8.30.25: The Group Planner

Being the planner in a group chat is like herding cats with commitment issues. You suggest a date, half the people don’t respond, someone else drops a random “Can we do Bali instead?” and suddenly the plan to grab tacos spirals into a month-long debate. Everyone wants to hang out, but no one wants to pick a place. Or time. Or confirm anything. I used to care. Now I just drop a pin and say, “I’ll be here.” If they show up, cool. If not, more tacos for me. Leadership is knowing when to stop asking and start eating.

8.29.25: Gym Mirrors

I go to the gym almost every day and there’s always this unspoken tension around the mirrors. Everyone pretends they’re just checking their form, but we all know it’s mirror combat. Subtle flexing. Slight angle shifts. Trying to look like you’re not looking while fully checking yourself out. Then someone walks in front of you mid-rep and it’s a silent war crime. You don’t say anything, but you die a little inside. I respect the guy who just owns it though. Full front bicep curl, eye contact with himself, loving every second. Confidence? Cringe? Both. Probably both.

8.28.25: The Grocery Store Hole

Tell me why I walk into a grocery store for bananas and leave with three frozen pizzas, two types of hummus I didn’t need, and a candle I sniffed once and now love like a pet. Somewhere between the produce section and the checkout line, I lose all sense of financial responsibility. And self-control. And logic. That middle section with the weird gadgets? Dangerous. I bought a milk frother and I don’t even drink milk. I think grocery stores are lowkey testing our impulse control. I fail every time. But at least I have snacks for the emotional fallout.

8.27.25: I Don’t Get Wine

I pretend to understand wine. Someone pours me a glass and I swirl it like I've got taste buds made of gold. "Earthy," I say, nodding thoughtfully. "With hints of... complexity." They beam like I just solved world hunger. Truth is, it tastes like grape juice that went to therapy. But there's something beautiful about the performance. The collective agreement to take fermented fruit this seriously. We're all just making it up as we go. Cheers to that, I guess. At least the buzz is real.

8.26.25: Merging Lanes

Merging lanes shouldn’t be this hard. We’re all adults. We’ve played Tetris. But the second two lanes become one, everyone loses their damn mind. One car lets someone in, the next speeds up like it's the Indy 500. Then there's that guy who pretends not to see you with his whole chest. The zipper merge exists. It works. But no, we’d rather create chaos. I swear, traffic jams are less about volume and more about egos. At this point, I just put on a podcast and disassociate. If I’m going to be stuck, I might as well be entertained.

8.25.25: Snooze It

There’s a version of me at 11 p.m. who’s ambitious, focused, ready to wake up early and conquer life. That version is a liar. The real me meets the snooze button like it’s a long-lost lover every morning. We have a toxic relationship. I lie there, negotiating how late I can push things before my entire day collapses. I don’t even know what “rested” feels like anymore. I’m not sleeping; I’m buffering. One day I’ll be a morning person. Just not today. Or tomorrow. Probably not next week either. But hey, dreams are important. Just not ones interrupted every nine minutes.

8.24.25: Washing Machine Problems

I’m convinced my washing machine has a personal grudge against me. No matter how carefully I pair my socks, one always vanishes like it’s off to start a new life. I picture it sipping a margarita somewhere with all the missing Tupperware lids and bobby pins. Sometimes I find it days later, stuck to a shirt like it’s clinging to its past. Other times, it’s just gone. Dead to the world. A sacrifice to the laundry gods. At this point, I don’t even buy matching socks anymore. I just embrace the chaos and pretend I’m doing it for the aesthetic.

8.23.25: Airport Security

Every time I go through airport security, I feel like I’m auditioning for a role I didn’t want. Shoes off, belt off, laptop out, liquids in a tiny ziplock like I’m prepping for an intergalactic picnic. Then you get barked at by someone who somehow has both zero patience and 300% authority. I always panic that I’ve accidentally smuggled something illegal, like a rare gemstone I didn't know I owned. Then I get through and feel victorious, like I just cleared a level in a game. My reward? Putting my shoes on in a public hallway like a feral raccoon.

8.22.25: Perpetually Late

I have a friend who says, “I’m five minutes away,” but somehow still manages to take longer than a Domino’s delivery. The math never maths. I don’t even get mad anymore. I just accept that his time exists in another dimension where clocks are decorative. He’ll roll in with a smoothie like we’re the problem. If he’s ever on time, I’ll assume it’s because he forgot something and came back. At this point, I factor him into my schedule like bad traffic or forgetting my AirPods. Still love him though. He’s consistently late. That’s a kind of reliability, right?

8.21.25: The Middle Seat

I don’t think the world gives enough credit to the psychological warfare that comes from being stuck in the middle seat on a plane. One armrest? Both? None? You try to time your movements so you don’t elbow your neighbor during their sip of tomato juice. You scan the screen six inches from your face while trying to avoid eye contact with both people beside you. You become a neck gymnast, headphone contortionist, and emotional hostage. By the end, you don’t want to land — you want a medal. Or at least a seat voucher for the aisle next time.

8.20.25: Zombie Apocalypse

Not because I’m not fit. I am. But because I’d get too curious. I’d wander into the forbidden building just to “see what’s inside.” I’d try to make friends with the wrong survivor. I’d touch something glowing. I’d trust someone I shouldn’t. I wouldn’t die because of lack of strength. I’d die because I think chaos is interesting and want to understand the system from within. The group would vote me off within a week. And honestly, they’d be right.

8.19.25: The Mood Algorithm

Today’s suggested playlist: “Songs to Pretend You’re Healing To.”

Recommended video: “What to Do When You Can’t Feel Anything.”

Targeted ad: Therapy. In a box. Monthly.

I didn’t search for any of this. But the algorithm knows. Maybe I lingered too long on a sad reel. Or maybe it’s just gotten smarter. It doesn’t ask how I’m doing. It tells me. Creepy? Absolutely. Useful? Maybe. I play the playlist. Let it wash over me. And for a second, I wonder if I’m healing. Or if I’ve just learned to feel what I’m told to.

8.18.25: Inbox Zero

There’s a certain type of person who treats Inbox Zero like religion. I used to be one of them. Every email was a threat. Every unread badge, a reminder that I wasn’t in control. But one day, I just… stopped. Let it pile up. Watched the number grow. Nothing exploded. I still have friends. I still get paid. The world didn’t end. Turns out, most emails are just noise in disguise. Now, I reply when I want. Or don’t. Inbox peace isn’t zero. It’s not caring. That’s freedom.

8.17.25: They Replaced the Sky

No one remembers when they replaced the sky. It just sort of happened one day. It was clearer, too blue, and never changed. You’d hear whispers—rumors that it was all a projection. People stared too long, waiting for glitches. Some swear they saw birds freeze midair, caught in a loop. But if you asked anyone official, they’d smile and say, “Don’t be ridiculous.” Then you’d get a new job offer in another district. Or disappear. Most people stopped looking up. Me? I keep watching. I’m not trying to escape. I just want to know who’s behind the screen.

8.16.25: Alone Time

I don’t mean silence. I mean full disconnection. No notifications. No “quick calls.” No ambient stress disguised as multitasking. Just nothing. Me, space, maybe a book or a walk or staring at a wall like a Victorian ghost. Alone time is the emotional equivalent of putting your phone in rice. Dry out the anxiety. Let your system breathe. And when I come back, I’ll be better. More human. Less sharp around the edges. But if I don’t get that time, I become a passive-aggressive gremlin who says “no worries!” and means exactly the opposite.

8.15.25: Scheduled Emotions

In 2092, emotions are scheduled. Joy on Wednesdays, sadness during approved grief hours, anger only with a permit. You wake up late and check your Emotional Band. It glows red. “Unauthorized melancholy detected,” it reads. You try to smile. Too late. The Sentiment Sync Unit knocks within minutes. “Have you tried gratitude journaling?” one asks. The other is already installing a neural blocker. “Next time, update your mood file.” You nod, numb. They leave. You stare at the wall. You weren’t even sad. Just tired. But that’s not an approved feeling anymore.

8.14.25: True Patriot

You wake up and your fridge screen says you’re 18% below your monthly patriotism quota. That’s weird, since you saluted during the anthem ad and liked three government-approved posts yesterday. But maybe your blink rate was too slow. You tap “Appeal.” A drone appears 42 seconds later. It’s polite. Efficient. Cold. “Please verify your gratitude,” it says. You smile, wide and rehearsed. “I love my country,” you say, voice a little hoarse. It scans your vitals. You try not to sweat. The drone hums. “Accepted,” it chirps. You exhale. For now, you’re safe.

8.13.25: Hotel Photos

Hotel photos are lies. All of them. I’ve booked rooms that looked like peaceful urban sanctuaries and arrived to find a cracked mirror, a view of a brick wall, and a lightbulb with a personal vendetta. One place said “sea view” and I had to lean out the window, squint past an alley, and imagine the ocean like it was a Magic Eye puzzle. I don’t trust “boutique” or “minimalist” anymore either. That just means no closet and a chair that looks like art but functions like punishment. We need Yelp for hotel honesty. Five stars for audacity.

8.12.25: No Headphones

There’s a special place in the universe for people who play videos out loud in public. The unbothered confidence it takes to blast TikTok at full volume in a quiet café is wild. And somehow, it’s always the worst videos. Cringe humor. Loud intros. That one guy yelling about crypto. I don’t know how we failed as a society, but we did. If you’ve ever watched a video on speakerphone while standing in line for noodles, I hope you spill soy sauce on your white shirt. Twice. And I hope you finally buy headphones.

8.11.25: Childhood Nostalgia

There’s this smell that lives somewhere between sunscreen, rubber hose, and warm chlorine. It instantly snaps me back to childhood summers. I don’t know where it comes from, but whenever it shows up, I stop mid-step. It’s like my brain goes, “We’ve been here before.” Back to water fights, popsicles, scraped knees, and that weird freedom that only exists before your first heartbreak or bank account. I’ve spent years trying to bottle that scent. But it only visits randomly, like a memory ghost. Every time it does, I let it linger. Then it disappears again.