Happy Valentine's Day!

On this most love af day of the year, I'm spending time with my favorite forever sweetheart. That ultimate f-buddy (that's fried btw) and best hug giver—the one who's always showed up: Food. 

My crime companion.
Vertigo canyon.
Sizzling abandon.
Too juicy to dry run.
Thirst quencher and then some.
Tie it undone.
Glowing inner handsome.
Shaking hard for big ones.
This beat's an incision. 
Made my decision.

Honestly though, I really hope I have someone to spend the day with by this time next year. Even chronically single people deserve a bone or special experience every five years or so.

Check yourself,

before you deck yourself.

Believe in yourself.

Balloon squeaks for health.

Slam shut the self.

Oh well,

no wealth.

Ceased wanting,

bad smell.

Got excited,

won't dwell.

Write to relax?

It's doomed,

that's a fact.
Or peel off,

make tracks.

OM-Genius,

step back.

Stuffy nose,

is where it's at.

I forgive myself for the fictitious mistakes I made today which exist only in my head.

On my mind all night,

woke up with a dish in sight.

Now,

as it sits here on my desk.

I can't help wonder,

I don't even need it.

Like,

should I even eat it?

Or is there something deeper inside,

crying out to feed it?

I’m so disoriented on what day and time it is right now.

How is it past 3am already? Well, at least it’s still the weekend.

I'm very in my thoughts and feelings today. Actually, I'm not sure how to feel... so I ate a whole bunch of crap food and overthought about everything of course. This perpetual state of being stuck lingers. I want to step over to the other side, but like where and how the fuck do I do that.

The only property I own is the space I rent out in my head.

Whenever anyone tells me they’re sleeping well right now, I can’t help but feel jealousy and wonder.

I think hearing the blaring sirens of cop cars, firetrucks, and ambulances constantly all damn day and night since March, on top of motorcycles, horns honking, and engines revving from my street is starting to get to me...

After spending a massive amount of time on the opening sentence of an article, checking the word count to see how much more you still have to go feels quite futile.

"It costs a lot of money to look this cheap."

Said by Dolly Parton.

Lately, I've been thinking about this quote a lot because it's so damn relatable when it comes to writing. 

Like, my gosh, I'll look at some paragraph or blurb I wrote for work and find it unbelievable that it took hours upon hours to get it that way. But when it comes down to it, I'm usually able to get my writing to say exactly what I want it to in the way I want it to, so the end result is satisfying.

The cold side of the pillow,

listening to chill 90s Korean music,

been so tired all day,

slept only a few hours yesterday,

but in bed right now,

feeling dread,

if I lived alone,

I’d probably just start getting tanked,

or uncomfortably full,

good thing I’m not,

because it’ll wake the roomie, 

I hate having to use the bathroom at night,

small apartment,

big anxiety,

sirens nonstop,

I refuse to rot,

keep thinking dumb shit,

gonna pop,

it’s past 3 now,

horns on the avenue still honk,

people yelling on the street,

I wonder who else is up,

with similar thoughts.

There are moments when my mind wanders, and I can get teary-eyed at the turn of a thought.

It really sucks when the only pseudo human interaction you had in your entire day was a video call that left you feeling like shit.

I know that doomscrolling through my phone late at night is really bad, but here I am.

All I do at home is lie on my stomach in bed and watch 50 minutes videos of people eating bomb ass food in Korea.

It is 

(so)

much

easier,

to talk this way.

Life is all about editing. So rewrite the story from the shitty version the voice in your head came up with.

“Hold me back!” I screamed to myself.