a time capsule from january 20, 2016

If this was in my drafts (1.20.16 10:35pm), I can tell everyone that nothing's changed.

I haven't written anything in years.

I haven't written anything *for myself in years.

I'm sitting at my desk in my bedroom in Mount Pleasant right now. This is my new(?) place back in Vancouver after a stint in Toronto that actually felt like the longest-most-fucked-up-but-also-so-annoyingly-normal time of my life. Do I have anything to show for it? My parents would say "no." They have a point.

That's not true. 

I'm drinking a strong IPA mixed with a low-calorie seltzer. I don't think that anything has really changed, and I don't think I'm not okay with it. If I should be not-okay about it, can't that wait?

I don't know why I'm listening to my "you're 14" playlist on Spotify right now. This was my favourite album in high school? Yeah, I guess it was. Yeah, it's still making me cry and feel weird.

I know why I'm back. I feel weird. I'm happy. I like my big-girl job. I don't like my big-girl responsibilities. I still like writing. It still makes me want to cry.

It's funny that 

I turn 23 tomorrow.