♻️
See what I did there? (☞ﾟ∀ﾟ)☞
This was a family size jar of prego pasta sauce. Now it's the jug I use to prep a day's worth (5 cups) of iced coffee.
Apr 5, 2025
Comments (1)
Make an account to reply.
You open any cupboard in our kitchen and you'll find jars more than a decade old, all holding up quite well storing all sorts of things
Related Recs
this Never happens to me……. what a thrill
pictured: my sweet potato & mushroom risotto leftovers squeezed o so perfectly into 1 neat little tub
Jun 26, 2024
🍚
i've had this single serve rice cooker since college and it's kind of saved me. im extremely lazy in the kitchen (something i want to work on) and make all sorts of stuff in here. grains, yes, but also beans, stews, whatever. just throw some shit in there and you might have a meal 25 minutes later
Jan 22, 2024
Top Recs from @winston
🐙
AAAHHHH I'm learning CSS and HTML to design my own webpage (I'm also using sites like Caard and StrawPage) because I am obsessive with customization and journaling. I have a crippling Instagram addiction but I hate the app. This app seems more my style 👀
Feb 8, 2025
I've never touched makeup before but I have this eye pencil thing and decided to doodle on myself. I like it.
Mar 14, 2025
🪦
I've deleted Instagram. I'm stretching my ears. I'm making video diaries again. I write for myself only. I'm secluded, quiet, I'm grieving, I'm burying myself and I am being buried and I am attending the funeral. I'm alone in all of this.
It wasn't a new year resolution that led me here. It wasn't therapy or a fortune cookie or anything romantic. But I realize your story only matters if you plan on telling it to someone. Maybe as a response to something, "what the fuck is wrong with you?", maybe an intimate secret, maybe a drunken ramble. I'm done telling stories.
I've been alone for forever. Occasionally someone will drift too close, and I think maybe this time, maybe, maybe... And I'm left scarred, or left quietly, but always left.
Of course I have things to reflect on and things to take accountability for. But I'll be damned if I present my isolation as pure, as if I am a martyr. No, this is not for everyone's safety or my own digestibility. I am bringing the chisel down in sharp downward motions against myself again and again and and I will carve something new from this stone tomb. I'll never be David. I'll never be Michelangelo. But I can be something more than stone.
I am moving on. I don't know to where or to what end. It doesn't matter. Very little does, now. Maybe it always had such little meaning and I was just too close, to desperate, to see that. I wanted so badly to mean something. Even if it was just to be grieved. No one will miss me, now, as it's always been. But I also don't miss me.
Moving on.
Mar 26, 2025