My Dad Fixed the Sink, I Called a Plumber. What Does That Make Me?
He used a wrench and confidence. I used Yelp and panic. But hey, the drip’s gone — except the one in the mirror.
He used a wrench and confidence. I used Yelp and panic. But hey, the drip’s gone — except the one in the mirror.
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.
She opened a jar by herself, and now I’m spiraling. Should I just… join a militia?
Jason says the gym is his therapy. And to be fair, he’s there six days a week, rain or shine, headphones on, jaw locked, visibly confronting something invisible.
He tracks his REM cycles, avoids blue light, and winds down with magnesium tea and war podcasts — but no longer remembers what dreams feel like.
What began as a commentary show has become an oral complaint log about accountability, dating apps, and modern consequences.