people being like ' omg jfk jr and caroline are ultimate relationship goals" when he's literally the reason she's dead lol

i love writing my substack essays imagining all 70 of my subscribers coming over to hang out in my house and listen to me rant about things while i stand in the kitchen with a glass of wine in my hand, stirring delicious smelling things cooking in various pans on my stove for everyone

what does wuthering even mean

Every stage of this process - his arrest, spending a year in jail, being dumped on the streets to die - would be deeply shameful in a society that actually valued human life.

my heart is a house. the door's unlocked and there's beers in the fridge

imagine hating me and i'm just in my room like

people overusing george orwell quotes lately reminds me of march 2020 when ppl were writing a ton of "love in the time of c*vid-19" poems

thought i hated texas but it'll be 74 degrees by next weekend and im going hiking in the mountains so nvm

waiting for the part of early summer to come where i can bring a bag of grapes to the pier and sit by the water watching the boats go to and fro

Thinking about becoming one of those people who likes frogs so much that it becomes a serious problem for me and others around me

my 67 year old neighbor came over to borrow my snow shovel with a coffee cup filled with whiskey in his hand and told me cats know about quantum physics and also time travel

snow day vibes // made peppermint tea, went for a walk in the snow with my dog, worked on my novel, made a homemade pizza

i find the immediate commentary and short form video content made on current events to be a stressful and mostly useless way of processing news

cmon guys. enough with the george orwell quotes

time is a jelly and im having as many scoops as I'd like

please don't eat that. that's my emotional support sumo orange

constantly finding myself in situations

i love my dumb little life. sometimes when i'm feeling down I'll remind myself I'm my own little video game character. i can take myself on random side quests any time i want

from “Letters to Emma Bowlcut” - Bill Callahan

I love looking at paintings and being reminded of what's human

if you're deeply stressed can i recommend dance parties at the end of the day, alone or w/ friends? not a cure but it helpsss

my friend's uncle, drunk off 4 coors and a shot of whiskey, is trying to convince me to join the air force. sir i used to write listicles about new girl and taco bell for a living.

standing in front of your fridge eating out of various mini jars on a sunday night can be so personal

concerts should stop selling shitty $22 bud lights and start selling peppermint tea, vanilla oat lattes, a humble cappuccino. give the people options!!

i can't wait to move back to chicago. cozy polish dive bars, biking next to lake michigan, and nothing but existential dread in a cute winter coat

back in ann arbor for the first time in years. remembering the joy of being a farm kid coming here as a teen and it was the biggest city i had ever been to. i ate greek food and bought a pair of doc martens for the first time. memories are cute sometimes

my favorite brain rot conspiracy theory is that trump is a time traveler

i've been reading the stoics lately and it's giving me perspective on modern times. basically, log off once in awhile, go on a walk, keep your dignity intact, and don’t take the bait every time the world invites you to rage out about something

back in my midwest hometown watching nora ephron movies and sketching plans for a quarterly snail mail club — a pocket-sized paper world with a tiny newspaper, maps, poems, found fragments, and a small field assignment for noticing the cosmic wonder and tenderness in the world

I'm late on this but thanks to everyone who was so supportive during #DVpit last week :)

A Chicago writer embarks on an experiment for one year—no algorithms, no streaming, no dating apps. Just longing and low-res light, American Apparel dresses, flip phones, bad bangs, meet-cutes, and questionable choices. A novel about burnout, memory, and the myth of going back. #DVpit #A #F #LitFic

A writer, exhausted by the internet and her own life, embarks on an experiment to live like it’s 2010 again—no apps, no algorithms, just mixtapes, polaroids, meet cutes, & Washed Out on repeat. But she soon learns nostalgia isn’t home—it’s the space between who we were and who we’ve become. #DVpit

taking a waymo to the honky tonk

gas station coffee. fresh socks. my library card. butter, salt, heat. just a few things that have saved me on bad days :)

there are many kinds of ghosts but I promise to be the good kind

i turned 40 this year and still act the same as when I was 8 (I just rented a vhs and I have a pizza on the way)

i was putting fake spiderwebs across the bushes in my yard and i overheard the neighbor boy tell his friend "oh yeah, that's my neighbor. she's cool. she's from the 1880s"

carhartt shorteralls season continues (it's 95 degrees out)

I can't wait to read long, fat books this winter

trump about to try to put a buccees on the gaza strip

my 65 year old neighbor had a sign on their porch that said “welcome to the porch” but now he has a new sign that says "this is the porch"

here's your reminder about 60 tons of cosmic dust falls to Earth every day, settling everywhere from mountaintops to your car windshield. even in the most mundane places, fragments of the universe are quietly present, reminding us that wonder exists everywhere

When it comes to promotion, I haven’t been thinking about that all. It’s not that it isn’t important, I’ve just mostly been grieving my literary/media community and being able to share our work with one another in a pretty seamless and effective way.

scenes from west texas

im so glad ethel cain released an ambient noise album just in time to be the soundtrack of my strange winter

a summer afternoon in 2012 would cure me rn

towns with names like Ypsilanti please be serious

a river rock with nymphs under it hates to see me coming