Tender & Strange

When I like to do inappropriate things

Jan 26, 2026

Mid-afternoon. Just polished off reading The Stranger in a sitting. Didn’t know it was one of those kinda books. A read in a sitting book. It was nice. Haven’t read a book in a sitting in for-freaking-ever. Bodied the paperback while lounging around my living room, glancing up every so often to observe the snow softly collecting on the vines outside the window. These tiny flurries are the first taste of the massive snowstorm that will apparently be encroaching New York this weekend, and I am very excited for the opportunity to laze around my apartment for 48 hours and do: jack shit.

Well, no. Ideally I will read and write and work on my photo prints and call my friends and make a tiramisu. Maybe deep clean the apartment, maybe do the other nice things I like to make myself do. But when I’m doing it, it sounds like jack shit. When other people are doing it, it sounds pretty nice.

Flipping through the annotations that the previous owner of this book has left for me to decode. He’s scrawled in the margins and highlighted sentences and phrases that didn’t really resonate with me. The parts that did resonate with me have been left fully untouched by him. Assuming a man was the previous owner, solely based off of the underlines and margin notes. Fascinating that we read this in two completely different ways. Boy Roommate came home from work to see me cozied up on the couch skimming the annotations, and I then realized that I need to scurry! It’s my turn to go to work!

Super early to work because of my transgressions from last week. Like a half hour early, type of early. I think I have enough time to stop into a book store and acquire the copy of M Train I plan on gifting Ruby for her birthday on Friday. She’s throwing a house party and I’m excited to be in attendance as it’ll be the final night of freedom before: the storm.

At the bookstore now. It’s packed out with people trying to escape the cold. Scanning the floor to ceiling shelves, scanning the section with S’s. Smith! Amazing. Acquired my book in no time. Am now perched on a bench in the store, scribbling a birthday note to Ruby on the inside cover.

Time to walk over to Hostess Island, I guess.

Oh my god. No line at Brandy Melville. Just walked by and there’s not a line, not even a bouncer. Oh my god why am I going to my stupid job. I want to go to Brandy Melville and walk around for a stupid amount of time instead. I want to go to Intimissi and get that one top. I want to go to Sephora. I want to go to LA Apparel and get thongs and silver hoops and blue tights and a cute workout set and

Here now. 10 minutes early.

No more work talk unfortunately ‘cause I made things a little weird by saying too much, so now I should probably say: nothing at all. Consequences of my actions and all that. My gum is liquidizing in my mouth into that shit liquid thing that it does when I chew it for too long again. Too nervous to go spit it out in the trash and have to make eye contact with coworkers. Thankful to be hidden away up here at Hostess Island. Maybe I will just swallow it. Ew, gag. Stood here with my melted gum situated on the tip of my tongue trying to muster up my courage, but no I actually can’t. Also having the fear that I am going to attempt to swallow my gum and then will start choking and causing a commotion and then coworkers will come up to try and help and then it’ll be even worse than if I had just went to the trash to spit it out. UGH I’M TRAPPED. IM TRAPPED. IM TRAPPED WITH THIS LIQUID SHIT IN MY MOUTH.

As I was typing that, redacted came up to chat with me and in fear I instantly swallowed it. Gagged a little, but think I played it off. Okay, now that that’s over with.

Letting tears dribble down my cheeks at Hostess Island ‘cause they’re playing a familiar song on the speakers and I’m sad about the bad decisions I’ve been making recently and also just every decision I’ve made ever. Can’t turn back the clock. Damage is done. When I look at the present moment things are fine and I am fine, but yet the tears are dribbling regardless.

Homesick. I want 74 degree weather and an iced mojo jojo from Drunken Monkey and a pistachio oat latte from Stardust and to play pool at Whiskey Lou’s and to watch my friends perform a show at Will’s Pub and to play trivia next door at Lil Indies and to feed the swans at Lake Eola and to talk to the old man who owns Kiwi Camera’s and to lounge around in my bikini at Wekiwa Springs and to eat a Publix sandwich at New Smyrna Beach and to inspect every article of clothing at the Goodwill on Silver Star Road and to watch a movie at The Enzian and to feel really self conscious at Sunroom and to catch an equally not-good vibe at the bar next to Sunroom that I can’t remember the name of but I always have bad experiences at because everyone’s always doing cocaine here and I was in a very not doing cocaine stage of life when I was frequenting these places. So then I would just feel riled up and depressed that everyone was always leaving to go to the bathroom to do cocaine without me. Like, what’d I miss?

On my train home. Tomorrow I will change everyone’s names on my blog and make a tiramisu and post a YouTube video and stop thinking about my crush on redacted.

Excited to go home and watch a Fernandel film and chew on my edible without having a major freak out. Didn’t know who Fernandel was pre-The Stranger read, but would like to put a face to the reference to understand the main character of the book better.

Ideally this week I would like to watch film after film, because last week I read book after book. Brain feels fried from how much I’ve been reading lately. Need to de-fry it with movies. At least I’m not phone scrolling. I feel bad doing things like reading and watching films instead of making things of my own, but: at least I am not phone scrolling.

Nibbled half of a 10mg edible. Wishing I was nibbling on a vape. I’m much too cold to will myself to go outside and smoke a cigarette and I’m much too comfortable sprawled out as much as one can sprawl out in a twin sized bed. My left foot is hanging lazily off the side of the mattress. I have a mug of lemon ginger tea balanced precariously on my chest, with my laptop balanced an inch below, the keyboard wedged between the triangle of my ribs and thighs to hold the device in place. I have spilled hot tea on my laptop a time too many throughout the years to still be doing this, and yet I guess the lesson hasn’t been learned yet. About to press play on One of The Legion, the first free Fernandel film I stumbled across on YouTube. The video has exactly 628,729 views. Will be 628,730 in the next hour and twenty one minutes that it takes for me to watch this. It just sounds kinda lame. Might take the other half of my edible to enjoy this more. We’ll see.

Got twenty eight minutes into this before my eyes began to get heavy and I found myself doing the aforementioned: phone scrolling. God, things were boring in 1936.

3:19 am. Awoken from my sleep because I was having a nightmare that I can’t remember now as I try and jot this down. Just feel eerily uncomfortable. Wonder what this is about. Normally sleep like a baby TBH. Ugh, go back to bed please. Mouth is horribly dry despite just chugging my bedside glass of water. Don’t have it in me to get out of bed to refill my glass, but I am just so parched. Going to scroll on instagram reels for an inappropriate length of time and leave that experience as an unchanged person, probably. Trying to think of a single reel I can remember from the last time I scrolled on my phone. Can’t remember. Wow, that’s depressing. Okay never mind, that actually just made me embarrassed. I’m going to squeeze my eyes shut and military style will myself into a deep slumber.

4:04 am. Still awake. Listened to a podcast in its entirety with my eyes squeezed shut trying to will myself into a deep slumber. Nothin’.

5:09 am. Still, nothin’. Okay, guess slumber is not in the cards for tonight. Activities from the past 60 minutes have included: deep diving JD Vance on the White House website, just ‘cause. Instagram stalking JD Vance, just ‘cause. Zooming in and inspecting his Botox forehead. Stalking his wife. Instagram stalking more people I do not know. Like, what else is there to do at 5:09 am.

Next morning. Spent the past hour redacted-ing and anonymizing the more incriminating things I’ve said past few blog posts. Changed everyones names. Feeling a lot better about my actions now. Left in some parts that are probably testing the waters, but took out the bad stuff. Wanted to keep names in as long as I can, because I like putting faces to the names. But it’s probably time to: not be able to put faces to the names anymore. Removed and anonymized Work Related Topics from previous blog posts. Maybe will re-upload at a later date. Just can’t be so careless at this current date. Think that this was an important lesson to learn early on. Better sooner than later.

Walking to the thrift store in my neighborhood now. Have been walking by it on my commute to work all week, and keep eyeing a bookshelf that I think should immediately be in my possession. It’ll be a hassle to get it back to my apartment, but I think that if I want it badly enough, I’ll make it happen. The shelf is a grey four foot structure of gorgeous wrought iron perfection. I’m itching to fix up my room in preparation for Jude to stay here in April. Granted this is still two months away, but I’m just so excited about the idea, that I would like to start preparing today. I wonder why I don’t have the urge to fix up my room while I’m currently living in it, and only have this urge to fix it up now that a friend will be living in it for a month. Why don’t I care to make it nice for myself? I deserve a nice room too. I deserve the same niceties I want for my loved ones to have. Walking to the thrift in my weather inappropriate sweats and coat. Need like, six more layers on both my torso and my legs. Nothing on my person, except my phone and my keys. Yesterdays snow has now melted, but the pavement is still slick with ice slabs, so every step feels precarious. Wish I had layered better for this journey. This thrift store is farther away than I would like for it to be. This plan is seeming a bit less realistic the more steps I take and the more the wind bites at my face. Not prepared for the snow storm at all actually. I should probably acquire some groceries, but on my last grocery store trip I only acquired fake groceries. Girl groceries. A bottle of kombucha, ingredients to make tiramisu, a bottle of apple cider vinegar, a bag of mixed seeds: chia, flax, hemp, sunflower, pumpkin. Should’ve gotten like, anything else. Ex-Boyfriends Mom texted me this morning, reminding me to please buy water and bread. I didn’t do that, but I probably should have. Okay, standing in front of the thrift store now. Happy days.

Acquired my perfect new book shelf and a copy of Slow Days, Fast Company by Eve Babitz. Like, so happy. I bought the shelf and asked the old man behind the counter how much the book was and he waved me off saying “Just take it honey. Enjoy it.” Thank you World. Thank you kind thrift store man. Walking home now carrying this clunky piece of wrought iron metal that is thankfully much lighter than I had anticipated. The sun has finally peeked through a puffy set of clouds, and everything just feels a bit brighter in this exact moment.

I’m a few blocks away from my apartment and a gorgeous girl my age waiting at a bus stop yelled from across the street, “You’re really pretty!” I yelled back. “You’re really pretty too!” Amazing decision to leave my apartment today. Love when I leave my apartment, and nice things happen. The more I leave my apartment, the more things happen. The more I interact with the world, the more the world interacts with me. Sometimes the interactions are not pleasant, but sometimes I’ll leave my apartment and get a free new book and an adorable new wrought iron bookshelf and the sun will peek out from behind the clouds and I’ll get a nice compliment from a nice girl and things will feel nice in that moment.

Eating a ceaser salad and watching Mulholland Drive. I’ve never been much of a cinephile. It’s hard for me to watch movies, especially movies like this, where I know I should take something important away from it, and then write the most perfect letterboxd review to coincide my experience.

Watching Mulholland Drive and scrapbooking.

Watching Mulholland Drive and painting my nails 479 Wine Stock Red.

Watching Mulholland Drive and playing on my phone a bit.

Finished Mulholland Drive but didn’t actually really watch it at all.

Rewatching Mulholland Drive but paying attention this time.

Just finished watching Mulholland Drive. What the fuck was that?

Didn’t understand what I just watched, read the synopsis, and then a ba-jillion reviews. Still a little lost. Well, okay. Did that.

Next morning. Texting Lucy and trying to edit my video, but more focused on texting Lucy. I did an unkind thing to Lucy last year, but she has since forgiven me. If the roles were reversed, I don’t think I would have forgiven her.

A story unfolded, and then I told someone the story (should not have done this to begin with), then they told someone else the story, then that person told the wrong person the story, and then the story became: an unrecognizable version of the real story. Working through that grievance has since only brought us closer, and I think I’ve learned my lesson. I hope.

Lucy really wants to move to New York this year and I really want Lucy to move to New York this year too. I just want to see her in general, I’m feeling very, very, clingy.

Also feeling: frumpy and unattractive. I haven’t been working out lately. I miss working out and I’m feeling a bit stir crazy and jittery with all this pent up energy I now have. I’m contemplating purchasing a pass to the yoga studio by my apartment that I have frequented only twice since moving here. I’m not the biggest fan of this yoga studio, both classes I took left me feeling greatly underwhelmed. It’s probably worse to not be working out at all than to be doing an underwhelming workout. The yoga studio by my house is a lot of: sitting around doing fuck all. I get that they want to focus on the spiritual & meditative aspect which is all good and fun and I’m into it, but can we focus on the spiritual & meditative aspect while also doing like, some mountain climbers.

Attempted to go back to editing, but a man I had sex with when I first moved to the city has just texted me. It was a nothing text, just a message about mail at his apartment that I should probably come swing by to pick up soon. For context, the man I had sex with is the man whose Bed-Stuy room I had subleased back in July. Whoops. He came back into town at the tail end of my stay, as I was preparing to move in with Boy Roommates and I thought…. well no I didn’t think. I just acted. In retrospect, I do regret this because I actually think that he would be a great friend to have in the city, but then I slept with him and now he’s just: guy I slept with who rented me his Bed-Stuy room in July. Need to stop trying to fuck my Potential Friends. Sorry I just kinda would like to fuck and befriend everyone, but apparently sometimes you can’t have both. There’s people you can fuck and there’s people you can befriend, but once you start fucking the people you want to befriend, things get kinda twisted.

Currently wrapping up taking a ridiculous amount of MacBook selfies, writing in my physical diary, and drinking a mug of lemon ginger tea. Spontaneously Instagram posted an aforementioned MacBook Selfie without proper inspection and scrutinization because if I dwell and nitpick, I will probably just delete my entire account and drop off the face of the earth. Or something like that. What an adrenaline rush. I picked a non thirst trap-y one. Too many Actual Adults from my Actual Real Life follow me on social media, so the idea of anything remotely provocative makes me want to vomit even though I WANT MY TITS OUT. Just doesn’t feel true to my spirit to have my tits out. I’m not a having my tits out girl, but I would really like to be. I love when other girls have their tits out, but when I attempt it I want to scream and Delete My Digital Footprint Forever.

I don’t think I’d do it even without the excuse of family following me. It’s not even my family that follows me, it’s everyone else’s. I’ve always developed strangely close relationships with my friends families. It’s silly considering I don’t follow anyone from my own family on social media. But my friends: parents, siblings, cousins, and in-laws are in total free reign for me to inappropriately latch onto. Thinking about Jude’s dad. I was back in Florida at one of Jude’s shows, when I spotted the two of them mingling in the crowd after the set. I made my way over to the pair and after exchanging our initial greetings, I blurted out, “Guess what. Ex-Boyfriend and I broke up this week.” Jude’s dad responded. “Thank. God. Honey.” We laughed and he hugged me and I cried a tiny, tiny, bit. I hadn’t broken the news to any of my friends yet at this point. Don’t know why I chose this as my first instance to mention it, I think I just wanted to tell an adult first, and Jude’s dad just happened to be the first Real Adult in my line of fire. Definitely inappropriate for me to do, but I love to do inappropriate things. Jude stood next to their dad and softly said, “Oh. I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.” My friend of half a decade and I confided in their father before them about, The Breakup. I shrugged and giggled and blinked back my tears and sucked down my tequila sour.

Okay, why has no one commented on my selfie in the time that it’s taken for me to take this trip down memory lane. What the hell is going on here. Oh my god okay, thank you Garrett. He just commented. It’s like he just read my mind. Okay… well where are the rest of you with my heart eyes? Why are none of my gf’s in my comments at 9:24 pm. It’s just me and Garrett against the world, I guess. Oh here comes Mila. MY TWO FRIENDS. THANK YOU FRIENDS.

Think I will nurse another cup of lemon ginger tea and say goodnight to the world now. Goodnight World, be kind to me tomorrow please.

3:26 am. Another nightmare. Dreamt I was at a beach in Florida with Boy Roommate and some of his friends. We were working at a restaurant together. He ate two protein bars, slowly. Those protein bars are for the guests! There was a detective solving a case. Men with big water guns, girls arguing with the men. Lots of arguing, lots of guns. I was the suspect the detectives were looking for. I did whatever they thought I did.

Friday

Getting ready for Ruby’s birthday party now. Spent my morning making a gorgeous tiramisu in the design of the pretty wrought iron fencing that you see all over New York. Wait, just like my new bookshelf, how sweet! Delish too. I spent too long picking out my outfit, getting ready, changing outfits, and then changing back into what I originally had on from the jump. Settled on: my black LA Apparel mini dress, maroon tights, and a beat up pair of black ballet flats. Tried layering different lacey vintage pieces and gaudy jewelry and braiding my hair and brushing on shimmery eyeshadow, but just felt pretty ridiculous. Loosened the braids & smeared off the eyeshadow and felt like myself again.

I feel imposter syndrome about being Ruby’s friend, because she’s a really good person and I’m not always a really good person. She reminds me of Lucy. Very sweet and gentle and fawn-like. I’m scared I’m going to accidentally do something unkind to Ruby like how I did to Lucy, but this time I won’t be forgiven.

Notes from Ruby’s party

Can’t tell if this man and I are flirting, or if he is gay. He has patchwork tattoos and a sweet smile and a head of curly hair. #MyType
Spent the first half of the party socializing, and the second half desperately trying to not make eye contact with the chip bowl. Folded and had a chip and then another and then: an inappropriate amount.
The clock struck midnight and a very-drunk Ruby exclaimed that we should go dancing! So now, we are going dancing. Birthday girl gets what she wants.
We are putting on our coats & outerwear to head over to the bar. Gay Adjacent mans coat is: a peacoat. Probably, definitely gay.
Why am I sitting at this bar touching knees with a gay adjacent man in a peacoat what the fuck am I actually doing tonight.
Why did I buy gay adjacent man a tequila shot actually what the fuck am I doing.
Oh my god why did I just buy him another tequila shot I actually need to be euthanized right now. What am I doing, what am I DOING. You put your hand on the small of my back and all of a sudden it’s unlimited tequila shots because I’m dumb as hell.
Gay adjacent man is dancing with another girl in his damn peacoat while I stand next to them and do nothing but stand and stare. What is actually wrong with me.

Woke up still wearing my mini dress and tights. Got drunk and acted questionable. No comment. Blaming my transgressions on the sun. Blaming my transgressions on the impending snow day. Have been standing in front of my mirror, admiring how I look in this dress for a probably ridiculous length of time.

Put my black brandy sweats on under my dress and my green knit sweater over it. Guess it’s staying on my person today. Comforted by feeling beautiful. At least I have this. Maybe I’m unsure of it all, but at least I like what I am seeing in the mirror. Need to nurse my hangover with a double shot of espresso and an apple cider vinegar shot. No. Typing the ACV part made the hairs on my arm stand up. Just the espresso for now I guess.

Time to go to the Goodwill and find stupid shit to sell on depop.

My depop is very private because if it were public, people on the internet would be very mad at me, and I would actually prefer it if people weren’t very mad at me. I know the ethics behind this endeavor are questionable. I do questionable things. I’m just documenting the things I do, questionable or not.

Slept in my makeup and it’s mostly still intact. Lips still have a faint red tint. Mascara still looks surprisingly nice. Swiped my finger under my bottom lash line to get the residual smudging off. Feeling pretty.

Espresso is brewing. Not taking my vitamins ‘cause I feel like that will just make me want to gag more. No breakfast yet either. Just water and espresso. Head is throbbing. Think eating when hungover does the opposite of healing for me, it will make me want to lie diagonally for three days straight feeling lethargic AND hungover. Would rather be just hungover on an empty stomach, feeling beautiful in my yesterdays makeup and yesterdays dress.

Was joking about redacted at the party, but people just kept getting these serious looks in their eyes and apologizing to me. Hate when you try to do a bit, but then everyone gets these serious looks in their eyes instead. I’m guilty of it too, redacted was oversharing about something she was going through last night, and I immediately found myself apologizing to her with that serious look in my eyes.

When I first moved into this apartment, I was taking with Boy Roommate in the kitchen, giving him all the privy details of my redacted experience, with the bad parts included too. Said this while laughing and smiling but then he got That Serious Look in The Eye and just went. “Wow. I’m sorry.” And yeah, then the bit was over.

Hate when people get too serious. Nothing ever needs to be that serious. None of this is very serious at all to me really. There is not many grudges I can hold anymore because nothing done wrong to me has ever been that serious upon reflection. Even like, the serious stuff. It’s just all a little unserious as time goes on. Think there’s only One Person in The World I can hold a grudge against for a serious offense, but even that will probably soften with time. I think anything can soften with time. I think time really does heal all wounds.

Packing my purse to head over to the Goodwill, and have come to a horrible realization. MY FUCKING GLOVES ARE GONE. My perfect, grey, fingerless gloves. No, no, no. My perfect gloves. My babies. The only gloves I wear. The gloves I have grown an emotional attachment to. Fuck me. I must’ve left them at the bar last night. Oh my god I bought that gay guy in the peacoat two too many shots of tequila and I lost my perfect gloves. What a night.

Now need to wear my stupid non fingerless gloves that I can’t type on my phone with as I walk to the train. Ugh.

Just not wearing any gloves while walking to the train because I’m on a stupid girl streak this week apparently. Regretting my gloveless-ness but need to type, need to type, I love to type every thought in my brain. I hate how it looks like I’m just texting and walking here. Other pedestrians, I am not texting, I am writing some groundbreaking stuff here. Owwwww cold hands, cold hands, numb hands. Fuck, ow.

Someone filed a complaint about the rats and the exploded trash outside of my apartment, so now that’s all cleared away and there are no more rats. Thank you world. I’ll take it. That’s my first win of the day. Still hungover and regretting my decisions, but at least no more rats. Oh my god. Need to shove my hands in my pockets for a second. Ow, holy shit it is so cold.

Walked the rest of the way with my hands shoved in my pockets, taking in my environment. The wind chill is biting my face, but the sun feels nice. Passed by two gay dudes talking about the ethics of queerbaiting. Sitting on the train wishing I brought a book now. Didn’t because I thought I’d be content typing and typing away with everything I have to say, but the second my ass hit the plastic L train seat, my urge to write completely dissipated. Guess I will just sit here and be strange instead.

The dude across from me is sprawled out on the seat, resting his feet perched up on the handrail. His head is in his wife’s lap and they’re giggling together. Okay wait, kinda sweet. Love seeing older people who actually like each other. You don’t see that much. The girl in front of me is wearing classic Ugg boots and keeps trying to take a call that is continuously getting disconnected because, well we’re on the train, no your call isn’t going to work. She keeps trying though. Props to her. The call disconnects every time we pull away from each station and she then redials until we get to the next. She’s repeated this like, three times now. The man with his feet propped up is watching Facebook Reels at an inappropriate volume. Loud gunshots and disco music and a woman’s voice going “What the fuck! What the fuck!” The man next to me is wearing docs and a cobalt blue beanie and vigorously journaling in a moleskin. Me too bitch, just finger to iPhone. Haven’t been writing in my physical journal as often as I would like to, because it’s much easier to go finger to iPhone, and then iPhone to laptop, and then laptop to you.

A girl I met at Ruby’s party last night has just texted me. Wait, so happy. I could tell that we would be immediate friends. Ruby tells me this about all her friends, and she’s always right. She’s always like, “you would love friend 1, friend 2, friend 3”, and then I meet friend 1, friend 2, friend 3, and I am in loveeeee.

Typing and retyping my “do you want to hang out sometime this week?” text. Want to not look desperate. Want to look chill. Ugh taking too long to type and retype this because I already hearted her message so time in between the heart and response is off-putting. Think, think, think. Be right back.

Swiped between my notes and iMessage back to my notes back to iMessage. Had to stop in my tracks speedwalking to the G train and sit on the bench at this station to formulate my text. Don’t like my response, but it’ll do. Okay now I will walk to my connecting train.

Sitting on the wrong side of the platform and almost got on the wrong train because I wasn’t paying attention, tapping away on my phone. Have lived here for half a year and still get on the wrong train sometimes. Now sitting across the platform from the man who I was just sitting next to. Wonder if he saw me sit on that bench, walk across the platform, and then sit on this bench. It’s fine because I just looked up to inspect him and we’re both just tapping away at our phones. Wow I need water and an advil, and I changed my mind now, maybe a meal would be nice.

Sitting on the G train now. Wedged myself between two people when I can most definitely just stand instead since it’s a short trip, but I like to act before I think. It’s too late to get up now, so now the three of us are stuck here wedged puffer to puffer to puffer, our biceps intimately pressed together.

I can wedge myself between people since I’m a lady and get the beautiful lady pass. Guy glanced his eyes down to my iPhone once I wrote that line and I gave myself the ick. He sneezed and I said bless you and he did not look in my direction. That’s okay. I kinda half whispered it. Everyone across from us just got off on the previous stop so now we’re puffer to puffer to puffer and there’s just a completely empty row facing us. Awkward. It’s okay. 1 more stop. Going to stop typing and reinspect the text I sent that girl now.

Train is stopped because we’re being held at this station for unnamed issues. What the hell. Now we’re puffer to puffer to puffer sitting in an unmoving train car. We’re all on our phones. Going to be nosy and inspect what they’re up to. Guy on my right is reading Chinese bulleted lists on a website. Maybe it’s not Chinese, I don’t know, I don’t recognize it. Thinking of that Addison Rae thing where she was like, “Well she could be Korean!” that’s totally something I would say. Okay now time for guy on my left. He’s on instagram. It took too long for my eyes to focus and look and he could tell I looked so now I’m feeling horrible shame.

Couldn’t even see what the post was ‘cause my eyes took too long to focus and look. Shameful. Being a perv on the train. Oh my god he just locked his phone noooo he sensed me being a perv. Wait get me off this fucking train. Noooooooooo wait that was inappropriate of me. I don’t know why I did that, and now I’m embarrassed. I’m not slick at all. Like, fully just tried to look at his phone and eyed it down for a full minute being a weird snooping pervert. DIDN’T EVEN SEE ANYTHING. It could’ve been anything on his screen. Just saw text and a photograph. Couldn’t tell you what the text was or what the photo under it could be.

The train has finally lurched forward from this station and the liquor is sloshing around in my belly.

At the Goodwill now. Haven’t been here in weeks. Going to put in my headphones and listen to Electric Hour by Sword II and hopefully not think about anything for the next 45 minutes.

The bins in New York are amazing. It’s all cashmere and wool and silk and new with tags Free People and Anthropology. The bins in Florida are amazing too, for different reasons. Vintage lace nightgowns and elderly people sweaters. I still sift through shein and shit stained boxers at both locations, but the gems are just phenomenal.

An hour has passed and I’ve procured a nice haul of items that will be in my temporary possession.

Two Alo yoga sports bras that I am going to sell for a ba-zillion dollars
A Reformation top that I am also going to sell for a ba-zillion dollars
Very Ugly Juicy Couture sweats that I am also going to sell for a ba-zillion dollars
Other random items that I am going to sell for a ba-zillion dollars.

And then two items that I think I will keep. A copy of Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald, and a gorgeous pair of wine red vintage heels that were true love at first sight. Tried them on the second I got home (and disinfected them) and was like, I’m cinderella, bitch. They fit me like a glove. I can’t tell if I just don’t know how to walk in heels because I’ve never worn them before, or if something is wrong with the shoe itself, because I am really struggling to walk in them, but they are the most beautiful footwear I’ve ever owned, so I think I am going to just have to figure it out.

Home now. Eating two hard boiled eggs and reading the news. Thinking about Minneapolis. Thinking about my family. Thinking about my friends families. Thinking about my community. Thinking my grievances from this week are sounding very, very, trivial now.

I’m excited for the snow storm to start. I keep looking out the window waiting for it to happen but like, nothing. Clear as day outside. Few stray clouds is all.

Here is a list of things I would like to do during the snow storm weekend.

Edit and upload this blog
Drink wine and maybe just be drunk for 48 hours straight.
Ignore my desire for a vape, I have willpower. I have discipline.
Call Lucy and talk about Hopes and Dreams and convince her to move to New York as soon as feasibly possible
Maybe have a snow day with Ellis, Lyn, and Mila. Not really in the mood to leave my apartment or to see my friends, but good things will probably happen if I do. Hmmm. I dunno. Kinda just wanna lounge around and be drunk for 48 hours straight instead.
Changed my mind, think I will drag myself out of the house to have a solo snow day, shoot some film photos, and maybe finish the roll of Portra 800 in my camera.
Nibble a 10 mg edible and watch another film I should’ve watched by now. Thinking either La Haine or Before Sunrise or Paris, Texas, or maybe even all three.
Get really dolled up and take the perfect photo of myself that will be my profile picture for the foreseeable future. Never use pictures of myself as my profile picture because it makes me self conscious. It’s always a random inanimate object.
Figure it out. Whatever it is.
Take a long, long, shower. Tweeze my eyebrows and floss my teeth and exfoliate every inch of my body and lather myself in a thick coating of moisturizer.
Edit and upload a Youtube video I have yet to film. The only footage I’ve acquired in the past week is my tiramisu making, and I didn’t talk through most of that ‘cause I wasn’t really in the mood to talk that day. Just wanted the excuse to gorge on a dessert. Should probably film something, but I don’t really feel like it.
Think I will take a month long hiatus from seeing my friends and just hole up and do my own thing for a little bit. Sounds really nice right now. I used to do this in Florida all the time, my friends were used to this and didn’t really question my patterned not good behavior. Sometimes I need long periods of isolation, and then I can go back to my normalcy of being hyper co-dependent. Always at the extreme with me. Total isolation or total codependency. No in-between. Would go ghost and hide from The World for weeks on end and just, do my own thing. Think I’m due for another round of this soon. Haven’t done this since moving to the city. Wonder if my new friends here will be as accepting of my isolation as my friends from home. Guess we will find out.

Things I would like to document in perverse detail that I can’t because of internet safety and, other factors.

My neighborhood. How gorgeous it is. Specifically, the street I live on, how gorgeous it is. Have taken so many beautiful photos of the exterior of my home that can’t yet see the light of day, until I decide to move away.
Guess I can describe my Florida home that I lived in with Ex Boy Roomies, that I also adored. Baby yellow exterior. Massive arching windows. Palm trees in our front yard, oak trees in our backyard. Spanish moss galore. Walking distance to our city’s downtown. Mint green tile in my bathroom, baby pink tile in their bathroom. A carport garage equipped with a dingy taupe couch that we would have our friends decorate and sign whenever they came over. I miss that couch. We put it on the curb our last day in the apartment, so now it’s gone forever. Was tempted to keep it as memorabilia of my perfect first home, but knew better.

Living in that house was my first experience of living in a home. I’ve lived in other homes since then, but that first experience is always the sweetest. My mind always drifts back to the memory of that year.

During hurricane season our backyard would flood and turn swampy and we’d explore the wreckage, wading waist deep in the murky water. Love hurricane season when I get to spend it with friends. Last hurricane season, I stayed with Jude and redacted. We camped out in their parents home for the weekend, binge watching movies and binge eating the emergency grocery supply. My local pub was open the night the storm first hit. Hurricanes aren’t serious until they’re serious.

Talking about redacted and redacted. Ugh, redacted and redacted.
Hostess Island, and that whole world.
The areas that I frequent in my neighborhood. The bookstore and the cafe and the bar and the theater and the yoga studio and everything else.
Obviously I know that you can still figure out the characters in my story, despite the newfound code names. Just a faux level of protection to ease my anxieties about: The Consequences of My Digital Footprint. Talking about being anxious makes me feel very anxious because I’m scared that it will then manifest as Truth and then I will actually be anxious. Yes I know exactly how ridiculous that sounds. This is to the debilitating degree that if my friends try to confide in me about their anxieties I will tune them out altogether, not listening to their stories and just being a bad friend so that I don’t accidentally catch whatever they have. Maybe my friends are anxious people, but I surely can’t be.