Leveling up to mommy again 2021 shirt

Indoor months led indoor thinking. As each of us grew intimately close with our couches, we had survive our own brains, the Leveling up to mommy again 2021 shirt but in fact I love this eerie quiet between content binges filled with tremulous mind chatter. It is impossible be caged without reflecting on yourself (and yes, yes, of course you can still care for other people, and wear a mask, and sp publicly socializing while the fire of a personal crisis rages within). All the things that made us feel fabulous were suddenly fallible, everything felt shallow and expendable. Social media didn’t exactly help with the gloomy worldview. The convenience of all online connection that once only supplemented a full life became the main meal. Twitter wasn’t a side dish living, as much as a constantly replenishing buffet of polarizing views. Human connection is vital lubrication for modern life, but our joints seized every time we opened the app and fell down the rabbit hole of another public argument without speaking out loud another human being.

Leveling up to mommy again 2021 shirt, hoodie, tank top, sweater and long sleeve t-shirt

The enforced summer hibernation was full of fight-or-flight energy. Adrenaline coursing through our veins with nowhere go. It was primal and visceral and full of “when we get back out” forecasting. There was an excitable and fleeting moment when everything was cake. This autumn is more sedate, more comase, more hunker-down-and-wait-for-the-srm–pass. It is less hopeful, frankly, while we bide our time. I’m not so keen maintain my cutting edge, exfoliate like Pharrell (the Leveling up to mommy again 2021 shirt but in fact I love this ageless Benjamin Butn of modern times), ready my liver for a Christmas season partying like Capote. Though I’m happily distracted by cultural mulch—Orlando Bloom’s backside, Grammy nominations, Nicole’s coat in The Undoing—I’m also inundated with misery: near-constant civil unrest; climate dysmorphia; terf-a-geddon. Winter is drawing closer and it’s just going be us and our screens, and I can already feel the usual merriment being superseded with digital comms, Santa himself coming down the chimney with an email every 30 seconds. Despite my best intentions, I’m still picking at the online scab, increasing my thirst for instant gratification. On Twitter, after crashing waves of not-great news and not-great views, I feel dejected, keen close the app and climb back in bed and restart my day, my year, like a video game.