From gossip to gut checks, this is where the loudest voices in our heads publish.
Columns. Hearsay. Manalogue. College chaos. High school headlines. If it sounds personal or true, it probably is.
Yes, I saw your text. I even rehearsed a reply in three emotional dialects. Then I floated into the ceiling like an emotionally unavailable Roomba.
No emails. No calls. No decisions to make. Just me, a lawn chair, and the raw, unsupervised freedom of temporary irrelevance.
No destination. No playlist. Just road noise, bottled water, and the faint hope that movement still counts as progress.
It wasn’t always fists. Sometimes it was silence, or jokes that hit just hard enough to make you close the door again.
She blinked twice and somehow read a 12-page PDF of my suppressed feelings. I just wanted chips.
The offices got nicer, the snacks got healthier, but I still wake up with jaw tension and a browser full of job listings I won’t apply to.
The lights are on, nobody’s home, and the Teams status is set to “Available (Emotionally Hollow).”
I’ve never seen him outside the squat rack, but he knows about my breakup, my sleep issues, and my macros. We’ve never made eye contact for more than three seconds.
All I know is I’m eating peanut butter with a spoon and calling it strategy.
She opened a jar by herself, and now I’m spiraling. Should I just… join a militia?
She hadn’t prayed in six months, but during her chemistry exam she started whispering things like “I’ll change” and “Please, just this one time.”
They watched a show, talked about trauma, didn’t kiss, and now she’s unsure whether to text him or cite him in a paper on intimacy theory.