I was having a fairly normal day. Until I decided to open my notepad app. I was looking for my last shopping list. Instead, I found this note.
“three parts dead man not to the hospital but he surely still understands”
We all save random notes to our phone all the time. Be it new recipe ideas or curious midnight thoughts — I bet everyone has a couple of whacky notes saved. It’s normal, really.
Except there were two problems with this one I found:
How do you even find love? Is it on Tinder? Or Bumble? Or a whole other app? We all know that the only way to meet people is online. No one meets outside anymore. And not because of lockdown. But because we’ve finally learned that a lack of personality can be remedied by the use of the right set of emojis.
I’ve tried all the dating apps out there. And I think I finally found The One. It’s called Love Island the Game and it’s changed my life forever.
I figured out what the problem was. Dating is hard because…
Now that we’re in the middle of yet another lockdown, I have been feeling particularly motivated. I will start exercising again, I decide. And I decide this every single day.
See, when I say ‘particularly motivated’, what I really mean is that I mostly daydream about how fit and sexy I’ll be once I become super shredded.
The reality is different though. Working out is hard. I always decide that I will start exercising only to remember how much I actually hate it. At this point, the process of starting and quitting has become a thing. …
Not to brag or anything, but I have been told all my life that I’m super intelligent. That I’m a smart cookie. That my IQ is through the roof.
Fine, okay. I’ll admit it. It’s mainly people who don’t know me that tell me this. Strangers going by their first impression. But that’s really all that matters, isn’t it? In today’s capitalist society, it’s not about the quality of the product (aka me). It’s all about the marketing. The advertising. The looks.
Who cares what your friends and family think? We all want to be adored by the masses.
Hi! How are you?
Terrible. I’m terrible. I’m terrible because, as a Czech person with the cultural background of not giving a damn about anyone who’s not related to you, I don’t have it in me to answer your stupid and redundant question.
I bet I’m not the only one either. Small talk is a minefield. It’s this thing that you have to do all the time, yet it never gets any easier. It just gets more annoying.
How am I, you ask?
I am in the mood to write a Medium article all about the ten best ways to…
I have been in education for 18 years now. Eighteen years. My academic career is so old it can get piss drunk and accidentally marry a stranger on a night out.
You’d think that after so long I would have everything figured out. What to do, what not to do, how to stay on top of my work and achieve all the best grades available. Yet, as I’m getting closer to the end of my degree, I find myself doing things I shouldn’t be.
Unhelpful things. Distracting things. Stupid things.
And as with anything that’s ever gone wrong in my…
My phone has this thing where it recommends news articles I might be interested in. It’s based on some algorithm overseeing my internet history, which is scary. Especially considering most of these recommended articles are either about murder or Rupaul’s Drag Race.
But yesterday, I was shown a different article. One about Taylor Momsen — someone I haven’t thought about since 2012. The title? The Pretty Reckless Taylor Momsen: “This year has taught me to appreciate the small things in life”
Well, lucky for you, Taylor. I envy you your privilege. Some of us don’t have it as easy. Not…
If there’s one thing I hate, it’s tomatoes. If there are two things I hate, it’s talking about my feelings. And tomatoes. Did I mention how much I despise tomatoes?
I don’t trust people who find it easy to talk about their feelings. I mean, it’s 2020. By now, we should all be broken and repressed. Right?
I’m a professional at being a closed book. It’s all about the subtext with me. If I was to write an autobiography about my life, the title would be I’m fine. The subtitle? I swear I’m fine, I’m always fine. And the subtitle…
I have to self-isolate. For two weeks. Again.
This was in September. I just moved back to the UK after spending the summer with my family. And so it happened that I was in a new, empty flat, looking at the blank walls, desperately clinging onto what was left of my sanity. I only brought 3 books with me and had an internet connection that allowed me to load emails, but not Netflix. How was I going to fill the next two weeks?
That’s when it hit me.
This is perfect. I have all the time I need. Now I…