Notes:
Hello, angels.
Yes, it is February. No, I will not be clarifying my relationship with time. Calendars are suggestions. I operate on vibes and vengeance.
We are beginning the year with something soft. I am aware. Please compose yourselves. If you arrived expecting devastation within the first three paragraphs, rest assured she is still here. She is sharpening her nails in the background and drinking something expensive.
Quarterly updates? Absolutely not. That chapter of my life has been escorted out of the building. The divorce paperwork is signed and I have returned to factory settings: dramatic, efficient, and just unstable enough to keep things interesting.
The doors are open again.
There will be tenderness. There will be filth. There will be emotional consequences so severe you may briefly consider legal action. We believe in balance in this household.
Thank you for staying with me. Thank you for the screaming, the spirals, the unhinged comment essays. I adore you for it. You attach yourselves to fictional catastrophes with Olympic dedication and I respect that deeply.
Find your silkdress. Fix your lipstick.
This year, the chaos will be intentional.
Kisses.