In 1938, homeless people were criminalized by the Third Reich and labelled “antisocial parasites of society.” They were arrested and held in concentration camps during a “cleansing operation.”

So, what's the Turd Reich gonna do?

Your job should let you go home if you didn't sleep well last night and can prove it with your Garmin/Apple watch/Fitbit data, or just look really sleepy.

My dentist said I'm going to have these teeth for the rest of my life in sort of a congratulatory way, so I'll be riding that high all weekend.

Today I donated a bag of size 0-3 low-rise jeans I've owned since like 2003. If you're wondering if there's a limit to my delusion, I guess the answer is yes. 🤷🏻‍♀️

There's heartbreak, and then there's burning your tongue on some really mediocre food.

The year is 2028: clapping when the plane lands is totally normal. Your son has polio and never learned to read. Funds are tight, so you bought an AI generated foraging book off Amazon to help with the grocery bill. Florida has fallen into the ocean.
Life is good.

I keep thinking about working 23hrs straight as a poll worker, and just sobbing on the drive home with built up frustration and exhaustion. That day fundamentally changed me as a person and how I think about the world.

Way too often, I'll start one of my book club reads and slowly but surely, it's revealed that the oldest character in the book is maybe 20 years old.

My remote job offers unlimited sick days. Real hashtag blessed. However, my boss, who has been with the company for nearly 25 years, told me she's only taken "2-3" in that time.

So I feel like I have no sick days.

If I can't be hot and unsettling, that's fine. I'll thrive as simply unsettling.

Yesterday, I completed the #21DayTone challenge by #Blogilates. Week 1 vs Week 3, I was definitely stronger and more stable in the routine, which is encouraging, buuuut between starting the pill and eating like a frat boy all weekend, taking "after" pictures felt like a self roast. Let's try again.

First they came for the immigrants, and I spoke out, because I’ve read the damn poem before and I know how it ends.

One knows nothing.
One knows everything.