I think I could be very content living in a small cottage somewhere, making cute little meals and planting flowers and perhaps sweeping sometimes when the mood strikes
by 25 your only sunday night vibe choices are existential crisis, self pity, spiraling over things u can’t change, “how did I do nothing all day??”, or blissful ignorance
surely there must be a better way to get duvets into duvet covers than crawling into the thing, sweating, swearing at it, and wondering why something which by design should have easy to find corners seemingly does not have any