the phrase "lipstick on a pig" has always inspired a deep sadness in me. I think of the pig, looking forward to her big night out, and I bring myself to the verge of tears.
I think there’s something deeply wrong with the way I resent having a job. I know it’s fine morally to not want to be coerced to work for survival, but most people have the ability to suck it up. But I am haunted by the reality of my one life on this planet being owned by others.
something deeply humiliating about finishing a bubble tea in public and aiming your straw at the remaining tapioca pearls to suck them up one by one like an anteater devouring an anthill