Literally in my backyard (and I think I possibly have a grass allergy that was undiscovered until now because where I grew up there just wasn’t a lot of grass) but also metaphorically.
I moved to a cozy home in a beautiful walkable neighborhood and I’ve been enjoying strolling around and meeting so many neighborhood woodland critters—I just learned where Mr. Groundhog lives (at the base of a big tree in the woods behind my house)! On Saturday I found a dead squirrel in my backyard that seemed to have been killed by a bird of prey :( he was also my friend he was uniquely chunky and I loved watching him scurry around. My favorite mother deer has been hopping the fence and jumping into my yard to take naps and munch at the grass, vines, and hostas and I’m honored to have her as an esteemed guest.
I’m meticulously and slowly planning what color and fabric of curtains I want to buy for every room which is such a process. I’ve never had so many windows before and curtains are one of my absolute favorite interior design elements so I’m overwhelmed but overjoyed. it’s also VERY nice to finally have my own dedicated office space to work in again. Having a basement is WEIRD but not as creepy as I expected.
I’ve been regularly frequenting my neighborhood artisan bakery and tiny old indie movie theater and buying peaches by the crateful at the farmer’s market. I’m trying to cut back on sugar and have once again grown bored with alcohol so I’m rawdogging life despite recent legalization in my state because SWIM is now prone to extreme greenout panic attacks 💔 I’m doing a lot of somatic yoga which I greatly enjoy… and I take SO many hot baths.
I’ve also been doing some controversial new tactics with my hair which I’ll post about soon and I’m due for another salon appointment… or overdue you could say but I always like to wait to see how the tones fade and blend with my roots almost more than I like the fresh color… the chiaroscuro of it all! my fiery red hair has faded to a caramel tortoiseshell and I’m kind of obsessed so I want to play off of that next time and get a Jane Birkin inspired cut. I’m ready for bangs again!!!
I switched Benny and Bunny from their previous frozen raw foods to Steve’s Real Food—I love the ingredients they use and their complete transparency about the farms they source them from! Benny and Bunny’s coats look so much healthier + I think they like eating it more 🤔 my relationship with Benny has dramatically improved and I don’t know if it’s that he just loves living in a more spacious house with a backyard or if it’s because he’s grown up, but likely a combination of both.
I’ve recorded two episodes of my new podcast Gilded with nunjournal my dear friend of 15+ years and once our third episode is complete we’re going to release them all at once then transition to a biweekly schedule!
And last week I was unanimously elected to serve as the vice chair of an internal consultancy group I’m in at work which is the pet project of executive leadership for strategic future growth of the company so that’s kind of a slay… I’m leading my first subcommittee meeting on Wednesday I’m nervous but tickled pink. that’s about it thanks for reading this characteristically overly long post! :~)
Aug 12, 2024
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Read a ten minute prose I wrote at an open mic of my own curation, and that I hosted through my org (black girl fight club) on Wednesday night, in Chinatown… to like 50-60ish people.
It was in amidst a quite wonderful art exhibit I co-curated with a friend (if I do say so myself).
It was awesome.
probably got 15 rounds of laughter during my piece. & a lot of praise. surreal. partly because it’s always surreal to produce an event, partly because when you read fast and real and long you black out, and during public speaking; especially off of an all nighter and a tad of hypomania. It’s the second time I’ve read at an open mic. again for lack of a better word: awesome.
Then thursday night, last night– I did another reading. Bikini themed- on a roof in bedstuy (with notably no black people this time. Which for some reason I noted in my preamble). I knew no one there. except my best friend, who came with me. Another long ass prose. Cause that’s who I am. I went last. People laughed a lot and then listened to the serious parts then laughed again. One of favorite compliments is being told I’m funny. I used to never be able to really receive a compliment, I’d put a very fake voice on and give a very fake thank you. This year I’m truly proud of myself for the first time ever. It feels good to digest things you deserve genuinely; my mom doesn’t do it; I grew up not doing it; why not? I should. I’m growing up perhaps.
Several people came up to me after and gave me kind genuine ass comments and praise. I chatted a lot with very nice individuals. they asked where they could read my writing they got my number and asked to send or followed me to see when is release, I don’t have anything released. And I felt on top of the world on that rooftop, and very real. Not hypomanic any longer, at least for all of yesterday.
This summer has been consistently abundant and divine. I’ve felt abundantly full and swallowing gratitude. not for just what’s coming next or graduating or my accomplishments but for the love of my friends and traveling and the love of loves sake and sweet treats and the sun. I like to laugh loud.
I want to go all the way with this writing stuff nowadays. Well I’m a renaissance woman and want to be a giant rose garden that is every color and grows everywear and then an 100 year old pine tree. And then a single rose that wilts on a first love’s or final love’s dresser and never forgotten.
And be funny and real raw and relatable. A storyteller and all the things. And real artists writers and real listeners and peers of blackness and whiteness east coast and otherwise transplants and otherwise from my Alma mater and otherwise my friends my mutuals and complete strangers alike are looking and listening intently and think my words are worthwhile.
I’m a professional yapper, I know, hence the long ass pieces. And the nights spent talking to my friends for hours on end. But a professional writer? I never thought I could go all the way- regardless of format… only when a few professors and teachers of my past really told me from their hearts at times, a few times… but peers feels so enlightening a lot more a lot of the time. They have a distinguished pulse, the respectable ones.
So I guess it’s time to launch (or relaunch) the Substack and do more open mics and less close friends stories. And to just let it be how it should.
You should hop on the mic if you feel like the timing is divine too And the spirit compels you.
I ate carvel and a Cinnabon (it was combined in one establishment) leaving the reading last night). carvel is my favorite soft serve and they barely have any in New York. And I love Cinnabon so dearly. My best friend never had carvel she said it’s “actually pretty good” but it’s my favorite. I had vanilla with rainbow sprinkles. When I got to her house, I ate the Cinnabon after microwaving it. I was supposed to save it for tomorrow. But why save something deliciously sweet and divine and blessed for the next day when you can chew it and swallow it when you want it right now in the presence of someone you love and wants the best for you. who you held hands with in the car all the way home. I massaged myself with this special healing cream I have, then massaged her feet and calves. My friend on the other side of the country called me and she is coming here next week we are going to heal ourselves, body spirit and mind together. be little girls and big girls and be artists and date each other abd cuddle up - just like our 3-headed deer tattoo we all got together on my friend’s birthday. in the grand scheme of things we haven’t even known each other long, one of them less than a year. Who cares. Love isn’t about that. love is about being a deer, prey and pretty and sweet, hunted and prancing in the forest and front lawns, survivors and spotted, fairy tales Bambi movies children’s books filled with gunshots overpopulated — & on 3 heads, one body, resting on the shoulders of three girls who found home in each other and fell in love And will share that til their skin rots and they become poems and memoirs, rose gardens and star dust.
Aug 2, 2024
* ChatGPT dream analysis—tbh I do this all the time it’s really helpful for recognizing patterns I’m not even aware of and keeping track of my personal growth
* quotes from Caity Weaver’s iconic Justin Bieber profile for GQ
* very bad drawing i did I was trying to plan a silhouette for an outfit for tomorrow (I’m thinking cream colored bell bottoms, black blazer + satin black tank top + cheetah print Rag & Bone heeled ankle boots) because I’m going to the salon for a new cut and color and having my picture taken… oh the exciting life of an occasional small town hair model
* I thought this was a quote from an article about geese but I searched it and can’t find it so now I think I wrote this myself after reading about them? It’s followed by a poem I wrote so
Oct 25, 2024
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(Subrec: retiring the term autofiction)!
Writing about one of the most significant periods of transformation in my life has reminded me of my experiences in EMDR therapy: returning to the moments that shaped me—the sublime, the horrific, and everything in between—not just to relive them, but to recontextualize them. Through this process, I revisit the past, weaving empathy and perspective into old wounds, transforming them into narratives that help me heal rather than haunt me.
Writing this chapter wasn’t easy; even after all the personal work I’ve done, I still hadn’t fully unpacked much of what I explored here. But in the same way EMDR therapy creates new mental pathways, confessional writing allows me to create new emotional pathways. What once felt overwhelming now feels like part of a larger, layered story—a story I get to write on my own terms, with dark humor, empathy, and grace.
This chapter is about the seeds of identity, love, and longing being planted in the soil of a viscerally chaotic and often violent childhood, and the thorned rose that breaks forth out of this poisoned soil, delicate and sharp, a reflection of resilience built in tandem with pain.
Not even my closest friends fully understood the depth of my experiences until I opened up to them recently. Sharing this chapter feels like baring my soul in a way that’s both terrifying and liberating, but after being silent for so long, I believe in the power of raw, confessional storytelling—not just to connect with others, but to heal.
Part 1 introduces the narrator’s restless haze living in her desert hometown one year after high school graduation, working at a twee Wes Anderson-themed restaurant and drifting without direction. A chance encounter with an old acquaintance draws her back into his social circle, sparking a journey into memory. Part 2 delves into the complex history behind this connection, revealing the tangled ties that bind her and the unresolved emotions that shape her path forward.
I’m so excited to share Part 2, ‘Seeds Planted,’ with you. It’s layered and deeply personal—another piece of my journey that I’m honored to offer to you. I’m looking forward to hearing how it speaks to you, or how you’ve found your own ways of recontextualizing the past.
Jan 12, 2025
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My dad teases me about how when I was a little kid, my favorite thing to do when I was on the landline phone with somebody—be it a relative or one of my best friends—was to breathlessly describe the things that were in my bedroom so that they could have a mental picture of everything I loved and chose to surround myself with, and where I sat at that moment in time. Perfectly Imperfect reminds me of that so thanks for always listening and for sharing with me too 💌
Feb 23, 2025
Schedule sent my resignation email for the morning, effective immediately ✅💅
Feb 27, 2025
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I’ve been thinking about how much of social media is centered around curating our self-image. When selfies first became popular, they were dismissed as vain and vapid—a critique often rooted in misogyny—but now, the way we craft our online selves feels more like creating monuments.
We try to signal our individuality, hoping to be seen and understood, but ironically, I think this widens the gap between how others perceive us and who we really are. Instead of fostering connection, it can invite projection and misinterpretation—preconceived notions, prefab labels, and stereotypes. Worse, individuality has become branded and commodified, reducing our identities to products for others to consume.
On most platforms, validation often comes from how well you can curate and present your image—selfies, aesthetic branding, and lifestyle content tend to dominate. High engagement is tied to visibility, not necessarily depth or substance. But I think spaces like PI.FYI show that there’s another way: where connection is built on shared ideas, tastes, and interests rather than surface-level content. It’s refreshing to be part of a community that values thoughts over optics.
By sharing so few images of myself, I’ve found that it gives others room to focus on my ideas and voice. When I do share an image, it feels intentional—something that contributes to the story I want to tell rather than defining it. Sharing less allows me to express who I am beyond appearance.
For women, especially, sharing less can be a radical act in a world where the default is to objectify ourselves. It resists the pressure to center appearance, focusing instead on what truly matters: our thoughts, voices, and authenticity. I’ve posted a handful of pictures of myself in 2,500 posts because I care more about showing who I am than how I look.
In trying to be seen, are we making it harder for others to truly know us? It’s a question worth considering.
Dec 27, 2024