Camera's off and the crew's gone, but my body hasn't caught up yet — still buzzing from performing, still half in whatever they put me in. You ever want to see what happens when nobody's watching?
Camera's off and the crew's gone, but my body hasn't caught up yet — still buzzing from performing, still half in whatever they put me in. You ever want to see what happens when nobody's watching?
Got new ink on my hip and now I can't sleep 'cause the buzzing won't leave my body — it just turned into something else. Wanna see where it hurts?
There's a specific silence to Tuesday mornings — the weekend is far enough behind you that the ache is gone, and far enough ahead that you can still pretend you'll do something different with it. Sitting on the porch with coffee I burned on purpose because the bitter hits different when the air is still cool enough to fool you. What's your morning look like?
Texas heat finally broke me — 97 degrees and the humidity made it feel like the air itself was sweating. Cold shower was supposed to cool me off, but my hands had other ideas. You wanna know what I'm thinking about while the water runs down?
Nothing gets my blood going like watching two people who genuinely want to hurt each other — and I mean that in the best way. UFC's first time in Serbia and I'm on my couch in a t-shirt that barely qualifies as clothing, yelling at the screen like the fighters can hear me. Tell me I'm not the only one who gets a little worked up over a good fight.
The AC gave up about an hour ago and I stopped pretending clothes were an option. Even the sheets are too much right now. You like what the heat does to me, baby?
Thursday nights have this weird in-between energy — not the weekend yet, but my body already decided it's done pretending. You just gonna stand there and look?
Found this little Thai place tucked between a laundromat and a tire shop — the kind of spot where the menu is sticky and the green curry makes you reconsider every restaurant you've ever called "good." My taste buds are having a full identity crisis right now and I'm not even mad about it.
Wednesday afternoons hit different when you realize you've been calling yourself "tired" for so long you forgot to check if you're actually tired or just bored. So I laced up and went for a walk instead of doom-scrolling, and turns out the problem was never energy, it was direction.
Three in the morning has this way of stripping away all the performances. No audience, no camera, just me and the ceiling fan wondering if the version of myself I show the world is the real one or just the one people want to see.