pls excuse my chronic rbf
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About Me

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My fingertips were destined to make love to the keys beneath them. But, were my words destined to find themselves before your eyes? Probably not, still I’ve willed it into existence. So, here we are, caught together—but apart—in a perfect moment of intellectual intimacy. Now that we have found ourselves in this divine literary affair, you should know a few things about me.

I am painfully aware that I am addicted to Chapstick. Drug of choice, Burt’s Bees. My dad says I probably, but absolutely, have a growing ball of wax embedded in my stomach. Even with this far-from-scientific hypothesis, I choose the wax build up over cracked lips. Kiss me. It will suddenly make sense.

It is very rare that you will find me at a party or bar, but when you do, you can bet your bottom dollar I have an emergency sandwich in my purse. Yes, you read that right. What better time to have back up snacks than right now—or say, in the middle of the dance floor?

I drink water out of boredom. My kidneys hate me.

I always look pissed off. I promise I’m not, not even a little bit. It’s just my face. I have chronic rbf (resting bitch face), and unless I physically remove my eyebrows from their asylum above my eyes, I will continue to look this way. I know I should probably make a habit out of smiling more, but for now, pls excuse my chronic rbf.

I’ve said too much, yet not enough. The inside of my mind is a strange place, but if you do dare to further explore, you’ve come to the right place. Welcome to my life. Buckle your seat belts, and hold on tight.

Z