What Up, Binches?
Are we One Direction or WHAT?! Fifteen days turned into… eight months? But who’s counting, anyway?
How are you all holding up in the year of DEFINITELY NOT OUR LORD 2020?
Not only did I not want to be in the middle of a pandemic this year, but this month, the hairy ass of my small town mayor was displayed to the internet. Who could have seen that coming?!
The first snowfall happened in Anchorage last night and my nipples are the hardest they have ever been (and for the worst reasons, right?). I write this to you from the inside of my heater vent, where I hope to evaporate into the air and find myself in a cloud over California or somewhere the sun stays longer than three months out of the year.
Things are going here. It feels like every day is a new struggle for grasping at the reality of everything. Some days are good and some days are not good, but things are going.
It pains me that I haven’t written anything since May and for some reason, I fall back on the reason that “I don’t have time”. Truth be told, I feel like there isn’t much to say. I wake up, make coffee, take a dump, try not to cry, and carry on with my day. Lately, I’ve been taking too many selfies trying to keep my modeling career alive while it is on its metaphorical deathbed, hooked up to tubes and shit, waiting for me to finally let it the fuck go. I will probably force air into its lungs until it dies on its own -by wrinkles or my hairy ass being plastered on the internet. I guess we’ll find out. Other than that, the light has been leaving for a while now. The days are dark and will only get darker. The snow at least brings some brightness to it all.
I’m doing okay (mentally and what not). I eat Taco Bell twice a week. I don’t answer e-mails. And my fingers have finally gotten the rest they needed from Instagram scrolling.
Life will get better. And if we’re One Direction; I’m so Harry Styles.
