he’s 27 — which basically means old enough to file taxes but still too young to understand what’s going on in those taxes. he wakes up every weekday thinking it’s friday, only to realize it’s Monday... again. currently surviving the corporate simulation where “let’s circle back” is a threat and “quick sync” ruins your lunch break. this man has mastered the art of nodding during meetings while his soul quietly exits the chat. he thrives on caffeine, self-deprecating humor, and the faint hope that one day HR will approve his leave request before he mentally combusts.
this account? think of it as his emotional support landfill. here he dumps his unfiltered thoughts, half-baked existential musings, and late-night oversharing disguised as jokes. it’s where he vents about work, overanalyzes the most random things, and acts like everything’s fine (spoiler: it’s not). he doesn’t chase aesthetics, followers, or peace of mind — just the occasional serotonin hit from a stranger who gets the joke.
dni: if you think being 27+ means you should have your life together, or if you think “corporate ranting” isn’t a valid coping mechanism. he’s too tired to perform perfection and too broke to quit. this space is for the chronically exhausted, emotionally unstable, and weirdly self-aware — people who cry to playlists, celebrate tiny victories, and laugh about their downfall like it’s stand-up material.
welcome to his timeline, where mental breakdowns get live-tweeted, weekend naps are sacred rituals, and everyone’s pretending adulthood is going great. stay, scream, overshare, make it messy. it’s a safe place — just not a stable one.