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i used to hold on with a grip that left my palms bruised and bleeding. nowadays, i think of leaving everything i am out on the curb. have the city pick it up the first monday of the month as i punch my one-way ticket on the train. permanence is overrated. i want nothing more than to be as free and unhindered as the day i was born. to blow in the wind forever.

My favorite hispanic back of house staffers have taken to calling me "gato" as I may or may not have a tendency to meow. just a silly little vocal stim, a way of signaling my presence in a crowded kitchen, a cute little joke.

I am the only server they save a plate for when they make caldo. They pour me out sips of their redbulls into little coffee cups and wave me into the back when i look tired. I ride for my back of house heavy, and they do the same for me. So when I buy myself a cookie from the bakery, best believe I'm buying five more for them.

oh also i wrecked my car a few days ago! LOLLLL

An ex of mine once said I had the worst luck out of anyone he ever knew. I concur. Though I do wonder if I just have a flair for the dramatic and a tendency to catastrophize. Oftentimes, things happen to me, bad things, yes, but nothing totally unique, and I will feel it is the end of the world. That I can just not catch a break, and that is true, yes. But now being in a better state of mind, it is interesting to see how I am pretty unfazed, all things considered. No one was hurt. The other person's car is fairly unscathed. Mine, however, is a cheap piece of plastic that I have been contemplating getting rid of. Insurance is giving me far more than I could have gotten had I attempted to sell it on my own. So you know what?! hell yea! Babygirl wants a truck again. What babygirl wants, she gets, one way or another.

I made carbonara for the first time today.

after hearing it mentioned a few times. Often as a tasty but peculiar dish, one of those traditional recipes that is simple at its heart but often modified to death into modernity. The idea to try it has been floating around in the chicken noodle soup that is my mind for the last few months now. When I woke up, I knew deep down in my soul that today was a day for pasta!

After telling a few bar regulars of my plot today i had some ideas. The snobs that they are, and you have to be if you go to the same French restaurant every single day, gave me a list of dos and don'ts. Don't even think about using cream, parmesan, or leaving in the egg whites. Most importantly, I have to get my hands on some guanciale. We settled on pancetta. They even grilled me on my choice of pasta. However, being the food snob I am, I was prepared. The only way to make carbonara was the authentic way. To modify the recipe was to betray my own pretentious soul. I had no other choice.

So I picked up some pancetta from the butcherie next to my restaurant after work. walked on down to the grocery for pecorino romano, and got to business. Of course, I did not use any oil. only the fat rendered from the pancetta, and absolutely no cream.

Upon first tasting, I was amazed.... that it reminded me so heavily of mac and cheese with bacon. It tasted great, don't get me wrong. The amount of flavor that can be brought from only 5 ingredients with the right techniques! But still, an elevated bacon n mac with some fresh peppercorn. Overall i would give the recipe a 6/10. Will I be making it again? probably, perhaps with bacon tho, as "what can a scrounge about from my kitchen" sort of deal. TLDR; made carbonara, it was good, nothing crazy. Perhaps a recipe that sounds cooler than it really is.

on starting a new chapter this year:

I moved recently. The first night I slept with my mattress on the living room floor. It's my first time living alone, and my room was so empty it felt intimidating. far too intense a reflection of my fears at the time.

I was reminded of when I first moved to this state. Just a seven-year-old drinking apple juice on a bare mattress. The harsh LED of my tv on the floor in front of me. Everything I owned (not much), sitting on the hardwood floors of an empty living room.

I pulled out my tarot deck for the first time last night. I had been hesitant, afraid of what they might say. Had I messed up in some irrevocable way? That was not the case of course. The cards validated me. Reinforcing my ambition. It was nice to see them align so beautifully with the reading a close friend had given me on my birthday. The one that started this whole process.

***you always give the best readings, thank you austin:)

A few days have passed now. I still have much to unpack. Even still i love it dearly. Having a space of my own is something I have written about in the last few years. I finally did it! It feels rewarding knowing all I have worked for has been for something.

My childhood and family photos are some of the first things I unpacked. Seeing that little girl I was, and still am in many ways, reminds me of who I am doing all of this for. That little girl who spent so many nights crying, so scared she would feel that way forever. My childhood was not particularly miserable, but I was a deeply unhappy child all the same. I want nothing more than to prove to her that all the turmoil she suffered was not in vain. That there is something that made waking up every day worth it. Even in the single digits, before suicide was a concept I had any grasp of, I remember wishing I had never been born. Had she chosen to take her exit, I would never feel the joys that I do today. For her perseverance, I owe it all, everything I am.

I am so grateful to my friends, my chosen family i have formed these last few years. There have been times I have allowed myself to sink into a comfortably unhappy stasis. When I got cold feet, they held me to it. I know I would not have done this without them. Thank you.

This year has already changed me. Or perhaps just brought me closer to myself. I have been engaging with myself more. something else I have written much on hahahah. It’s finally gotten back to a point of ease. It feels natural again to create, to stay up late unable to close a book, to pour into myself. Perhaps this is because of my lightened mood, a sense of agency I had been missing previously.

Perhaps it’s something in the moon.

sometimes i still think of you, which is crazy because it’s been so long, several years long. the reason being that is sometimes i wonder how different my life would be if we still talked, even in a platonic sense, you really challenged how i thought about the world, and you were someone i was able to have the deepest conversations with. no one in my current circle is as intelligent or interesting as you were to me. anyways, i hope you’re doing well!

-an old fling

hello,

its weird to think it's been so long since we last spoke. Everything felt so permanent at the time. It was a chaotic period in my life, one I felt no agency over. i'm sure you felt similarly.

I'm doing well, better than I ever thought I could. Adulthood, for all its chores, wears well on me. I got diagnosed with adhd, to no ones surprise, hahah. I'm not cripplingly depressed! I live on my own now too (with nutmeg of course)! Spacious hard wood floors and a walk from my favorite bar. Nowadays, I'm not really friends with anyone from back then. Looking back, they were relationships of proximity more than anything. It's always odd to think someone I was so close with for so long doesn't know this new me. Not that I've changed completely. Perhaps just grown more into myself outside of the noise, refined. All in all, I'm happy. Not perfect, but happy. I hope you can say the same.

I understand that all I am now could not be without all that I have been. Even the painful parts. I hold no resentment over how things played out. We were both just learning to love for the first time.

As far as your life shaping our differently had we stayed in contact, maybe. But I do not think mine would have been better nor yours. Since then I have become a firm believer that people and experiences will come in and out of your life to push your growth. It is for the best they do not over stay their welcome. Frankly, I was only able to challenge you because I challenged myself. I cannot do that for you anymore if I ever could to begin with.

I'm glad you remember me kindly. I hope you are well, I do. And I am grateful for the lessons I learned in our time together. I promise I am not as intelligent or interesting as nostalgia paints me.

with care,

-a friend

February ins and outs

lace trim

ambient study playlist

facebook market place

full send

lust

routine

natural hair

OUT

rules

validation

roommates

synthetic fabrics

anything that pisses me off tbh

oliviahatesapples

u reheating my nachos girl ?

thats what little sisters do twan

his mom hated me

I wasnt a bad kid. I was polite. I knew when to nod and use my manners. I got good grades and took AP classes. Went to two parties in total before the end of my senior year. I smoked a little weed and wore my skirts too short. The usual.

Before having met me, she had told her son I would never get along with his family. I would cause issues. I suppose a black girl with blue curls and a septum piercing would clash with the color scheme planned for that years christmas cards. At the time, I didn't get it. I mean i could get along with just about anyone, right?

My first relationship came with a lot of firsts, duh.

His grandfather, having just met me, asked me the standard get-to-know-you style questionnaire expected of someone in his position. What are you studying? Five-year plan? Where are you from? He told me he was glad I “did it the right way” when the topic of my newly gained citizenship came up.

The first time I went to a party one of his friends threw, resulted in a bit of an “outburst” on my part. Inconsiderate of me, I know. The whole time he was smiling and laughing, having a great time. I was mildly uncomfortable. His friends had opened the bathroom door to us kissing. I was topless, still changing into my bathing suit. A spectacle worthy of hooting and hollering, a spectacle my boyfriend had expected me to entertain. To give his friends a show.

I stopped holding my toungue after the door finally closed. How could he look me in the face and invite me to hang out with his white freinds who throw n*gga around like it’s confetti? Did he not think the invitation worthy of a footnote? Or did he expect me to be okay with it, like he was? To laugh and smile and nod along unfazed as he did.

I wish I could say this was a one-time ordeal. It was not. Alcohol really loosens the tongue.

By the time I first went to his family home, over half a year had passed on our relationship. I think his mom was hoping to wait me out. His house was nice. The kind with a fishing boat in the large detached shed and “live laugh love” plastered over the drywall. His dad had made us dinner. His mom off on a trip. In her place, I was greeted with a photo. Her and her mom smiling beneath a Confederate flag.

Looking back, I understand what his mom had meant. I would always feel out of place in his family. Not because of anything I had done, but because they would never make the room for me. As much as her son loved black art, culture, and girls, he would not push to make room for it.

His spotify wrapped was filled with JPEG, Death Grips, Paris Texas, Tyler, and the like. Everytime tiktok got a hold of some “new” (black) slang, he was using and abusing it. As we dated, he started buying chains, dressing better with the wardrobe I helped him build, styled the haircuts I pushed him to get.

Blackness was something he could pick and choose from. So when his mom gave him a list of her favorite conservative politicians, he took it to the voting booth and cast his ballot (literally). When his friends said things they shouldn't have, he was unfazed. He didnt want to cause trouble. unwilling to have those uncomfortable conversations, a luxury I could not afford. More than anything, I don't think he said anything because it never occurred to him he should.

While this is not a grudge I hold, it is a lesson. One that I take with me everywhere I go.

finally

After a prolonged reading slump, I started listening to the audiobook of American Gods (kindly uploaded for free on YouTube). DEAR GOD, I AM SO BACK!!!!

I've always been a bit of an audiobook hater. In summary, it feels fake, half-baked, low effort, and worst of all... it reminds me of my dad. Dad vibes all around. now dont get me wrong i love him, but not necessarily a similarity I seek between us. More so, I felt (and still feel) the format strips novels of so much nuance. Skim milk vs whole kinda thing.

not the end of the world. just the end of mine. I'm a perfectionist, so of course, it is better to completely disengage in literature than it is to hit play on an audiobook. logic, duh!

Anyway, all this is to say that I LOVED it!!! It was so nice to have something to listen to on car rides and other transient times that isn't music. I spend way too much time scrolling for the perfect song, the perfect podcast, the perfect YouTube video to play in the background. also sooo good to listen to as I stare at the fucking ceiling in my dark, warm bed.

still feel I would have gotten more out of reading it myself, and definitely something I want to look into revisiting in the future. Regardless, a satisfying experience. I finally finished listening to all 19 hours one afternoon. Naturally, I was at the grocery store later that day and picked up Half His Age by Jeanette McCurdy (?). I finished it the nextttt afternoon. I was reading it late into the night, reading it at work, on the couch after my shift. I could not put it down. I do think American Gods is definitely a more well-written book. i dont think Half His Age is some magnum opus or anything, but it was good, easily digestible, crass, and resonated in a way. It felt real and grounded and good. I really liked it!!! The difference in writing styles between the two novels was jarring at first. I think in a way it made me appreciate each novel more, having been faced with its opposite.

ANYWAYS TLDR; finally picked up a fucking audiobook and it pulled me out of my reading slump. Perhaps book reviews coming soon. idk + idc. we are so back :P

new apartment wants and wishlist

more large oversized housplants

an area rug

a cute bistro style table

showerhead filter

bar cart

liqourrrrrr

a blue shower curtain liner

paralzyed by anticipation

all other concerns have fallen wayside, my day to day feels so trivial. i cant wait. EEEKKKKK ;333

a space of my own

i am moving again, at the beginning of the month. a spacious one bed, one bath, located in the arts district of my city. i'll be walking, home, drunk, from my favorite bars and vintage shops. i am excited, and scared, and paralyzed in anticipation.

my only roommate will be my cat, nutmeg. while she is loud, and clumsy, and annoying at times, i would not have it any other way. i have given some thought on the reality of living alone. i do worry i'll be lonely. though it cannot be lonelier than my current living situation, a space shared with a roommate, a dog, and her freeloading live-in boyfriend. that, if nothing else i take comfort in.

it will be nice, i say, to feel the sun bleeding from the windows as i lounge about, a half-made mess, making breakfast in my underwear. my friends will, on occasion, sit with me as we have movie nights and drink my favorite wine. we will not have to worry about the sound of our footsteps. i will not wakeup and go to sleep reminded of my parents by arguments on the other side of the wall. i will be broke and eating eggs and canned black beans on repeat. and when my place is a mess, it will be a mess of my own making.

i have some furniture i will be taking with me, a burnt orange corduroy couch i will have to scrub dog piss out of, houseplants, a few nice lamps, and a desk among other things. i know my space will be empty for a long time. in a life so full and overflowing, emptiness is a luxury.

a picture i took of my mom on her birthday, i just got the film developed :)

i always hated my birthday. December is often the worst time of year for me. my busiest, most eventful, and stressed out season.

part of my work this year is to accept when i fall short. to understand when the goals i set for myself no longer push me to grow but hold me back. i often set goals for myself that are rather unattainable.

i told myself i would have abs for my birthday this year. and i did! In September. it is now late november and i am swaped with deadlines, a six day work week, and an additional ten pounds ive gained in the last two months.

its always so defeating to feel you are starting from square one. But at the same time i know that is not true. Every time i have fallen short i have come back stronger, both financially, academically, and physically. this year i pushed myself further in my fitness goals than i ever did before, and goodddddd dammmnnn i looked good. My grades have been at a high all semester, and i have a better job working with a friend. In many ways, i am blessed, not by chance, but through intent.

This November, amidst all my struggles, I am grateful for everything I have achieved and all that I will continue to strive for in the future.

It's such a weird feeling, mourning something you were never told passed. There was no obituary, no big fight, no nothing. Maybe that was it, the nothing that worried me most.

I've spent so much time this last year, or two, or three (I've lost track), wondering if I ever crossed her mind. If I was a fixture of her life, worthy of such consideration, the way I considered her. Had I made some grand mistake? I'm still not sure when this rift started, but I can no longer deny its existence, the way I cannot deny the sun in my eyes or the earth below my feet. It just is. I don't know when the Earth started spinning. I don't know why the sun shines. I just know that they do. Maybe this, too, is just the natural state of things, of us.

All this time I have spent trying to bridge this divide feels pointless now. All the life rafts in the form of invites, the concessions and white flags have gone unseen; your back turned from me. My green light shining across the lake, unnoticed and futile.

"I thought this conversation marked the end of a "rough patch" and that our friendship would come out stronger. But she took it as a "closure" talk."

I read this quote a few days ago. I think about it often. more than I would like to admit.

a moment i hold within my soul

i work today, pray my favorite coworker is there 🥲

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