The kindest thing literature does is remind you that your peculiar little feelings have always existed. Someone, in some century, was equally confused by love, bored by society, tired of performing, and hungry for meaning.
writing an e-mail and getting a prompt from AI "this sentence could be more concise"
no. i am verbose. i am loquacious. i am long-winded and often redundant even. you machine, do not tell me how to form my words
#Project2025 literally outlines a plan to privatize TSA.
But they can’t do that while TSA is unionized.
Defund DHS → TSA agents miss paychecks → people quit → airports spiral → step in with “emergency” fixes → suddenly ICE shows up in airports as the privatized “solution”
Tolerating always turns to resentment. At first, you call it patience, then love. But what it really is, is self-abandonment. Every time you swallow a boundary, excuse a pattern, or silence your discomfort, something inside you keeps score. And eventually, the bill comes due.