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Day 1: Invincibility.

WhO wANtS TO fuCKIng FiGHT mE RIGht NoW?

Day 2: Aggressive zen.

Fuck this noise, I’m going hiking. I’m free. I’m adventurous.

If a badass bitch falls down in the woods and no one is in the whole park, does she make a sound? YOU’RE GODDAMN RIGHT SHE DOES. I’m going to eat a lotus flower and throw fireballs like I’m fucking Luigi. SERENITY NOW, BITCHESSSSS!

Day 3: Hair as a metaphor.

Should I shave my head?

Day 4: Free agency.

Imma apply for my fucking dream jobs right fucking now. I’m going to write for Conan. Watch me. Broad City, you know you want this. Shoot your shot, right? You miss 100 percent of the shots you don’t take, right? Why not me?

Oh, fuck. What’s a writing packet? I need an agent for this shit?

Sooooo, actually. Anybody need a project manager?

Day 5: Reliving the moment.

Oh, I’m terminated? No, you’re terminated, ya punk ass bitch.

Day 6: Kanye’s workout plan.

Run and lift and lift and run and get those sit ups right, girl. I’m sure this relentless desire to work out has nothing to do with some incessant need to feel productive, seem purposeful, and achieve excellence. I’M TOTALLY FINE!

Day 7: Snacks on snacks on snacks.


Day 8: The coffee shop dilemma.

I’m not just going to sit inside all day like a fucking loser. Let me go to this tight local coffee shop and get some job apps done.

Yeah, but you have tea in the house. And it’s way cheaper to stay here.

Yeah, but mental health is invaluable, maaaan.

I hear that, but do you really want to spend $5 on a cup of tea when you currently have no income?

No, I get what you’re saying, but do you really think that $5 will make a difference in my finances over the course of a year or my lifetime?

It’s the principle of the thing, though. Now is not the time to start bad habits.

You’re a real fucking prude, you know that?

Day 9: Hair as a metaphor, the sequel.

A new start, right? Why not take it all the way down to ground level? Bzzzzzzzzzzz?

Day 10: The woods are calling.

You know what? Maybe this is a blessing. Maybe I should just rent a cabin in the woods and start writing The Next Great American Novel. ANYTHING FOR MY ART, after all. 👩🏼‍🎨🎨👩🏼‍💻

Day 11: House Haters International.

Man, this place sucks. Maybe I should just take this time off and redo everything. I mean, basically, if I learn how to do all this handyman shit, it will save the same amount of money as if I were working. Maybe I was meant to be a craftsman, anyway. Maybe this is my true calling.


Day 12: Handymania.

I don’t even know what I need, and

The ceilings in this store are so high, and

All the service people are on ladders, and

I feel like a tiny ant woman, and

I don’t even have the right tools, and

I hate myself here, and

Orange is so off-putting.

I’d rather walk down the streets of Aleppo than spend another minute in this Home Depot.

I quit this career.

Day 13: An exclusive club.

Hell yeah I got fired. So what? So did just about every successful CEO. I’m basically Mark Cuban. Actually, I’m all the fucking sharks. I’m about to build a goddamn empire with my BRAIN. Get at me, Guy Raz!

Day 14: Making sacrifices for my art.

Here’s the new rule. If I don’t write 2,500 words today, I don’t get to eat. Period.

Day 15: A failed starving artist.

How am I supposed to be mentally sharp if I’m not properly fueled? *eats 47 handfuls of trail mix*

Day 16: Hair: the verdict.

Who are you trying to fool, blondie? You are not shaving your head. You are not Eleven. You are thirty-fucking-five. And unemployed. Bitch, you are not high fashion. Grow up.

Day 17: Domestic engineer.

This house has never been cleaner, and I can cook anything I want! Every single day is a new recipe! There are no limits!

Cooking Moroccan lentils with Swiss chard takes two hours? So what? One hour per ingredient-continent!

Mom’s all-day spaghetti sauce? Bappita-boopia! I’m-a Luigi again-a!

Homemade lumpy protein ball snacks? Sure beat store-bought!

I can invent my own maple salmon salad. Suck on that, Blue Apron!

The macronutrients! I feel so alive! My blood is liquid gold! Come drink from my fountain of youth!

Day 18: 11:15 a.m.: The magic hour of Whole Foods.

What on Earth is this utopian garden? I’m surrounded by perfect pyramids of produce. Aisles, so spacious and free. No competing for salmon with conscientious objectors to deodorant.

And lo! No lines? I found a secret portal back to Eden.

Day 19: Daily affirmation.

Wow, I haven’t thought of suicide even one time. Seriously. Give myself a round of applause. What an amazing woman. How self-actualized.

Day 20: Bad music/great dancing in the bathroom mirror.

It’s been ONE WEEK since you looked at me / Cocked your head to the side and said, “I’m angry.”

Day 21: Spring has not sprung.

I wonder if Jared wants to get lost on a hike through the barren trees of Maryland for two to four hours.


Kelaine Conochan

The editor-in-chief of this magazine, who should, in all honesty, be a gym teacher. Don’t sleep on your plucky kid sister.

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