My name is Oolla. I'm tired of social media. Ready to make the big quit. I went from a respected activist into being known as a bitchy troll. This has rocked my self-esteem to the core. Now I'm on the verge of becoming an alcoholic. I'm a sicko who cries into the night.
My online community doesn't deserve this wishy washy mess. Even if it equals viral content. The keyboard is no longer my safe space. Now home making is my upskill. I don't need to make this a movement. I told Bae. I should've listened. How could I have posted such emotional shots, out of anger? The illogic locked in. I had no time to explain in 40 characters or less of stress.
Being hybrid and embracing bliesure. Stepping out of social justice warriorisms. Embracing homebodiness as cancel culture came knocking. The guidelines of tolerance seem shady when it's you being silenced. Levels of intuition are divided by anxiety and truth.
I woke early to dump the trash. Aka shit & scroll. Thinking about my selfish actions. About apologizing to everyone involved. I will be doing a live later. Who walks away with the racks without venting? And I'm side-eyeing the entire situation.
Fuck being remote. Bae says he set up my office to be worked in. So everyday at noon, I open its doors. Bae is doing his errands. I stay put. Overlooking the skyline. This a hinderance. I need to move around. Don't worry about me being vaccinated.
The family is ready to join me on any assignment. I encourage it.
But I'm not here to preach or teach anymore. I need to continue to get paid. Flipping currency to bitcoin. Bae says it's superficial. Getting added security made no sense to me.
My status is tied to a vibe
. I didn't think anyone wanted to confront me in person. Caught up in a political scandal. Had my pixie cut on edge. All over my pride. I'm in a polycrisis.
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