Big navel gazer here; I often start in a delusionally romantic state of viewing things and evolve to a kind of reserved pragmatism through the process critical examination. Lately, writing has been like preserving these ephemeral states in amber, coexisting in a state of delicious permanence I can return to, instead of allowing them to wash away with the tides. This ultimately helps me engage more deeply with the world.
Jan 14, 2025
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Words appear as I think them like a karaoke video in serif font on a white background. Sometimes I’ll be doing the dishes and I’ll start repeating paragraphs I’ve drafted and editing and rearranging them and adding to them in my mind and they shift around visually as I’m doing it. Sometimes other words or phrases will get caught in there and they’ll quietly pass back and forth like a sky banner. Songs are often drifting through—right now it’s Pale September by Fiona Apple—and if there’s a particularly beautiful or resonant part it’ll loop through that snippet a few times.
I think almost entirely in words, in monologue and in text, with very faint flashes of associative images—I imagine this is to protect me from the dark and horrific things I’ve seen in my life that would be too much to bear if I were to be exposed to them in such a visceral way. I can’t rotate or even envision a shape to save my life.
Rarely, strong images will appear to me in conscious life—I remember lying in bed, about to fall asleep, and suddenly seeing from the point of view of an investigator entering a pitch black cave with a lantern held in his hand as his only light, about to discover something terrible, no doubt.
My dreams are vivid and laden with powerful symbolism, and usually there is a sense of being too afraid to fully step into my power or claim what’s mine.
I have the memory of an elephant, with everything filed in nearly chronological order. I’m sure I tend to embellish and dramatize without realizing but then I think my memories speak to a certain distilled emotional truth, more accurate than pure facts. Sometimes there are some incredible blind spots in my perception that I don’t realize existed until years later.
I analyze and intellectualize everything. I’ve been told that my mind is obsessive and tends to fixate. Sometimes the emotions that I keep trapped in the basement push their way up through the trap door and threaten to stampede me as their captor but I manage to stuff them back down again until I’m ready to let them go; some of them may never see the light of day.
Feb 15, 2025
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I have some good ideas
Apr 21, 2024
✨
Sometimes in my mind I call myself a writer. And i ramble on for hours in notes all alone. I write and write like im pouring my soul into a cup for the worlds consumption. But after hours of writing i realise its just me sitting at the table sipping wistfully at that cup i thought i was pouring for others. And so it happens again and again and i write in ways that make me feel mighty and profound but in reality that might just be from the toxins my body creates in the process of constant regurgitation and consumption. So yes to put it plainly i would love to be part of this. I want to try share my cup and for people to either reject it or consume it. Even if no one drinks it at least there will be other people at the table beside me.
Feb 2, 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
🖐
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