1:32a it has become nearly impossible to string a coherent sentence together. why is it that we always attempt to have intellectual conversations when we are physically incapable of doing so? you know what passes for witty discourse in my everyday life? “hey stranger at a party, do you ever feel like your deodorant has stopped working?” all i can talk about when i’m sober is hot dogs and teen mom but get three gins in me and all of a sudden i have opinions about intersectionality and internalized misogyny and academic imperialism. shut the fuck up, samantha.

Sam Irby, on the horrifying shit show that is going out. Her post perfectly sums up why I haven’t been out on a Saturday night in at least two years, and am currently posting this from bed at 9:00pm, about to tuck into a Margot Livesey novel and just loving all of my choices.