Below you’ll find categorized evidence that I should probably sleep more
PSA:
How This All Started (A.K.A. Why You’re Reading My Chaos)
Let me just start by saying… I did not set out to be a “blogger.” I didn’t grow up thinking, You know what I wanna be when I grow up? Someone who overshares on the internet with shit Wi-Fi and a suspicious number of coffee mugs, and only a handful I use.
No.
I started this whole thing because life wouldn’t stop handing me material.
Picture it: I grew up with a mom who could’ve won Olympic gold in guilt-tripping. Then I graduated to my ex-husband — let’s call him Stevie — a man so committed to playing the victim he could’ve gotten a Netflix special. This man has weaponized khakis. He has that fake “I’m just concerned” tone down to an art form. The kind of guy who would set the house on fire, then stand outside with a garden hose like, See? I’m helping.
Somewhere in between family drama, custody battles, and collecting enough emotional baggage to start my own airline, I started writing. Not because it was cute and aesthetic, but because if I didn’t, my brain was going to implode like a bad science experiment.
At first, it was poetry. Sad, messy, rip-your-own-heart-out poetry that nobody was supposed to see. But then I realized — people get it. Even strangers on the internet have their own brand of fucked up, and my words somehow made them feel less alone.
And now, because I’m writing a book (yes, a whole book), apparently I also “need a blog.” One of my teachers said, it makes you look professional and tells publishers you’re serious about writing — even if half your posts are about your personal vendetta against Stevie’s narcissism. So here we are.
But here’s the thing: this blog is basically my journal… that, for some reason, everyone gets to read. And like any journal, there’s going to be stuff in here someone won’t like. But guess what? If you don’t like it… I don’t fuckin’ like it either!! That’s why I’m venting about it!!
This space is mine. It’s my safe zone to be blunt, laugh at the absurdity, and remind myself — and anyone reading — that you can survive just about anything if you keep your sense of humor.
So yeah. That’s why you’re here.
Welcome to my circus. Grab a coffee. No, seriously — grab one. You’re going to need it.
Send Help. Literally.
There’s something deeply romantic about sitting on the couch at midnight while your husband gets spiritually absorbed into TikTok, a revenge boar terrorizes people on screen, and you debate whether getting up to pee is worth losing blanket warmth forever. Also, if movies are gonna interrupt the plot with boobs, they better at least be…
From The Ashes
I used to live in this house, its windows shattered, paint chipped, aged wallpaper bearing witness to years of arguments and tears. Doors slammed shut, wood pieces covering the panels, Falling apart like dried petals of a wilted rose on the counter. Within this house, memories intertwined with heartache over the years, I stood outside,…
THEINKCHA PEL
Somewhere between artistic ambition and technological collapse, I accidentally named my website like an old-timey disease and nearly lost my mind to geometry.
Anyway the blog looks hot now, so apparently suffering does build character. 📚💀
Cal The Moth
A few days ago, I let a giant moth into my house. An Owlet I think it was. I don’t know. I’m not an entomologist, (although a few years ago I wanted to be one). Now, a normal person probably would’ve screamed, grabbed a shoe, and started swinging like they were defending the kingdom from…
Absent the Day They Handed Out Instructions
Sometimes I thinkeverybody learned how to liveexcept me. Like there was a class in schoolwhere they handed out instructionson how to answer texts,pay bills on time,keep friendships alive,fold laundry before it becomes furniture,and not cry in grocery store parking lots.And somehow I was absent that day. Some days I feel too much.The light is too…
Hmm
What’s the oldest things you’re wearing today? My childhood trauma. Still fits better than my jeans.
The Ink Chapel 