March 18th, 2021

I haven’t kept a diary since I was 12, but here goes nothing:

Dear Diary,

How do I feel today?

Like I’m not doing enough.

I don’t film enough videos. I’m not expanding onto enough platforms. I’m not reaching out or researching enough. I’m not writing enough. I’m not funny enough. I’m not creating enough. I’m not applying myself enough.

Because I look at my life, and I look at my friends' lives, and they just seem to do so much. They work 9-5 every day. They go to classes and then do homework every night. Their work gets quantifiable results at the end of the day: either a grade or a paycheck.

I don’t get that validation. I can work 100 hours on a new project for it to get no views. I can work 10 minutes on a tiktok and get half a million likes. There’s no consistency and no guarantee.

I feel like I need to prove myself. To prove that my decision to pursue social media is a valid one. That there’s potential here. And the only way to convince people (isn’t it sad that I only care about convincing others, not myself?) is to surpass a significantly high standard. It isn’t enough to be average, I need to be extraordinary.

So I work on my creative ideas constantly—my brain is never truly turned off. But, since I work from my couch, it doesn’t look like that.

It makes me feel like people think I’m slacking off.

I feel like I’m slacking off:

It’s a Thursday afternoon and every other person my age is either in class or at work… but I’m not.

Honestly, sometimes it feels like I have more in common with the house cat in the windowsill across the street than I do with my roommates.

... how’s that for an isolating thought lol

But I also feel content.

Isn’t that a wild contradiction? I’m both horribly restless and incredibly content.

Because my lifestyle, really isn’t all that bad.

Yesterday I got to spend St. Patrick’s Day with my best friend from college (we both live in closed circles that are tested frequently, so the risk is relatively low). We got dressed up and drank and read Tarot. We gossiped about our unfounded confidence that celebrities will fall in love with us. We fantasized about moving to LA next year and working as live-in Nannies. It was one of those nights that almost feel normal.

And then this morning, I woke up on her couch to the infinite, cloudy skyline of Philadelphia. It was a quiet, rainy morning in that sweet spot between the rush of commuters going to work and tourists wandering around. It felt serene. Paired with my mild daze from drinking, it was surprisingly grounding.

I listened to folklore as I walked home. By the time I made it back, my hair was curly from the rain, but I wasn’t soaked. My cheeks were rosy from the crisp air, but I wasn’t cold. I was just existing. Something about walking in the early morning rain reminds you that you’re alive.

When I got inside, I put on sweats, lit a candle, and turned on the Harry Potter movies. I don’t have too much on my schedule today (it’s a writing/brainstorming day, not a filming day), so I’m just working on my laptop while passively reciting every word to the first Harry Potter film.

It feels like a Sunday—something about the combination of weather and hangover.

There’s something beautiful about being able to spend my Thursday afternoon working at my own pace. That I can have such a cozy, rainy day. While I resent my lack of structure, I am also grateful for it, I suppose.

Maybe being restless and content isn’t a harmful contradiction. It keeps me wanting to more without disliking where I currently am.

Talk to you soon,

ab

PS: today I am happy to be alive because after a solid week of insomnia, I finally feel tired rather than just exhausted. I think I might actually sleep a full 8 hours tonight… I’m very excited for that.

Also here's a photo I took at the end of the night on St. Patrick's Day from my friends couch. If you look at that smile, you can just tell tequila was involved...

pls drink responsibly