Basically, I’m too poor to find a therapist, so I started journaling. And then my hand cramped up…turns out that my days hand-writing in cursive using a fountain pen at a Waldorf school didn’t prepare me for documenting the perils of my mid-twenties.

I’m not going to pretend that my stories are unique, or fabulous, or motivating. I’d go with comedically traumatic, for a start. It usually doesn’t take long for people I meet to figure out that the universe has it out for me in some sort of sick, twisted way. One of my old coworkers recently asked me “do you ever feel like god just made your entire existence as a joke?” And that really just sums up my whole experience on this rock.

Welcome to the shitshow of a single girl in her mid-twenties, trying to navigate the world of working in healthcare, paying her taxes, eating enough protein, avoiding an ex at the gym, and generally trying to survive.