eyes whizzing around really fast behind their lids and my heart racing and I remember thinking: why do I need this to do what everyone else is doing?
Alternate headline: On Falling Out Of Love With Summer
NCIS (seriously). Backstory: I took some career personality test as part of the practice ACT exam (???), and it told me that I should go into law enforcement—which is how I ended up here, over-sharing my feelings on the internet! JK, I decided the only way to know for sure whether I was destined for this was to obviously watch NCIS. I can’t even look at ads for this show anymore because it just makes me think about standardized tests and the stomach ulcer I had in 2011.
Having a crush on someone. ALSO someone having a crush on me. Crushes in general.
A guy with about 400 shopping bags sits down next to me on the 6 and his leg bumps into mine. I dramatically move my legs away to signal that I hate the fact he’s basically sitting on top of me, but he uses it to his advantage and fills up the space. I try to re-download apps on my phone, but Shopping Bag Guy keeps hitting my leg.
Frankly, there is nothing more embarrassing to me than spending time trying to verbalize something crazy you’ve concocted in your head, only for someone to immediately be like, “um, hm, okay. That was kind of dark! How about you just try being neurotypical?”
He still flirts with you, no matter how long you’ve been together. The flirting thing used to be really cute, but why can’t you remember who he voted for? Does anyone else just feel like crying all the time now?
You can stop dating regular men now, because it’s me, your local Sad Boy. I’m here to hold your hand as I agree with you that men really are totally awful—but not me because I’m sad!—and then I’m going to try and change everything about you and be mopey about it when you resist.