arthipstory

i pretended to be referred to a publisher today in a draft email.

*Edit: I sent this email. Hence the waiting game.

like i am suddenly just a writer, turning the stories of all the people i despise into a novella of six short parts.

my hope is that it can be turned into a gruesome screenplay for a ten-ep streaming series. i’m not sure if we have it ourselves to support *that* type of writing with a homeline brand, but if Rosamund Pike can play the part (with the hairstyles to match!), I can just as well be it, right?!

let’s just realize, i am pretending to have recommendations and passing emails to honor my accolades in a field of which i am not a part, in order to further procrastinate every and all responsibility towards the job i currently have.

how was your weekend?!

Do you ever throw your own confetti of to-do lists you’ve torn up, filled with undone tasks?!

Same. Cuz like, u did 1…I think I should get a bye week, yeah? Crown too.

Pray tell, does anyone else spend quality quarter-hour increments looking up sentimental quotes in nostalgic hues that match their covered bridge paintings…or is it just me.

Call it a procrasfternoon.

Dear God, Trump…just GO ALREADY.

i have genuinely learned more from Saweetie in the last 20 minutes than college econ.

link here.

Tippi’s nails look good with a t on the end. What color is this?! This shape!!! I can’t get enough.

well hello.

WHAT A WEEK. Year? Both?! Sure. Feel what feels good, go there.

which leads me back here to this blog where i hoped to fight off being a snacc with snark.

lolz, i told yuuuu: feel what feels good.

Me pretending like WFH isolation isn’t affecting my everyday choices.

My shopping list consists of
cookie dough and penne bc
I’m baking to cope with this life right now, and
I’m seemingly plate for plate on pasta as I watch The Sopranos.

I feel like Sophia Loren. jk jk.

Carm’s nails are giving me life and freaking me out: my chaos will ensue the damn second one of my nails break.

“Unconsciously, probably, I was painting the loneliness of a large city.”

– Hopper of Nighthawks