I sit on a bench overlooking the Hudson River in Fort Tryon Park and close my book about writing, objectively one of the most embarrassing things you could possibly choose to read in public.

It’s a scrap blog! Here’s the beginning of an essay I’ve been working on for several months that just hit the cutting room floor.

It’s nearly one in the morning and I am walking across town to catch the A Train and Luis Guillorme is moving to the Braves and I think about texting my most recent ex-boyfriend but I don’t.

I think the arrival of December encourages you to take stock of the year you’ve had.

Shelby and I went to see Sofia Coppola’s Priscilla.

I like to drive my mom’s car, a white VW convertible Beetle, around in the back roads surrounding my hometown after I run one (1) errand, so at least I feel like I did something.

It’s 1:25am on a weeknight and I am, tragically, very awake.

I could tell quickly, as I set my queue of podcasts earlier this week, that I am emerging from a darker moment.

I think trying to independently procure meals at my parents’ house is the closest I’ll ever get to foraging for food.

I get kicked off the A Train at 168th Street at 12:20am on a Thursday morning (Wednesday night, if you’re not annoying).

I wander downstairs around nine each morning, which, compared to the mornings I’ve had at my apartment lately, isn’t half bad.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the way the shape of your life can change.

To take a shower in your own bathroom, washing a plane from your skin with your own products and your own towel and your own setup after some time away, is an unmatched catharsis.

I am twenty-seven today.

I keep reading that it’s National Best Friends Day, and I am going with one of my best friends, Sam — the Elijah to my Hannah — to see the new Spider-Verse movie tonight. I will take this opportunity to tell my absolute favorite story about Sam.

My alarm went off at 6:30, and for the first thirty minutes of being sentient, I completely forgot that I had a pilates class at 8am.

Anytime I get off the subway at my stop and see that the next A Train behind this one isn’t coming for twenty-five-plus minutes, I feel like the luckiest person on Earth.

I wanted to enjoy the weather, so I went to the Mets game.

My mom painted my room yellow.

Anytime my feet hurt from standing, it reminds me of the summer I had four jobs.