1. I started to write a text the other day that opened with, “Do you ever think that [name redacted] knew about us and got married to prove that [pronoun redacted] could be happy in ways we would and will never understand?” And that’s a horribly self-indulgent and borderline narcissistic thought but it a thought I still had. I’m a pretty self-involved person. I’ve realized the only reason I care when exes start dating someone new is because I harbor this need for people to be hung up on me. So because I’m obsessed with people being hung up on me, I started to write a text the other day because I just need to know that someone still is. That someone might always be. And yes—don’t worry. I completely recognize how that’s not a particularly attractive side to me and something I should work on and something to add to the neverending list I bring to therapy called “Things I Should Fix!” But it’s real. And it’s true. And it’s something I think about more than I care to admit.
2. My favorite thing I’ve said recently is, “I can’t wait to buy a farm and never say the word ‘influencer’ ever again.” I think I’ve hit a very ~*rElAtAbLe*~ point of the year with working online where everything to do with the internet makes me feel completely annoyed and moody and disenchanted and jaded. Hearing how many Instagram followers someone has is literally the least interesting thing you could possibly tell me. Once, a guyfriend told me about a girl who he was talking to and his opening line was, “She has 90,000 followers,” and I rolled my eyes so hard I saw the back of my skull. Someday I’ll live in a world that is algorithm-less and the most frequently heard sound in my home won’t be my own fingers across a keyboard. Someday none of this will matter. And that’s not scary to me. It’s weirdly comforting.
3. I hate money. I hate everything to do with it. I had financial content, I hate budgets, I hate when you get cash and it’s too crisp and it feels borderline fake and sticks to the other dollar bills in the stack. I hate debit cards and ATMs and the way we are all controlled by this thing and worry about it all the time. But most of all, I hate the people around me who I know size me up by the number of dollar signs they see when they look at me. There’s this weird line that gets drawn and this weird air that comes over you when you realize that someone looks at you like a human wallet. It’s dirty and gross and every synonym and beyond. I wish money didn’t exist and wasn’t necessary and we could all just like, trade things for different things like a more organized and less sweaty/sand soaked version of Burning Man. But until that day, I guess you just have to find the people who don’t base your worth around how fat your bank account is. And never let them go.
4. There’s nothing more (this is getting very hyperbolic, I know) off-putting to me than anyone who is past the age of 25 who uses the word “adulting.” Almost always in the context of, “can I be done adulting now lololol” or something along those lines. It’s so fucking idiotic and childish. No, no you can’t be done “adulting” because you’re almost certainly being upset about bills/money (which everyone is, see above), some sort of hardship like making your dentist appointment, or just not being allowed to sleep all day and having to be a somewhat productive member of society. Just like…stop it. If you’re closer to 30 than 18, you need to stop acting like high school just ended and you’re crying while that Vitamin C song blasts in the background. It’s a bad look and you’re making everyone around you cringe on your behalf.
5. I think about disappearing a lot. Not dying, per se. Not like that. But just picking up and leaving. Abandoning all of my responsibilities, the things I need to do, the things I said I would, the things I think I want to do, everything that’s there, and just leaving. Going somewhere and being faceless, nameless, unknown. Kind of like starting over, but for no particular reason and with no particular intent. I’ve described depression as static before. Like there’s just nothing and emptiness and a numb sort of void where emotion used to live. And maybe disappearing would make it easier to understand. Maybe having a literal representation of the static I feel would make me feel comforted and at ease and help it go away. Or maybe I’m just romanticizing the idea of not having to face real life when I feel the weight of all that nothing sinking in. Who knows.