Everyone talks about 2020 like it’s the worst year they’ve ever seen. But they said that about 2016, too. And 2017. I wonder when we will collectively say something is a good year.

Normally, I’m a horrible liar. But when it comes to lies that don’t matter, I can be frighteningly good. I sometimes wonder if this makes me slightly sociopathic.

be adopted like that and if only she was adopted she would be given the love and care she needs, the lack of which is making her lash out in this shelter.

feels like this is a strange time. Important to save. Isn’t this a way to capture a moment? For what, I don’t quite know.

I am a solitary person but had work and friends and travel before all this. I could stay in really well because I went out really well.

I don’t mean to say I believe in fate. I just mean I’ve always felt like the chaotic one trying to figure out how to fit into the world around me. Now in this isolation, it seems like the world is disjointed and figuring itself out, and I’m the one with some type of order, waiting on the world to find its axis again.

I’ve always been sad this time of year. I remember not quite having the vocabulary as a kid to describe how I could smell the end of summer in the air and it would make me want to cry.

I’m not where I want, but I’m where I am, and I am choosing to try my best to not fight any of it and instead discover my new rules.

I wish you could see I see my shit as “gross” too, but it’s real. And I wish you could see I don’t want it.