AUGUST 2026 · ENTRY NO. 001
In desperate need of a hobby
School starts soon, which unfortunately means I have once again reached the time of year where I start thinking about who I am as a person.
And I've recently come to the conclusion that I don't do anything.
Obviously, I do things. I watch an ungodly amount of TV and movies. I listen to music constantly. I bake sometimes. I make random shit. I read when I remember that I like reading. I have interests. Probably too many of them. But I don't feel like I have a thing.
Like when someone asks, “What do you do for fun?” I genuinely don't know what I'm supposed to say. Scroll on my phone? Watch TV? Think about something and then Google it for three hours?
There are people who play guitar. People who paint. People who run every morning for some godforsaken reason. People who can sew entire dresses or identify birds or make pottery or speak four languages. They have something they do. Something they've gotten good at because they've done it for years.
I don't really have that.
And I know having a hobby is not actually what makes someone a significant member of society. That would be an insane standard for citizenship. But sometimes I feel weirdly insignificant because I don't have anything tangible to point to and say, I made this. I know how to do this. This is mine.
School makes this feeling worse. You're constantly being asked what you're interested in, what clubs you're in, what you're good at, what you want to study, what you want to do with your life. College is slowly creeping closer, and apparently I'm supposed to be assembling myself into a Person With Interests™ who can eventually explain herself in 650 words to an admissions officer.
Meanwhile I'm sitting here thinking, I don't know. I like TV.
But I think there's something else underneath all of this that scares me more.
It's really fucking weird how little we actually know each other.
We spend our entire lives around other people. We talk constantly. We have friends and families and classmates and coworkers and eventually maybe spouses and children, and somehow we can still go through an entire life without ever communicating completely nakedly with another person.
Not literally naked. That would be a very different entry.
I mean without editing ourselves.
There are thousands of thoughts you have that you never say out loud. Tiny opinions. Things you notice. Memories that randomly come back to you. Songs that make you feel something you couldn't explain if you tried. Things you're embarrassed about. Things you secretly want. Things you think are hilarious that nobody else would understand. Entire versions of yourself that exist completely inside your own head.
And then you die.
Which is a slightly dramatic turn for an entry that started with me needing a hobby, but seriously.
You die, and everyone who knew you is left with whatever pieces of yourself you happened to give them.
Even the people who loved you probably never knew exactly what it was like to be you. They knew their version of you. And eventually they're gone too.
I find that horrifying.
Maybe that's part of why I've suddenly become obsessed with making things. Junk journals, baking, crafts, writing things down, taking pictures, and now apparently building a website at midnight.
I like leaving evidence.
Not evidence that I was important or exceptionally interesting or accomplished. Just evidence that there was an actual person here. Someone who thought things and liked things and hated things and made things and changed her mind and watched way too much television.
Maybe that's also why I don't want this website to be polished into some perfect version of me. I want the stupid things here too. The half-finished projects. The random pictures. The opinions I might completely disagree with five years from now. The things that aren't important enough to put anywhere else.
Because those are probably the things that actually make up a person.
I still want a hobby. Several, actually. I want to be able to make things and know how to do things and have interests that exist outside of a screen. Maybe I'll try fifteen things and abandon twelve of them. Maybe one will stick. Maybe this website itself will become one.
But I think I also want somewhere that I can communicate a little more nakedly than people normally do.
Somewhere I can leave pieces of myself lying around.
So that's kind of what this website is.
Evidence that I was here.