Essays, odds, and ends from an unsettled mind.
There's a half-finished manuscript in my desk drawer, a jar of dead sourdough starter in the fridge, and a guitar I haven't touched since 2021. I used to see a graveyard of failure. Now I think I was looking at a map of everything I'm still curious about.
Thirty days of tracking my spending taught me less about money and more about the strange theater of guilt, math, and self-negotiation we perform every time we open our wallets. The $4 latte was never the villain. Neither was the $400 chair.
There's a corner of the internet I visit every night where the same faces show up, the same jokes get told, and nobody knows my legal name. Sociologists used to call that a third place. Mine lives in a browser tab.
Somewhere between the newsletter funnels and the SEO audits, the personal homepage quietly went extinct — and I think we lost something when it did. This is a defense of the website that answers to no one.