Smith Corona

Scientists now think the Shroud of Turin wasn't made from a real body, but painted using a statue.
I'm not buying it. That just means at some point Jesus fought Medusa… and lost.

a close up of a person painting a wall with a brush ALT: a close up of a person painting a wall with a brush

Crowds are easier to face if you think of them as cats.
Half will ignore you, half will want to be your friend, and all of them are just doing their own thing.

a close up of a man 's face in a dark room in a movie . ALT: a close up of a man 's face in a dark room in a movie .

Dark City.

It's totally normal to be nervous, but honestly, everyone else is probably too busy being nervous themselves to notice.
You’ve got this!

Sometimes you have to know exactly why you're walking away, or you'll keep circling back to knock.

Some days drag like they're determined to prove a point, but all it takes is one silly, unexpected thing to remind me that even those days are not beyond saving.

YouTube video by M. M. Recoil - Want

This song drips with the kind of tension that makes you lean closer without knowing why.

"I want to strangle the stars for all they promised me... I want to keep you alive so there is always the possibility of murder later..."

I've learned to measure the conversations with my mom in moments, not minutes.
There's grief in watching her fade, and a quiet joy in every flicker back to herself.

It's odd how a specific scent can pull you back years before your mind even knows where it's going.

Not everything needs fixing. Some things are beautiful in the way they survive.
A crack in the porcelain doesn't ruin it. It just makes you imagine the hands that kept it whole this long.

Yes! I am just revisiting my past and journaling my thoughts. The last few weeks have been very introspective.

There’s a special place in hell for people who rush to board a bus without waiting for others to get off first.

When someone is upset with me and it doesn't make sense, I think about their intent.
Were they trying to hurt me, or were they just hurting?
That question alone softens my response.

Some people hovered just close enough to be curious, but never close enough to listen.
And when they left, I told myself I must have been too much, or not enough, or both at once.

There have been people who circled close enough to make me believe they wanted to know me… and then they drifted away without asking the first real question.
I still replay those silences and wonder if it was something I said, or worse, something I failed to say.

The moment I notice my glass is empty, I feel both thirsty and ashamed.

Some days the mirror doesn't just show my face, it reflects every expectation I didn't meet.
It's a helplessness that seeps in quietly. The sense that my best isn't hitting the mark for anyone.

There's a specific kind of sadness reserved for those who take a hopeful sip from a suddenly empty mug of coffee.
The weight of an empty coffee mug is light in the hand, but devastating to the soul.

People with boundaries know where they end and you begin. It makes every connection cleaner.
When someone has boundaries, I know they'll respect mine too.

It's going to be an emotionally crowded weekend, but I'm determined to let some joy elbow its way in.

Knowing my imperfections makes me human, but having them thrown back at me makes me tired.

I can hold my imperfections quietly, but it's different when someone else tries to make them weapons.
I've made my peace with my cracks. I just wish others didn't see them as fault lines to dig into.

Making a cocktail and pretending I don't already know I'll spend an hour scrolling before picking something to watch.

All gas, no brakes, then suddenly the brakes.
My body's still moving even though the day's over.
I am a wind-up toy with no wall to hit.

Care for some exciting news? I just bought a drawer organizer!
I think I’m now ready to parent a small houseplant or maybe run for local office.

When I get stuck. I like to shift the texture. I change mediums.
If you usually type, grab a notebook. If you usually write by hand, open a blank document on your laptop.
I also find writing what you wish someone would say to you right now, and then give that line to a character, very helpful.

Put your heart into your art.
Not the polished version, but the aching, hopeful, and tangled mess.
That's where the truth lives.

We are not all built the same or have lived the same experiences.
Some of us survived things we never got to explain or share.
Empathy is believing that without needing proof.