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