my room at 2:58am
dear mfers,
in:
washing your sheets
karaoke in a private room, just for two
that safe feeling when you find a new show
dressing up just because (see also: overdressing)
active listening
opening the curtains in the morning
the ren faire
learning how to spend time with yourself
out:
saying “yes” when you really mean “no”
rolling your eyes
oversharing to the point of anxiety
avoiding a neighborhood because you might run into them
“i just got lucky.”
formulating an answer before they’ve finished talking
engineering lies to get out of plans
IYKYK, mi-anne
p.s. this one was inspired by fellow mf writer Rayne Fisher-Quann’s essay “notes from the end of summer.” Give it a read.
Half-drunk tea with spoon in it. Not to further engage in the “main character” of it all, but remember that one scene in You’ve Got Mail when Meg Ryan is ill, surrounded by mugs of tea and used tissues? It’s a quaint apartment-scape I return to regularly.
“Sorry I’ve been MIA.” The illustrative late-night text.
Tower28 Facial Spray. I’ve found an off-label use for Hailey Bieber’s favorite redness-reducing facial spray. You know when you’re sobbing in bed and you just know you’re going to wake up puffy if you don’t get up and wash your face? This stuff won’t replace a full cleanse, but in my experience, a generous mist over the eyes helps calm things down by morning. There’s a mini bottle on the floor by my bed, always.
The dust bunnies under the bed. I like to pretend they’re soot sprites from Totoro.
A cat between my legs. And the absolutely batshit mentality that you’ll contort your body in any fashion to keep them there.
Laptop on the bed. Sleep hygiene is important to me, but falling asleep to the low hum of YouTubers organizing their fall sweaters is more important.
Probiotics on the bedside table. Bad b*tches have tummy problems, too.
What is Rodger Singing? “I’m tired of feeling like I’m f*cking crazy.”