sincerely, me

I feel so strongly connected to the data of my life. What happened when, when I wrote that thing, when that picture of me was taken. It's like, if I don't record it, I will lose grasp of the parts of my life that came before this moment, and I'll never be able to get it back. Anyway, here's the latest in my Notes app note called "Thoughts." Don't judge me too harshly, please, it's been a rough couple of years. I’ve been working on maintaining eye contact with attractive men. It is awkward, and I can’t wait to look away, but you know. They keep looking back. I can’t wait to die. Because even though it’s already July, I still feel every single day. I’m just waiting for either someone to hire me or for the level of frustration I can take to collide with my impulsivity, and I almost don’t care which happens first. Which probably means I’m closer to the second. I feel like such a waste. I am not interesting (no matter what Nikki says), I do not contribute a...

(This post was originally written in January 2024, but I guess I never actually published it. Sadly, I still mean every word.) I was thirteen when The Beautiful Letdown was released by Switchfoot. I remember listening to the CD through my wired headphones, watching the road while my dad drove my siblings and I the five or six hours to meet my mom who lived five states away. They would be asleep while I quietly learned all of the words, probably not understanding a single one. It was the year of my first actual potential boyfriend situation. He took me and my youngest sister on a long bike ride to a tunnel I'd never seen before. Our first “date” was a Lynyrd Skynyrd concert (I did not yet know most of them were dead), but mom and I watched from the grass, while he and his dad watched from their seats. We took him to the beach, where I received the worst sunburn of my life. I remember the teardrop tan line on my back that stuck around for years. He gave me a bracelet I still have and...