should be kept to myself

note to self!

Good evening y’all!

Maybe it’s because my AC unit is quite possibly killed and the heat of my bedroom is influencing my sleep deprivation, or because I watched Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants in its dual parts and got a burst of nostalgia. Nonetheless, I felt a strange urge to post on here again. If I’m being honest, I really like my nail polish color right now and seeing my fingers type is maybe the most narcissistic compliment I’ve allowed myself in a while. But my fingers look cute!

Currently she (she being me who likes to talk in third person occasionally. It is my personality complex. don’t ask me about it.) is suffering from a severe canker sore on her bottom lip. It’s kind of trending right now, but more importantly! it’s flared. She (this time she being my angry canker sore) is raging. Why do people do that? Dumb down things like an inflamed canker sore into baby language by calling it an angry ____. The other day I was at my podiatrist, because I am a woman who has a podiatrist — foot and ankle doctor for everyone uneducated in that realm– and he was discussing a procedure that (SPOILER ALERT) I had on my toe. I’ll spare you the details of why I’ve been limping for three months and cut to the chase. He told me my toe was going to be angry, which in medical terms was simply insulting. I’m 20 years old and in most countries very legal to consume alcoholic beverages! I think can handle a doctor telling me that my toe is going to react or become inflamed from the mysterious procedure (that I’m not going to tell you about because you’re currently on a need-to-know-basis) without him having to speak to me like I’m a child and use language like “angry toe!”

Disclaimer: I wore headphones the entire procedure and watched TikTok videos because quite frankly I’m not the mature woman that most people assume me to be! Stop with your assumptions, people!

To dish out some real gossip about her (this time her = me. we’re back to me!), I’ve been in a weird funk. It’s as if I’m in the part of my autobiographical movie when the heroine puts down her fork and starts running has started! Leaving you on a cliff-hanger because I’m not going to continue with my critique of the movie.

Truly, I have no idea what I’m writing about and now I’m very convinced that my ceiling fan is just swinging around all the hot air in the room. Do I crack a window? We’re only on the brink of spring, last week I was still wearing sweaters and now I’m sweating in my microwave of a room. What do you think is cooking?

I’ll leave it at that. Sorry for the spontaneity. Still working on my vocabulary.

-RR

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