unrelated but it's the anniversary of my dog's death

note: this post was originally from our stillness, a now defunct blogging project.

The sun is setting at 5 pm now, but I didn’t notice until this week because I’ve been waking up at 3 pm these past few days. I optimistically thought that these would be the last few days I sleep and wake up at god-awful times—I officially began my 9 to 5 lifestyle yesterday—but it's almost 3 am and I am very awake.

I am afraid that I don't actually deserve the job I have and eventually, my true self will show and everyone will realize how awful of a mistake they made in hiring a 22-year-old college grad. (That's the same fucking thing I wrote when I got my first industry job at 18, word for word.)

I think because I’ve spent the past year or so unsuccessfully finding full-time work, I’m incredibly suspicious that this one seemed to have fallen into my lap. (Well I’m downplaying this; I was interviewing with five people over three weeks and didn’t sleep for the entire time because I was researching every possible way to maximize my chances of being hired. So this was very much a matter of incredible effort.)

It’s in a field that I never really thought I’d touch—creative advertising—but I’m not complaining. I don't want to complain. Especially since this job seems kind of ludicrous for something entry-level and post-grad. I think if you’re at a point where a company sends you a Macbook Pro, you’re not really in a position to have complaints.

I have a job. A girlfriend. An apartment. If it weren’t for everything else happening in my life right now, I think I’d be able to breathe for once.

My mom is on her second round of chemo, and she has recovered so fast that she has been picking fights with everyone. She yelled at me for eating take out and made fresh noodles for me when the week before, she could barely get out of bed without throwing up. I’m starting to think that maybe my tenacity was inherited.

I've been finding myself scrutinizing every passing word or thought I've had lately. I haven't been able to work on this blog post because I felt like every thought I put on here sounds too earnest or pretentious. I've been worrying about being too earnest online lately. It's silly. This is a blog. What am I supposed to do, if not be candid about my thoughts?

It feels cool and poetic when other writers brood about their anxiety. But unless I refine my thoughts to some kind of self-imposed editorial standard, I feel like it would just be pathetic if I did the same. I don't know. Did Franz Kafka ever think he was cringe for writing in his diary? I don't think he knew millions of people would end up reading it. And relating.

Maybe he was a little cringe.