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Continue reading →: Fine, I’ll Do It
As the Washington Post crumbles in the wake of fascist leaders who feel a bit too on the nose, I have no choice other than to stand in where the Washington Post has fallen. Let me be clear—I don’t want to. We shouldn’t have to rely on twentysomething-year-old journalists with a WordPress blog to report on news, to offer some perspective on diplomatic issues, to hypothesize the broader effects of Trumpism on the world and what it means for our future. That’s a lot of work that I don’t want to do. Don’t get me wrong, I stay informed—I’m a…
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Continue reading → : 24
I am writing this in my final days as a 23 year old. My final days of patiently waiting to not be a 23 year old anymore. 24 is arguably the first age where you are old. (25 goes back to being young, though) And I have been greatly enjoying aging my parents by reminding them they are about to have a 24 year old daughter. (Which surely ages them way more than me) I’m not sure what to expect as a 24 year old. I still live at home, working in my entry-level job that AI threatens to overtake…
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Continue reading →: New Year, New Me
Yes, I’m aware. It’s been awhile. The end of 2025 was… less than ideal. I really don’t know what happened there—blog wise, mental health wise, screentime wise, will to live wise. Blog wise, it really went downhill. For a little bit there not only was I not blogging, I wasn’t even writing. My scattered notebooks all laid dormant, judging me just a tad too loudly. Despite their persistence and my growing dislike of myself for not writing, I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t write. Blah, blah, blah, sad, depressed, feeling pity for myself, and in desperate need of a…
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Twenty-Something Year Old Journalist 