Low-key genius

My world felt relatively fine this morning until I opened an email that led me to a Substack post of a 20-year-old who read like a Twitter therapist. How the hell does this young low-key genius of a woman, have such formidable insight? At 20, I was smoking drugs, living on a beach with my pals, and carving fucking soapstone trinkets.

The comparison game is running wild and strong.


The utter devastation and needed courage of being mediocre. Emotions are being felt this morning. lol, but not really.

Moving on.

My sister and I are taking my dad to the hospital today for another (last?) CT, and everyone realizes the impending dire results. He's fighting with his wife. Tensions are high. He's weak. He baby-steps from his chair in the living room, to his bed, in a slow teeter-totter dance, trying to find a comfortable position.

I kept waking up last night as thoughts demanded to be recorded in my too-bright notes app. Why do middle-of-the-night ideas seem so damn important only to be read in the light of day as complete junk? I'm a buffoon.

7:30 AM -Slothrust