Losing Writer's Guild Health Insurance.

A vibe.

OK, first of all, I maybe have anhedonia. I slept terribly. I ate too many stimmy non-foods (aka sunflower seeds) while writing my book and ever since my friend told me that carrots are poisonous, I feel constantly inflamed.

On that note: Maybe a moratorium on information. No new friends is one thing but I am all aboard the no new information train. I can’t take it. I’m full. I’m full and inflamed.

Oooh, that said, the thing we did? The wet thing? The substack event a week ago at a bathhouse with many luminaries? It was super fun. It defied expectations. Even my partner had fun and sometimes we are in a contest to stubbornly begrudge all fun as an exercise in self-preservation because we like to be in our apartment so much. But we were wrong. We had fun. Here is a photo of me and my friend. We were told to wear bathing suits but we are disruptors and the bathhouse is not our mother. The photo is also blurry. Forgive me.

I read a piece that ended up being about Luigi Mangione because it felt “of the moment,” the moment being that I’ve recently lost the “Cadillac of insurances” AKA the blue cross blue shield that you get from the Writer’s Guild of America (East) and learned that COBRA will cost us $30,000 a year which impressed even me, a constantly outraged and fearful person who only expects the worst. My hyper vigilance apparently needs hyper vigilance.