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A secondary supporting leg on our bed breaks while we’re having sex. We stop and I retreat to my study as he begins sliding the king mattress off of the bed to look at the damage. He tells me, I need an Allen wrench—a declarative statement, not a request. I keep one in my desk just in case; I retrieve it and hand it to him within seconds. I recline in silent repose on my sofa, reflecting.
He calls me back in and we get back into bed. I’m going to try to ease back into it. He tells me that a screw is bent but It’s good for now. I know he wants me to say okay, yay, or to stop talking at all, but I can’t help myself, and I ask: well, what does that mean? He laughs in exasperation and clutches his face with his hands, shaking his head as if he should have expected this.
Every night, he tightens the screw before he goes to sleep, and every night, the leg bends in on itself again under the strain, right back where we started.
On our anniversary, I accompany him to buy a screw and watch as he huffs and puffs and struggles and whines. I abandon him to walk through the store and he calls me on the phone when he’s done.
The leg is securely in place again, and all I can think about is how much longer every other leg can hold.
Feb 25, 2025
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I feel like there’s some symbolism in here that I’m kinda grasping but not quite. Don’t really have that relationship expertise. You’re tapped into something though.
Feb 25, 2025
Greenelysium thank you lol there is definitely always quite a bit of symbolism in what I write and I’m glad to hear that it comes across intuitively!
Feb 25, 2025
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My fitted sheet shrank in the wash.
Every time I try to pull the last corner down another one pings off the bed.
I am Sisyphus, these sheets are my rock.
I cannot rest until my work is done.
I try to make my bed, at least I will never lie in it.
God laughs.
Jan 6, 2025
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Slow as the day goes by. I try and wake up only to find myself back in the slumber. It is a foot away and still I manage. My ears ring with sound of the leaves rustling I am awake at last only to find myself missing. It is quite ambivalent but also abit promiscuous, when something is missing it tells a story and leaves a mark. We talk about lies in the bedroom. Outside ourselves we leave the sheets red and that spoils the fun. But atleast we were there.
Nov 1, 2024
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I'm sure its all due to my poor diet & sleep, and my body is really starting to feel it. Hopefully once I sleep tonight, i'll wake up brand new and relieved to see that "it was all Monday's fault". I wouldn't be surprised, monday's are usually the worst for me, I can always feel it.
Recently I agreed to sleep over at a friends of mine, I like her, and while I wasn't consciously expecting anything but a fun night, I did hope me and her would spark and burn passionately for a night, I really need that touch, embrace, sweat, kiss. It didn't happen, and that's okay, but for some reason, i'm tired of spending these nights alone. I was really glad to have felt and smelt someones breath as they sleep away. I hope i'm not a weirdo, but I LOVE seeing someones face as they dream, & her cute tattoos sitting peacefully on her arms and thighs put me at ease.
Not enough ease to calm the anxiety bubbling in my stomach, bouncing in my brain, and burning my watery eyes. I didn't sleep at all that night, and I woke up to her telling me she's gotta get ready for a date.
Oct 1, 2024
Top Recs from @taterhole
My dad teases me about how when I was a little kid, my favorite thing to do when I was on the landline phone with somebody—be it a relative or one of my best friends—was to breathlessly describe the things that were in my bedroom so that they could have a mental picture of everything I loved and chose to surround myself with, and where I sat at that moment in time. Perfectly Imperfect reminds me of that so thanks for always listening and for sharing with me too 💌
Feb 23, 2025
May 28, 2025
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I’ve been thinking about how much of social media is centered around curating our self-image. When selfies first became popular, they were dismissed as vain and vapid—a critique often rooted in misogyny—but now, the way we craft our online selves feels more like creating monuments.
We try to signal our individuality, hoping to be seen and understood, but ironically, I think this widens the gap between how others perceive us and who we really are. Instead of fostering connection, it can invite projection and misinterpretation—preconceived notions, prefab labels, and stereotypes. Worse, individuality has become branded and commodified, reducing our identities to products for others to consume.
On most platforms, validation often comes from how well you can curate and present your image—selfies, aesthetic branding, and lifestyle content tend to dominate. High engagement is tied to visibility, not necessarily depth or substance. But I think spaces like PI.FYI show that there’s another way: where connection is built on shared ideas, tastes, and interests rather than surface-level content. It’s refreshing to be part of a community that values thoughts over optics.
By sharing so few images of myself, I’ve found that it gives others room to focus on my ideas and voice. When I do share an image, it feels intentional—something that contributes to the story I want to tell rather than defining it. Sharing less allows me to express who I am beyond appearance.
For women, especially, sharing less can be a radical act in a world where the default is to objectify ourselves. It resists the pressure to center appearance, focusing instead on what truly matters: our thoughts, voices, and authenticity. I’ve posted a handful of pictures of myself in 2,500 posts because I care more about showing who I am than how I look.
In trying to be seen, are we making it harder for others to truly know us? It’s a question worth considering.
Dec 27, 2024