let's start a girl band

and other fantasies

Every time I chop my hair off I start listening to The Breeders and burning Nag Chompa (I dunno they go hand in hand in my world) and reading weird autofiction. This is my current read.

This is my current hair:

In my mind it’s always the 90s and I’m always the main character but not in the chic Instagram way. In the Angela Chase way, in the way where I’m always the awkward one who is always on the edge of getting what she wants (love) but never does —at least not for very long. I wrote a whole book about that disease.

I’m on that thought train again where I want to start a girl band (heavily influenced by L7 and Hole and Garbage and Bikini Kill) but not really because I don’t play any instruments. Nor would I ever really commit to such a thing. But in my fantasy world I am a bassist in a girl band and we call it “jamming” when we practice. “Hey wanna jam on Sunday?”

It’s a dark and stormy Friday morning in New York and in my brain and I’m burning a candle and I had toast for breakfast without a care in the world. Carbs! Who cares! Eating bread feels like an act of rebellion and so does having hope.

I said in front of a room full of people the other day that I’m worried being sober will make me less creative. I hope that is a sentence I can laugh at in a few years.

Two positive side effects: my face is literally changing shape and so is my heart.

I’m rapidly becoming absolutely repulsed at how self-centered we all are as humans.