I genuinely am dying on my walks. Pleaseā¦ā¦. I yearn for winter. Every morning I expect to be hit with a gust of the coolest wind. Instead, Iām met with the most humid, hot air. I really am a winter girl.
this is the last day of those mid 70s daytime temps and low 60s nighttime temps and itās been so lovely to hunker down under All the covers at night next to my open window, or to wear a sweatshirt And pants (!) outside in the mornings to read. and to not have to sweat buckets every day when i walk around outside! oh august youāve been good to me this year
As pi.fyi gains popularity I notice more and more people using it like twitter/trying to hit an algorithm/ātweetdeckingā recs/memeing so incongruent to me because pi truly feels like a place of respite from all the aforementioned internet behavior. using it to identify and share small joys from your day, talk about things you want more of in your life, share about yourself, explore things youāre curious about ā¦ I promise thatās āgood contentā. š«¶
I love hand-writing a letter. the delayed gratification of it, talking about anything and nothing, decorating it with cartoons and drawings and stickers. Sending little extras and photographs with tiny micro-playlists scrawled out on the back of it. It takes at least an hour to craft a good letter, one worth receiving and replying to, and it's intimate to think about someone nonstop for that long. I just love that form of communication.
