Not to be that bitch, but getting rid of Twitter really did fix me. And of course, by “getting rid of” I mean, deleting it off my phone but still keeping my account because permanent change scares me (and also I’ve been on that hellscape app for fourteen years and counting…. I fear I’m in it till the bitter end). But god, the silence has been exquisite. And I’m not gonna lie, once the deed was finally done it wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. There was, of course, the expected hovering over where the app used to take residence on my home screen during those first few days. I’d gotten so used to opening it during any moment of downtime I had, a brainless, repetitive motion to fill time that really didn’t need to be filled. But after about three days of catching myself, the desire just kinda…. left. And sure, I still have the account logged into my computer, but without all the obsessive scrolling on my phone to feed my addiction, I find myself caring less and less what’s even happening over there. I’m freeeee.
Of course, TikTok rapidly filled the vacancy left behind. I know I have to delete it too, if I want my transformation to be complete. Unlike Twitter, which felt like a compulsive itch, TikTok is a deliberate time drain, hours of my life slipping by me as a scroll through an algorithm so perfectly suited towards my tastes it’s as if I’m being hypnotized. Style tips, song recommendations, what’s in my bag and monthly favorites videos, my beloved #journaltok — the thought of losing such a perfectly curated entertainment delivery system feels way more daunting then getting of the bird app. And it’s not just information. More and more I’ve found myself gravitating to Tiktok for information as well: how to fix a doorknob, the best shampoo for my hair type, what exactly is in that damn Big Beautiful Bill and what script should I use when calling my representatives. Things I used to google now get typed into Tiktok’s search engine and despite knowing how dangerous of a precedent I’m setting for myself, I can’t seem to get myself to stop.
This summer is one I’ve dedicated to a massive overhaul of my creative practices. There is simply too much wok I have to get done, too many opportunities knocking on my door that I have to take advantage of. I’ve written my goals, cleared my room of the junk, created timelines and budgets and game plans. And if I’m being completely honest with myself, I have more than enough time. I just need to stop filling it with noise.
STATE OF THE UNION
Massie Block, queen of my prepubescence, had a Palm Pilot and a dream. Her end of chapter State of the Unions felt like such a quirky, chic way to journal that I’ve been copying her since I was 12 years old. It was my favorite part of my monthly moodboards and for season two of JUNK DRAWER, I’ve decided to revamp my monthlies into a bi-weekly vibe check, a quick list of what I’m feeling and what I’m not. Sometimes there will be an explanation, sometimes I’ll just let the list speak for itself. There’s nothing so freeing as remembering that there are literally no stakes and that I can do whatever the hell I want!
INS
PDF SUMMER
What was it that Drake said? She’s been reading more and going out less? I’ve given myself a new routine this summer, one that prioritizes reading all the links I click on instead of hoarding them in the tabs like a dragon afraid of sunlight. I’ve been really enjoying printing out articles and short stories and marking them up the way I did in college, taking notes in the margins and then carrying those notes over to my writing journal where I grapple with the themes in various asides to myself. If y’all care at all about what I’m reading, let me know and I’ll do a roundup!
AIR CONDITIONING
Sooooo sorry to the version of myself that wanted to be outside this summer. Outside is a fucking nightmare right now. The heat has been so brutal, so unrelenting, so dangerous, that being out for longer than ten minutes is starting to feel like a game of Russian Roulette. On Monday, I made the ultimate sacrifice in service of a higher purpose: Seeing Mrs. Beyonce Giselle Knowles-Carter live for the Cowboy Carter Tour on DC Night 2. And you better believe I almost paid the highest price. When I tell you I’ve never felt closer to fainting in my life! Beyonce owes me nothing but Northwest Stadium you WILL be dealt with, trust!
HOPPING ON A TREND
And if I said I started The Artist’s Way this week, then what?
OUTS
ENDLESS SCROLLING
Death to algorithm industrial complex! Death to screen times higher than two hours a day! Death to the iPhone!
FAST FOOD
I had limp french fries yesterday and that’s entirely on me. Every single time I get fast food (which thankfully, I can count on one hand in the last two or so months) I think to myself: now girl, you know you could’ve just done this better at home!
NOT STRETCHING
This is for my girls who were at Beyonce last weekend. Because I know your body is in pain right now. Get the foam rollers out! This is not the time to be locking up!
Thank you, as always, for being here! Welcome to JUNK DRAWER Act II! Tell me what you wanna see.
xx,
april