I hate being a character. I think that if I gathered up every text message I’ve ever sent out and put them through the same machine Childish Gambino used to find his own name, then I could finally be a writer. Continue reading Body, a short story.
EDIT 09/16/18: There’s a better version of this story. Click here to read it. Dear you, Some of this is real, some of it’s made-up, but the essence of it is my right-now truth. Claire said that finding the meaning to love is basically the missing link to world peace and eternal tranquility, so I can’t go as far as to say that’s what’s happened here. … Continue reading The Cocteau Twins always make me sad. On finding boys to love.
For everyone who’s asked about my time in DC, it took a while (a very long while), but I thought I’d wait for the immediate theatrics and media frenzy of the Women’s March to settle down, to actually think about its significance to me, before sharing with everyone else. It’s kind of scary that this post is still glaringly relevant, almost three months after the march, but I’ve … Continue reading A video/blog about Women’s March, 24 Hours in DC and some thoughts on identity as a non-activist.
‘Tis the season peeps. I wrote this on the plane home, but then I got off the plane and there was just so! much! stuff! to! do! Gosh, I missed you, San Francisco. To make up for it, here’s a fan-fricking-tastic, nutritious, unintentionally topical song for you: Patiently Waiting – Terrace Martin And now…the time I missed my flight home: It’s 8 PM on Sunday right now, and … Continue reading Missing my flight home and “kicking the shit out of option B”
It’s Sunday morning, and I just got up at 10AM after a night of Palo Alto-esque loitering. So I’m already doing a lot. I get up super ready to college, as in rehanging all the posters that have fallen since I put them up two weeks ago (re: command strips), as in un-ironically blasting songs with the word “Sunday” in it, as in brunching at 12 (both … Continue reading It’s Sunday! A laundry story.