100 followers!!

Every morning, I wake up and make a choice: do I want an appetite and a reasonable bedtime, or do I want productivity and absolutely no appetite? —Context: elvanse. Any girl reading this would obvi choose the latter, I mean, it’s a no brainer. But stack too many hyper-productive, Huel-fueled, four-hour-sleep nights in a row, and things start to feel... strange; a little too robotic and nocturnal. Maybe it’s good for society, but it’s bad for the soul. Life is about balance, I always maintain this stance, being the one who sits in the middle of the see-saw, cultivating my stability. Gone are the days of chasing violent highs, blindsided by their inevitable lows.

I have woken up to some happy news this morning — I type at 11:53am, but let’s not split hairs. 100 followers!! A milestone that feels oddly special—one that, at the risk of sounding like a broken record, leaves me both humbled and overjoyed. It satiates and validates—in a healthy way, me, my experiences and my “talent” as a writer. It’s incredibly motivating.

I wasn’t able to sleep off this pretty dire headache I acquired yesterday, while writing my last post on my too bright phone, in a too dark room for too many hours. It may also be dehydration, amphetamines certainly seem to leach water from the fibres of your being, especially your brain —mine feels dry. Thank god I fell victim to the embarrassing Stanley cup trend. Having over a litre of suckable, ice cold water at my bedside is actually one of the better ways I could have spent £60.

…And just like that, it’s the last day of January. Two things happen like clockwork at the end of a month. One: I get my period, which is generally a bummer—unless the pregnancy paranoia has been particularly spicy, in which case, yay! Two: I can refill my Klonopin prescription, a more obvious win! This month, I look back and feel proud of myself and the streams of contentment I’m landscaping into my life.

—Though I loved the challenge of yesterday’s essay-style post, nothing beats the comfort of writing these diary-like entries from beneath my goose-down duvet.