Everyone knows that the first thing you look at, touch, or acknowledge in the morning is your phone. That little, expensive piece of metal and plastic is quite possibly your most valued possession. You awake, all crusty eyed and morning breathed, and snooze your third alarm clock. After that, the
“I hate my job.” “I should just be thankful I have a job.” It feels like every day, I fluctuate spastically between one train of thought and the other. On my way home, I sit on the subway pretending to look out the window, though the opaqueness indicates it’s 10pm and
“I love living at home!” said probably no one, ever. If I learned anything from George Costanza, it’s that living with your parents as an adult really is the worst. It’s just not cool to live at home – it never has been – but sometimes it’s your only choice.
A broken heart sucks. I mean literally, a broken heart means you’re probably dead but figuratively, being heartbroken can be earth shattering as well. Dealing with your own break up is one thing, dealing with your soul sister of a BFF’s is another. It’s hard to decipher your own feelings
I have a confession to make: I’m really good at being angry. I’m not proud of it, and what sucks is that anger can hit you out of nowhere. You end up taking your frustrations out on the wrong people and as you simultaneously know you’re letting it get the
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