Building a life I don’t want a break from has required self-delusion and many a Pinterest board. My life is the very thing I want a break from – like, literally, most of the time. Alas, here I am… living and shit. Fairly well, too! I mean, I can still wipe my own ass and don’t require anyone to take care of me even though I want them to. All the other stuff, like *living well* is just a tad out of reach at the moment. And that’s where Pinterest comes in. What a beautiful break from the confinement of the one side of a duplex I inhabit. Pins allow me to transport myself to the six-bedroom beach style mansion in Hermosa Beach I desire, nay – DESERVE – to live in. Who would have thought I’d still be here right now? It’s 1:46 AM and I’m burning my corneas scrolling through the dashboard, taking trips here and there via the internet to stifle the deeper feelings of regret and missteps. Le Labo Santal 33? Yeah, I wear that. The newest Saint Laurent bag? I own that. Maybe only on my Pinterest boards, but who cares? If it’s about manifesting, then call me Ellis Island because I’ve got ALL the manifests, sister. Sometimes we work hard and life still doesn’t pan out how we want it to. I don’t know if the internet was a good idea, but being able to build a life – even if virtually – gives me some sort of momentary satisfaction that carries me back and forth to work every day and I can’t really complain about that. Do you know how much easier it is to scan barcodes when you know you have the internet to go home to and build your dream life within? Not that much easier, actually. However, now that I’ve realized I can lose myself on Pinterest and not within the FOMO barriers of my Instagram feed, it feels a bit better. How many bloggers out there live the same Instagram feed life? How many take dumps? Would you think the answers are the same? I have no idea, but I can tell you that I AM SO BORED OF IT. If the life I need a break from is only given the break of the Instagram blogger feed, then I’m going to need to log out forever. Not all of us can traipse away to Mykonos or capitalize off the mental illness that is crippling us in our beds. And YEAH, I’M MAD F*CKING JEALOUS of these broads, but I maintain my position.
It’s a July Friday night; do you know where your influencer is? Somewhere dancing in Greece with a guy named Kostos who is somehow hairless and not sweating? Nah, I’m at home, baby. Eating Lipton Chicken Noodle (one dollar) with a store brand cheesestick melted into it, building my dream life on Pinterest. Check back in a year and I’ll send my love from Europe and Kostos. Bet on it. And no, Instagram still hasn’t reactivated my account.