It just struck 11:11 PM.
And if I had to make a wish, I think I’d wish to understand myself a little better.
Not in some grand, life-changing, celestial way. Just enough to understand what happens somewhere between feeling completely grounded and suddenly feeling like the floor moved beneath me.
My day started beautifully ordinary. I felt centered. I felt like I had found my footing again. And then, somewhere along the way, the energy shifted.
There was an interaction that felt… off. Someone who is usually happy was unusually sharp with me, and maybe it shouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did. But sometimes when people don’t know the whole story, they mistake survival for ease. They see the little pieces of your life that made it through the storm and assume the storm never happened.
And maybe that’s what gets to me.
I know blaming people won’t change anything. Still, sometimes I wonder if I’ve spent too much of my life picking the wrong fruit from the wrong trees. 🍎
Maybe I should stop picking fruit altogether.
Maybe I should go vegan.
Although, considering I’m already low on iron, perhaps that’s not the wisest metaphor to take literally. So maybe I’ll just take my supplements and call it poetry.
I don’t know.
I just know that every time I feel like I’m finally getting back to myself, something interrupts the rhythm. Like I’m walking through a quiet garden and suddenly someone leaves a chair in the middle of the path.
And I trip over it.
Maybe people miss people and don’t always know how to say it. Maybe spontaneity feels beautiful when you choose it and unsettling when it chooses you. Maybe I’m still learning that not everything unexpected needs to be understood immediately.
I can understand something and still not like it.
I can accept something and still think it sucks.
And tonight?
It kind of sucks.
Lately, I feel like my eyes have become pages in a book I forgot to close. They give away the chapters I used to be able to hide. Sadness. Exhaustion. Confusion. All of it sitting there in plain sight.
I used to think I was very good at masking things.
Now I feel like an open book with the bookmark missing.
Maybe that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Maybe it just means I’m tired of pretending the pages are blank.
Anyway…
After nearly $200 of retail therapy at Burlington—mostly comfortable men’s clothes, a few dresses, and apparently an attempt to dress my way back into a better mood—I still somehow ended the night standing in front of mirrors wondering why I didn’t like what I was seeing.
So naturally, I did what any emotionally sophisticated woman would do.
I went to Taco Bell. 🌮
I just finished talking to the AI at the speaker, who somehow managed to take my entire order without judging my existential crisis.
Number 6.
Three Doritos Locos Tacos Supremes.
A strawberry freeze.
An ice-cold water, because apparently hydration is the adult version of having your life together.
Fourteen dollars exactly.
Honestly, I’ll take it as a sign.
Fourteen dollars for tonight’s therapy session feels considerably more reasonable than approximately $200 at Burlington.
And maybe tomorrow will feel different.
Maybe I’ll take my digestive enzymes, my cutting drops, my vitamins, drink entirely too much water, get some sleep, and wake up feeling a little more like myself.
Maybe the garden will be quieter tomorrow.
Maybe I’ll pick better fruit.
Or maybe I’ll stop picking altogether and just sit beneath the tree for a while.
Either way…
11:11 has passed.
Wish made.
Now I’m going home. ✨
Dear Diary, 11:11.
