im not really a person who yells!
A lot of people who do substacks have some sort of gimmick. They’re fitness experts or poets. TV reviewers or masters of their trade looking to share their wisdom. What a bunch of fucking cowards. I’m sick of the hustle! Maybe I want to (metaphorically) stare at myself in the mirror for all day. Maybe that’s my content. It’s my right!
I’m a little peaky because it’s almost lunch time and this morning’s strawberries and cream oatmeal didn’t do the trick like it normally would. You didn’t subscribe or click on this post to read about how I’m considering the digestive perils of getting taco bell for lunch today or how I’m deciding my winter nail polish color (plum or deep orange)? Alright, let’s see you read Paganini you pretentious cur.
My mom keeps asking me “what’s your plan” which to the naked eye may seem like she’s asking me broadly about my future but it’s just her way of saying “what are you going to do about your womb becoming a barren wasteland of despair?” When my dad asks “what’s your plan,” he’s actually asking “when are you going to invest in property?” I’m very fluent in this language of theirs, but my answer to both versions of the question is the same: my plan is to wear my little outfits, and hang out with my little friends, and save money for my house on Cape Cod where I will retire (die). Everything else is just a minor detail :)