• Somethings are true about me. I write lots of things down. I forget where I put things unless I am VERY disciplined with myself. I often find things in weird places and try to recover the mental pathway that got to placing that thing on that surface. What was the plan here? Why did it…

  • I couldn’t decide whether this was going to be an Adele or an Alanis Morissette breakup. Turns out it’s a Supergrass Alright breakup. Which is a little unexpected, but here we are. For context, a relationship of mine recently ended. I obviously made a social media post about it, and then The Algorithm latched on…

  • Yesterday I discovered I couldn’t remember which of two films we’d watched first. Not the first film we’d ever watched together. Just the first of two films we’d watched on that day. It wasn’t even an especially important detail. If somebody else had forgotten it, I wouldn’t have thought twice. But there I was, staring…

  • I dyed my hair blue. A few weeks later I found myself wondering whether that meant I should be buying blue yarn too. An essay about masking, identity, neurodivergent rule-making, and learning that not every preference needs to become a personality.

  • It’s one of the more interesting things to happen to pop punk sincerity in years. Most people would probably dismiss I Fight Dragons as another nerd-adjacent power-pop band built for people who own at least one hoodie with thumb holes and complicated opinions about retro gaming hardware. But that’s reducing them unfairly. What they’re actually…

  • A reflective essay about hypervigilance, conscious choice, and the exhausting habit of constantly checking whether your feelings, routines, and relationships still genuinely belong to you. On drift, devotion, and learning to trust your own instruments again.

  • On growing up, letting go of coolness, and finding yourself in the wrong Addams The Dream When I was younger, I wanted to be cool and mysterious.I wanted to be Wednesday. Specifically: Christina Ricci’s Wednesday. Deadpan. Central. Still. A child who never flinched and never explained herself. She didn’t need to perform charm or softness….

  • Author’s Note:This post was inspired by Maya Angelou’s poem “When I Think About Myself.” Her words come from a history and an experience that aren’t mine, but what resonated with me was her use of laughter as both armor and confession. What follows is my own reflection, a much smaller, messier version of that rhythm….

  • There’s a pile of them on my shelves: passion planners, diaries, bullet journals, colour-coded agendas, Italian leather ones, Japanese ones from before they changed the paper. A graveyard of productivity promises. I used to believe that if I just found the right one, the perfect notebook, I’d finally unlock my life. I’d become the kind…