New Yorkers living in Manhattan will claim to be huge foodies and then never even venture out to Queens, which arguably has the best and most authentic foods
We’ve never actually had real weekends. Friday is still a workday, Saturday gets eaten up by chores and errands, and Sunday is just Monday in disguise. You never get two full days that actually belong to you. We’ve been scammed.
The 40-hour work week is inhumane. Save the 'but I do it and don't complain' speech. Nobody should have to give up this much of their life just to get by. We're exhausted, and everything still costs too much. Reform now.
The best thing you can learn early in your career is that no company will ever truly care about you. Do your job, collect your paycheck, and go home. Work as little as you need to get by and don’t give them a single extra second of your life
Y’all ever look at your age and think, damn, I really thought I’d be somewhere else by now? I ain’t even hating on nobody’s success. I just got dreams that are taking longer than I expected, and that shit hurts sometimes
I’m a variety smoker, I haven’t bought more than 14g of the same strain in years. I wish I could stand to smoke the same thing all day, it would’ve saved me a lot of money 😭 To me it’s the equivalent of eating the same food for every meal. I can’t do it, respect to those who can
When you get older something weird happens. You don't become your father, but you start understanding why he was always so tired, so quiet, and so irritated by things that made absolutely no sense to you as a kid.
That sigh he used to let out before fixing something for the third time? That wasn't anger... it was a man doing mental math on bills, responsibilities, and why the lawn mower always broke right after payday.
Back then I thought he was just being dramatic. Now I realize he was carrying the emotional weight of an entire household while pretending everything was "fine" and asking for nothing but maybe five minutes of peace and a decent chair.
And now here I am, 43 years old, realizing that if my dad had access to some GG4, he might've survived it all with less back pain and fewer clenched jaws.
I finally get why he'd stare at the garage wall like it was a TV... that's what happens when you're overstimulated by life and just need your brain to buffer.
These days, I'll take a few pulls, sit quietly, and suddenly I feel him. The patience. The sacrifice. The exhaustion masked as responsibility.
I used to think getting high was about escaping.
Turns out, sometimes it's about slowing down enough to understand the man who raised you...
and forgiving him for being human while doing the hardest job on earth without a manual or any gas to smoke.