how to make lunch

it’s 4 am.

why is it 4 am?

nobody shall know. we answer to no man.

even yourself?

especially yourself.

(as you can see, man is gender neutral but used here instead of person because the word “person” reminds me of those bathroom signs with the little blob figure and the world “man” reminds me of mulan and, visually, mulan is cooler than a bathroom sign.)

what have you done in the hours that have spanned between this one and the one in which you were doomed to wake up, find some old oatmeal, hope it was decent enough, and eat it?

let’s see, now shall we

you have:

  • sat, for many hours
  • washed a towel, rather unusually, since towels aren’t things you associate with needing to be washed
  • texted a good friend about hamilton (hamilton, just you waaaait)
  • spammed your sister (she is at work, and you are a whole lot of it)
  • tested a couple of photos on the strange internet sharing site (my goodness, which one)
  • cursed the strange internet sharing site for ruining the nonexistent quality of the photos
  • took more photos
  • sat
  • hopped from internet place to internet place
  • and sat
  • much sitting
  • some ukulele

and now, through no arbitrary methods such as a schedule or a time, you decide the feeling in your gut is for food, not to actually do anything. lovely.

the fridge holds some leftover rice and meat-thing. it’s stale. the dog whimpers as you ceremonially chuck it out the window.

some strange demongorgom thing or whatever they call the monsters that lurk in the night will probably come and get it, and then mistake it for a peace offering, and then gag at how horrible it is, and then come for your head and take you to a secret lair and force you to eat pineapple pizza til the end of time, but for now, there’s nobody except yourself, and you’re still hungry.

ants crawl at your feet and you stamp to clear them away, these are your house chinelas, be respectful ants.

you open the fridge again and wince as the putrid smell of plastic invades your senses. it’s… it could be nicer. but it isn’t. shame. your eyes catch a square little package, and hope gleams. or is that evil? either way, the jig is up.

next, you smuggle the crunchy plastic wrapper in the folds of your oversized shirt and make sure to close the door before the cat attempts yet again to yap in. wouldn’t do at all, that cat, bad thing. she will enact revenge later, but for now, the cat yowls as you arrive back at your original location and attempt to create something edible.

there’s a tiny bowl on the countertop. you grab it, check if it’s cracked, then slam it back down as you rip out the carefully snitched sustenance wrapper and place a block of pale, dry hard wavy noodles in the bowl.

it doesn’t fit.

a travesty.

after chipping away at the corners, it looks like it can hold water. of course, there’s only one way to test that. you head to the sink and behold, it has not exploded. (yet.)

that taken care of, you put the strange dehydrated carbohydrate with flavoring concoction into the tiny oven of potential zapping death and await the results.


you arm yourself with oven mitts cloth hand protectors and inch toward the smoke and imagined horror.

the moment of truth.

you inhale, yank the door out, and await your death. and behold.

20 peso instant beef nami ramen.

you brave soul.

~you make no sense/thank you, jo~

unsent voice mail

if i wanted to hear that you were fine, i would’ve unblocked you.

if i wanted someone to control my life again, i’d come back to town.

if i wanted things to be the way they were, i’d let my old demons take control.

if i wanted to be hurt again, i would take your hand.

if i wanted to hurt you, i would drown you in words.

if i wanted revenge i would’ve sought it out the day it all went up in flames.

if i wanted peace i would’ve deleted all your contact info.

if i wanted my life back i would’ve left things the way they ended.

if i wanted you to care about me, i wouldn’t do anything because that was never in the equation.

i don’t know what i want.

i don’t know who you are.

but i know i don’t want you.


sitting crosslegged on holy ground

if you ask God “ ‘sup” is it a case of situational irony or modern irreverence or both or neither?

i think about this sprawled on a kitchen chair at four am. a candy clock pendant is waiting to be demolished on the kitchen table. a bunch of flights got cancelled. a kid left this earth on sunday. depression rests on more than one lonely soul. last night’s dinner was pizza with salad. life is messy like that.

i’ve stared at these walls for 306 days with almost precisely the same kind of absurd thoughts bouncing about in my head and honestly, i’m surprised i’ve made it this far.

when does it end?

when does life stop being suspended from midair?

am i gonna start freefalling anytime soon?

need some confirmations out here, God, anything at all would be great. maybe one miracle.

as a treat.

*stares a little too hard at the sky for five minutes*

aw come on, man, we really need someone to pull through right now.

i suppose i shouldn’t refer to the maker of the universe as a man, but my mind is too distraught to use the correct terms and i will hate myself for the hypocritical behavior later, another time, when everything has calmed down, in happier days.

will there be happier days? when? any answers?

anyone out there?


i guess it can’t be too bad to ask ‘sup as long as you have the right intent. as long as it’s meant respectfully. maybe? is it crazy that we make discrepancies on how to address an all powerful, all knowing, all present being and we barely check in that we can… just do that? no go between, no fill out form, no nothing?


‘sup, how’s it hanging? also please make this work because a lot of people are gonna be hurt if it doesn’t happen and bless my aunt’s cat who’s sick with a cold and also this mental stress really do be hitting hard tho send help


that counts as a prayer?

what even.

to be heard regardless of what we come with and how we come.

whaaat even.

that probably doesn’t excuse how i barge into God’s office and slam my problems on his desk like it is the end of the world (i mean you never know am i right) and go “ay, you mean what you said, right?”




“bro i got nobody else out here. literally, nobody else. what do i have to do?”

the crickets are chirping.

and then the painfully true realization bonks me on the head:

who the heck am i to bargain with God?

God, who does what he pleases. God, who literally let his son die instead of a world of tiny selfish humans. God, the creator of the cosmos. God, whose sole concept alone has been the object of so many different religions in the world since humans gained sentience?

bonk, tiny human. you’ve got nothing to even deserve this audience. and yet it is given.

i have not come to bargain. i’ve come to ask. beg. plead. for the universe. for the world. for the country. for the district. for the block.

for myself.

hypothetically speaking, perhaps God’s office has carpet, but hardwood works for collapsing on too.

i wonder what he sees from his seat in this heavenly place. a rough small kid with choppy hair and stolen clothes sitting on the floor waiting for an answer with more stunned silence respect than they previously displayed coming in. is he ashamed? is this old hat? does it maybe bemuse him to watch one of his own re-realize the undeniable truth that they seem to forget all the time?

does he still care?

but he finally answers.



that’s it?


that’s it.

i lean against the walls of a God’s office that is really just a kitchen in the middle of nowhere because he’s everywhere and chew on a crumbly candy pendant.

‘s cool.

‘sup God.

and thanks.

~that’s a made up word/all words are made up, jo~

musicals as aesthetically described points of my life

because why not

sound of music

tape rewinders, dust settling on scruffy green carpet, playing with the colored cables connecting the tape player to the tv, scratchy couches, pillows with dents from leaning against them too long, sleeping bags spread out on the floor, running, singalongs in the car, going north, hour long road trips, heat touching metal, almost expired snacks, dead clocks pointing at 12.


billboards along the highway, giant cursive, displays lit up by city lights, previews during dinner time, kitchen chairs, scraping wooden floors, mangled earphones, old tablets on frozen laps, soft blizzard, power outs, darkness, studio headphones, piano keys, lamps a second after they’ve been turned off.

come from away

red lines streaming across youtube videos, laptops left on auto play, costco parking lots, thins brushing against old metal, sharp winds, winter coats, falling asleep in the winter sun, hiding music players in pockets and bags, recreation centers, worn tires, cold fake leather boots, miles of endlessly stretching roads.

his story the musical

five hour skype calls, headphones, screens glitching, synth machines at the music store, back alleys, overcast skies, left side bus seat, scenery blurring past the window, rosaries, thrown away bulletins, sitting on the hallway floor, spring, out of tune guitars, microphone stands, coat racks.


sneakers on tiptoe, jumping, paper, locked bedroom doors, hitting repeat for the hundredth time, giant glass windows, ballet studios, harmonies, half finished crackers, tired arm rests, battery at one percent, crowded parties, balcony railings, pigeons flying around in flocks, hair ties on wrist.


messy spotify playlists, hunching over on folding chairs, ink pens, crumpled up paper balls, furiously typing, crossed-legged sitting in the street, summer heat rising on old apartments, terrifying search histories, tabs reloading, scribbled over notebooks, running out of breath, velvet seats, craning upwards, hours spent disappearing.

dear evan hansen

ice rinks, jogging through the park, giant hill by the highway, growing leaves, quiet morning at the library computers, stairs, empty schools, neighborhood basketball hoops. giant tree roots, running through the woods, sunlight filtering through the leaves, tinted glass, recovery rooms.

in the heights

neighborhood plaza, backroads, driving past the racing track, volume button clicking upwards, eyes closing in the heat, tank tops, old houses, rain on cement, almost closed dollar stores, sitting directly next to the air conditioning, hugging giant blocks of ice, tossing yogurt cups in the freezer, isolation rooms, hospital hallways, bright lights, mental wards.

~while i’ve been preparing for the apocalypse, i’ve also been… writing my own musical *dramatic leg sweep*, jo~

death and other mundane mentions

i could be writing this from the janky 2007 windows vista black toshiba laptop that dominates the kitchen island and most of my life these past few months, but the nurse at urgent care dismissed me on the grounds that i wouldn’t do anything strenuous, so here i am at a horrible hour of the day on my tiny secondhand nearly deceased phone to announce that unfortunately, i am not, in fact, dead.

this is unfortunate for the obvious reason that i would’ve greatly enjoyed one big pity party for myself that people had to go to because, you know, i’d be dead. it’s much easier to convince people to do things for your memory than while you’re right in front of them. alas.

if this post seems strange, i’m writing it on a few days worth of pain meds and sleep and podcasts and quibi shows, all firmly ingested with the belief that i wouldn’t have to use my mind for the rest of however long this already freakishly long year may be, so please be patient as i grapple with the reality of being painfully self aware. a horrible thing to grapple with if you ask me. eating pineapple pizza would be easier and i do not say that lightly.

yeah man, i’m tired.

i was looking through my posts from this month last year in a fit of nostalgia and jealously, because who was that kid who somehow managed to escape and live two months of a normal predominantly happy life and what was this horrible writing they left behind in their wake to pursue happiness? horrible, disgraceful, immature at best. happy. they were happy. that’s partially what makes me tired.

i mean, i’m still happy, just. significantly less so now in the year-that-shall-not-be-mentioned because it has dealt more damage than a literal hurricane and in a few months, i will have survived both to be able to tell the tale, and the idea of surviving sounds great, right, but, it kinda just makes me despondent.

i’m tired of surviving. i can do it. i know i can. i just wish i didn’t have to, you know?

anyway, that’s a bit self-centered to say. my apologies. i was trying to make it have a point and it turned out as beautifully flat as everything i’ve ever tried to make.

but see, i’ve been thinking about the lone survivor mentality thing and it kinda doesn’t add up, and that’s why i say my point is flat. because my whole life, i’ve depended on other people to survive. a lot of them hurt me. a lot of them i hurt. a few didn’t need to lift a hand in my favor, but they seemed to push against heaven and earth to try. a bunch barely did the minimum effort possible. a couple still insist on keeping an eye or two on the state of my lethargic existence without even the thanks that i do remember to give. i don’t understand it, but i do appreciate it.

there’s a post somewhere on the scary place called the internet that says all creatures learn their most important skill in the first two hours of being alive. for most, it’s how to stand up and walk. for some, it’s how to eat. and for the human being, it’s how to call for help.

i was thinking, if that’s true, then we’re the only creatures that try to suppress our most important skill because of feelings of inferiority we impose on ourselves, and i think that’s terribly sad. even sadder than being self aware. the world is too unkind for the people in it to follow suit.

i wonder what that world would look like. in which we felt free to call for help. maybe i wouldn’t think of my funeral as the only way to ask for people to be kind to me. maybe i’d even actually know people. imagine that.

it’s kinda nice to imagine, if you don’t think about the implications.

you know what would be even nicer? not having to think at all.

that’s probably the pain meds talking.


i’ll give this strange blogging thing a stab another day. just wanted to pretend that i had any relevance for a couple minutes. gotta get it from somewhere, right?

but here, i’ll leave with a request (or three) to start a conversation. for the funnies. leave a reply if you think any of them are worth anything, and maybe come back and comment on another person’s thoughts while you’re at it too, yeah? yeah.


~it ain’t right and it ain’t natural, jo~

mudbloods, but make it worse

flag of Philippines
do i have my own photos? yes
am i still using these unsplash stills? yes
do i have issues? oh yeah

there’s a caste system in everything. the philippines is only one of many countries that employ one.

it starts with what we associate with success and fame and the “It” goal: being white. sometimes this can be replaced with being american on a good day, sometimes it’s just anyone with unbelievably fairer skin. either way, this ingrained goal, despite not actually being stated, is why the skin whitening industry is so successful and why most representation of filipinos is unbelievably lightskinned. or, in nicer terms, “fair.”

then it breaks down into being mestizo, which is a fancy colonizer way to say having mixed blood. if your genes are good and you’re “fair” then you have a pretty secure grip on the societal ladder. if you don’t, at least you have a “fair” parent. having mixed families is, for some reason, romanticised and fetishized, which isn’t cool, but somehow nobody talks about that? anyway.

the more melanin you have, the less you’re seen as equal to the “It” goal, or seen as equal, or even seen in general, and it’s this weird horrible phenomenon of internalizing colonial thinking that’s led filipinos to either:

favoring the system


favoring the exact opposite, which spurns anyone who isn’t pure filipino.

enter the anomaly that is having both biological parents mixed themselves, growing up in a different country, absorbing three cultures without really knowing where they come from, and finally, going back to the place it all started, and being unnaturally, atypically, ungodly, different.

enter me.

i don’t say all of this to the old guy sitting on the plastic chair by the street though. his confused reaction at my sudden spout of words would just confirm my point, and despite knowing it solidly for about all my life i’m not ready to hear it from another person. so i don’t say any of that when he says

“are you chinese?”

do i LooK like i want to scream, but i realize that i probably do.

“ah, my dad’s filipino, my mom’s chinese,” i answer.

i’m lying. my biological parents have so many different elements in both their dna, chinese included, that just transferred onto me. genetics people, genetics.

but i can’t bring out a punnet square and clarify to this interesting wrinkled person who eagerly waved at my camera just a few minutes ago, not to someone that probably doesn’t even know what genes are, not to someone who doesn’t know, period. easier for him and me.

that last bit’s a lie too. this sucks.

it’s a cruel world, one in which my skin isn’t dark enough to be oppressed and not light enough to be fetishized, in which i’ll still be asked if i have an accent or where i come from or applauded for having perfect english, in which i am a surprise because i’m not like “the others” but that just makes me an other. is that really much of an improvement?

being a token diverse person in the eyes of those who haven’t yet come face to face with the reality that a person can be so complex in every single sense of the word isn’t the worst thing ever, but it… isn’t fun. and it makes connecting with what little of this culture and of being a person of color i can call “mine”, because none of it seems to be, really.

like i can’t infringe on the specific opportunities for one people group despite not having those for mine either, or go to community centers created for priority neighborhood kids despite growing up one.

i don’t have any happy conclusion, but i imagine hermoine and all those other kids must’ve felt the same struggles in their weird fantasy world, somehow, in some strange way, must’ve related to not belonging. i don’t know much about fantasy worlds, so don’t kill me.

all i do know is we all have a bit of that magic in all of us, especially in the mixed and the barely there and the very much there that it makes no sense to divide ourselves by arbitrary lines that get blurred every single time.

and i wish i could answer this guy when he asks

“where do you come from”

and i wish i didn’t have to answer this question again.

~hey guys it’s me, the biggest disappointment you know, jo~

hallway light

it is four am.

yoooo sup, welcome to another night of this amazing thing called insomnia.

all things considered the vibes are almost immaculate. just forget the microwave that was supposed to be cleaned

and this paper due in three days

and a myriad of problems that have all been shoved to the side and run away from for as long as possible

and the lack of air conditioning

and it’s a pretty dang great scene


fans running at full speed tempting the fates to shut the power down


a microwave brownie mug cake whipped up and resting on the desk with steam coming from the cracks in the aesthetically pleasing top


the sleep podcast that streams through my ears and promises to be my buddy while i drift off

which i appreciate

like the world promises to be at peace at this time

and of course the world always lies, but you know what i mean?

“therapy,” someone cries. “jo you need therapy” to which i reply

in THIS economy?

money is such a sad thought that my foggy brain can’t think about it without deciding to cut off that necessary evil known as serotonin, and look at that, now we’re viben’t

but see like

the thing about insomnia is it’s so invitingly stupid

perhaps there’s a better way to phrase this

but the One time that i voluntarily attempt to be a body at rest is the One time where everything screams Life! Liberty! The Pursuit Of Being Contrary! Song Lyrics! Wake Up!

it’s painful, it’s beautiful, it’s four twenty in the am

how ironic, to watch time slip past as rest taunts you from afar

awwwww can’t sleep can’t sleep look who can’t sleep look who sits side by side with their demons look who makes mug cakes for the monsters under the bed

shut up

it’s true it’s true true true true

listen buddy i don’t need advice from my doubts right now end of conversation

and then my mind laughs because in shutting it down i have quoted a lyric from nf and now i’ll have something new to ponder over for an hour


i don’t know

i want to feel alive, i want to feel something new, something different

to run away

to leave it all again


you could say what my mind is crying for, thinking about, searching so desperately, never finding is not, in fact, pulling a santa fe, but actually being a decently functional human and going the fudge to sleep

i want fudge

and your point is proven already

at this time in life sometimes i’m glad i’m alone, because imagine having to deal with a waking monster child that wanders the house asking what the meaning of life is and hadn’t we put the world on timeout

i mean, i have to deal with myself and that is a terrifying statement

the podcast gently occupying my ears makes no sense and i relate to that on a personal level

and here i feel the need to spin this into some inspirational little piece of words, but the plain and simple truth is i do not want to

i wish for peace upon the world, but i can’t bring it

i hope everyone can find rest but i don’t know where it is

and i think sleep is lovely and if you find some tell me how

i’ll be waiting in my stuffy room and the hallway light is on

many thoughts head full

isn’t that a funny thing

when the dreamer is wide awake



go to sleep

you’re no use to anyone dead

like you’re useful alive?


well that’s something we find out tomorrow, isn’t it

now, goodnight.

but is it—


please pick me up from this party there are people doing drugs and i am scared

timelapse photography

uhhhhh my to do list says “do some personal writing” so what the heck, i’m here, doing some personal writing, because that’s a good idea

i’m tired.

i just

i don’t even know any more.

the world is tiring. and people are never completely trustworthy. and my own self is a chaotic wreck waiting to explode. there are no safe spaces, not anymore. they’re all teargassed out waiting for the bombs to set

which is, y’know, kinda sucky, because it’s 2020 and it’s our year! and it’s a new decade and it’s supposed to be fun and exciting and we were supposed to have flying cars. flying cars. how hard was that? flying cars. not police cars ramming into people causing them to fly, not cars wrecked by angry mobsters who can’t separate revenge from justice, flying cars. i wanna fly. doesn’t anyone else? why can’t that be the future we got?

and i hate being that person who’s so doomsday, shoving the nasty stuff onto print and forcing people to wake up to the world they have to live in, but then it’s like, why even try otherwise? how can we pretend that the world is okay when it’s mostly on fire? what else is there to do but show the horrors of staying alive?

the last bit is from one of my favorite shows. our hero’s getting tortured, as most heroes tend to be. and he doesn’t give up, he just grits it in and holds it in and is a hero and then he thinks about the love of his life and he starts crying because i suppose it isn’t worth having life without love but when you have neither what a place to be in, and does this even make sense?

but i’m not a hero. and i’m tired of holding it in. i just want to let it out and release those inhibitions but i can’t because i’m borrowing someone’s old junky laptop and i’ve spent an hour looking at laptops and microphones and tablets because creation, baby, creation, but if that creation gets ignored or ruined anyway then i’ve wasted my life and more importantly, my money, and how can i create in the midst of this war, of this fight, of this madness unceasing? andrew peterson might, but he probably has a house and a supportive family, and all i’ve got is myself and a God that’s probably sighing repeatedly as i write this, and ain’t that punk?

i wrote a song that i was gonna sing for the protest, for the fight, and i wrote it with tears streaming down in anger, vaguely hoping it would be the fight anthem of everyone marching, somehow wishing i could belt in in the faces of all the bad guys. but i didn’t because there’s not much that separates the bad from the good to begin with and i wasn’t interested in dealing with the morality of this since legality threw itself out ages ago. so i didn’t sing it. but i suppose a small part of it can be here, just as evidence of its existence–

God where are you going
your people are falling apart
they sing out your praises
then kill all the people you made

it was supposed to end at the cross
when will it ever stop
we’re being sent to the pearly gates
from the ashes of fires and carnage

and so on and so forth and it had a beat and a brief moment but the problem with moments is they have to be witnessed by people and the problem with people is every. single. thing. about them

everyone’s messed up. everyone says one thing and does another. everyone tries but they fail, and sometimes they don’t even try, and all of the time, it hurts, and it’s like, why am i even here again? why should i have to exist in the same place where my rawness will be both worshipped and mocked? why am i here? why are you here? why is total good and total evil both impossible? and it’s this frustration of people that adds to frustration of myself and i wanna run up the stairs and lock the door to my room and never come out because nobody needs another person in another war

but then maybe they do

oh brother. maybe they do?

why is life so uncertain

why did i talk so much why can nobody listen what’s wrong with me

why do i assume that i can barge into the heavens courtroom and just flat out demand an answer of the maker of creation? and know that even with my angry words i will be heard? what right is that?

does any of that make sense?

oh– oh nevermind you’re drunk, i mean, duh, of course you are, it’s a party, everyone’s having a time– oh, well, i won’t bother you— no thanks i tried that stuff, ten ten don’t recommend–

and i’ll just hit the road because i don’t have anyone to pick me up and take me home

okay bye

~are you frightened, jo~

how to mostly stay sane during isolation, a 6 step tutorial

I have so many questions. About the universe. About how life was created. But I’m never going to have answers.
cred to pinterest and then tumblr i don’t come up with this stuff

Isolation is hard.

Like find-the-too-small-shirt-your-cousin’s-grandma-gave-you-and-cut-it-into-a-tank-top hard.

Like walk-around-the-house-getting-tiktok-songs-stuck-in-your-head hard.

Like checking-the-fridge-aimlessly-hoping-for-food-to-magically-appear hard.

Like coming-up-with-all-these-things-that-are-hard hard. 

And while most of us aren’t totally bereft of human interaction thanks to other family members or roommates or the occasional pet dragon, the overwhelming feeling of slowly losing your mind hangs upon everyone, if it hasn’t already. To put it simply, the human was not created to be solely individual for more than a week. Left longer, they will begin to start talking to the wall, flocking to social media, cutting their hair, and eventually crying in a corner over fluffy puppies jumping over stacks— some clear evidence of mind loss.

Now that’s quite a serious thing, and to help ease the stress of this abnormal new normal, I’ve compiled a tutorial to walk one through this difficult time (or at least spend an interesting five more minutes on their phone.) Feel free to try and let me know how it works for you!

  1.  Breathe.
Breathe In Help GIF - Find & Share on GIPHY

This is rather important. Breathing is the first step to being able to stay alive, which is the intended course for everyone at the moment. I’d recommend inhaling and exhaling, through the nose, in the fresh air and sky, every second, for most of the day and a good part of the night as well.

  1.  Drink water.
Drink Water GIFs - Get the best GIF on GIPHY

Ahhh water. Not only does it taste very watery and satisfy thirst, it is also something vital to staying alive, yet is sadly easily forgotten amid all the very intense couch-sitting. To drink water, find a glass, a pitcher of water, lift full glass (of water) to mouth, open mouth, and tilt. Repeat eight times a day for maximum effect.

  1.  Wash hands. 
Wash Hands Nicksplat GIF by Hey Arnold - Find & Share on GIPHY

Seeing as the biggest issue is catching germs and viruses, one extremely helpful thing is to wash and moisturize your hands, in that order. Washing hands involves, as aforementioned, water, soap, some unwashed hands, and a nifty song that requires you to continue this process for about 20 seconds. Don’t forget to dry!

  1.  Self-reflect.
Run Into Wall GIFs - Get the best GIF on GIPHY

Also known as staring at the wall for no reason whatsoever for an extended period of time, self-reflecting is a useful thing to do in times like these, when so much of the self’s external circumstances have changed. To self- reflect, find a (blank, colorless, like your soul) wall, arrange yourself into a chair or a very unusually comfortable position on the floor, direct your eyes to an imaginary dot on the empty canvas before you, and ask yourself this very important question: “Do pineapples truly belong on pizza?”

  1.  Sign up for something new.
Im New Here GIFs - Get the best GIF on GIPHY

This step wholeheartedly approves of following new recipes on Youtube such as quarantine coffee and 2 ingredient cakes for the very positive results and aesthetic instagram posts and absolutely protests against cutting/dying your own hair (or, in unusual cases, your dog’s) for the same reason. Instead and in addition to, we advocate for things such as knitting classes and workout livestreams, best done by sitting on the couch and not actually following along. 

  1.  Resign yourself to the lack of society and get a pet rock.
Star Wars The Garbage Will Do GIF - StarWars TheGarbageWillDo ...

As much as everyone hopes to get things rolling in the next month or so, the truth of the matter is we may never need to dress up for anything important for quite some time, which is a fact we should be capitalizing on and break out those Halloween costumes from last year (when people actually went outside specifically to seek out other people). To boost morale, get any random fairly comfortably sized rock and showcase it in a videocall, which is also a wonderful way of connecting with other humans, even if all you do is stare into their soul as you discuss your rock’s pronouns. In your Batman costume, no less.

I hope these steps have laid out the road to keeping your mind intact and your humor in good taste as you continue this week in quarantine, but most importantly, that enough people convince themselves that pineapple on pizza is a horror and must be removed at once. 

i wrote this for school and thought it was funny don’t come after me

blocked (but what’s it to you)


you know me.

or you used to.

i’m your ex.

ex friend.

this is slightly above ex-romantical interest in terms of exes. not like i’d know. you might, but why would you care?

i don’t know what prompted this. i’m taking creative writing, i’m traveling the world, i’m landing a job, i have family and friends, i’m mostly stable, there should be absolutely no rabbit trails in my life that could possibly downspiral to you.

and yet here we are, one search on instagram later.

and you have no clue.

the irony. this would make such a good comic routine, because the funniest things are the ones that stab you in the gut and leave you to bleed out all sorts of ugly emotions.

and you have no emotional attachment when it comes to me so none of this makes sense to you. you never daydreamed about living next door to me and hanging out as friends, because you already had friends to hang out next door with. you never imagined intellectual conversations with the kid you went to sunday school with because only nerds cared about things like feminism and black widow. i meant nothing to you.

and why should i have? i don’t even know what i meant to me now. i didn’t know who i was or what i wanted to be. i was innocent, naive, annoying. my identity was in following the rules and being an outstanding model person, and we all know how well that went down. i can understand why you’d talk with other people or scroll on your phone. a flat screen meant more than an actual person. 

i say that without a hint of bitterness, because that’s what happened and you know it.


but good skies, i’d…


 was wrong with me to mean absolutely nothing to you?

what did i do wrong? who should i have been? what part of myself did i have to destroy before you deemed me cool enough to hang out with?

i would’ve done it. i might’ve actually done it. but you left before i could’ve bled for you. 

i think that was for the best. 

it’s insane how i thought i could spend my entire life in your narrative, when you knew nothing of mine.

i can imagine i was quite the boring plain good kid. i can imagine you looked past the hoodies and long sleeves, the hidden sticks sharpened like knives, the fear, the anxiety, the depression, the shut in soul that didn’t know how bad things were. 

you looked through all of that and found nothing to relate to.

and now you don’t even remember me.

cool cool cool. noice.

and i laugh to myself because i have seen and done and thought things you couldn’t even dream about. 

your nightmares were my blissful reality. you danced for your fans and i danced with death. you shone in the spotlight of your nice suburban life and i learned what alleyways were safe to hang out with and which ones basically guaranteed hell. your fantasies were of being royalty and having every luxury and i dreamed of having friends to laugh with and people whose souls i could love because they were real. our lives could not possibly be more different. 

but for like a brief moment in history, they intertwined. that’s the part that trips me over.

because all of that shared history 

the times in the park

in your room talking

baseball games in the summer


hanging out in the old rec center 

wishes on a starry sky 

birthday cakes

slippery slidey floors

unfinished basements 

watching the disney channel for hours on end

kitchen table snacks

old balconies 

holding hands in the car 

being on the same team at summer camp 






and i find that wild, because i can’t imagine treating something so sacred as childhood so callously.

but here we are




is it funny how i became the person everyone was terrified of? the sad suicidal goth who thought too much? the kid who broke through the glass wall of expectations and started to accept who they were?sometimes i think for sure you’d have no choice but to be impressed with me.

but just as soon i remember that you. don’t. matter. 🙂

you don’t 

news flash, none of us do

may you get over it in the least damaging to your ego way possible

but since i’m talking to you, i figure i may as well update you on the person you left without a second thought. not like you’re gonna read this or anything.

i’m.. happy. 

i have a family that wants and cares about me. i have friends who will literally stay up past three am to talk to me about taking over the world. i have an insane creative mind that isn’t hindered by the loneliness i tried to suffocate by attaching myself to people who’d push me away. 

i’m getting help, i’ve learned to laugh. i have so many passions that will last long after the trends change. i’ve fallen in love and i’ve learned to love and sometimes i wish you could’ve experienced that too.

because maybe then you’d actually have a heart. 

but since that’s never happening, i’m taking my heart back. and i will honor your memory by doing everything you failed to do.

block this person? 

they can’t see your pictures and videos. 

they can’t see you.

well, it’s hard to block my old life, but sure.

i’m not going back any time soon.

~how did i lose a friend i never had, jo~