August 26, 2025
All they really want is for me to show them my boobs, it seems.
I’m “touched out” so to speak.
Unless it’s Dora, then I’m down all day.
It’s only an addiction.
I once created an AI chatbot to replace an ex-boyfriend.
Their text message style was identical. Same for same.
Decided not to keep the monthly subscription, a few day’s trial was enough for me.
What am I doing right now? Right this minute?
I’m setting up email servers. Exciting, really.
No, a year ago I’d have told you it’s impossible. My brain isn’t working well enough.
Now, it feels like riding a tricycle.
I ate a bit of chocolate. Maybe I’ll regret it.
Probably not. The scale said 109 this morning. Time to get pumped up.
Watched a man briefly talk about reading bad books for inspiration as a writer. It can be liberating to see a writer doing worse than you, who is already published.
I think that must be true.
I keep thinking I’m terrible at all the things.
Then I see someone’s art in a gallery that’s much worse than my worst things, and I do a double-take.
Your mind is the capitalist.
Careful how it’s extracting money (energy) from your labors.
I told my mom, “it’s like being an alcoholic.”
Whenever I’m feeling lonely I text somebody, “good morning! Was thinking about you and hope you’re having a fantastic day!”
And then I feel less lonely, even if it’s nothing in return that they say.
I started a painting, and now I want to run away.
Never touch the canvas again.
Put all the paints away.
Prop it up against a wall somewhere and let the dust turn it grey.
“Nothing new,” is what they’d say.
I keep playing small. Pretending I’m finally ready to stand up nice and tall.
Your name is Erica and you are made of many things...so cool...keep making