The dangerous cocktail of jet lag and altitude change -7,206′ to be exact- one that only Addis Ababa can provide, is in full effect. 8pm arrives and every single ailment seems to have hit me all at once. I can’t survive any longer. M u s t.   s l e e p. Brushing my teeth is an eternity, and for some unexplainable misfortune my mascara is now tar that wont come of my fucking face. Time seems to move slower at this altitude, which only increases the number of hours I lack in sleep.

I cover my face with self-tanning lotion. orange is alright. And then place an eye-mask over the two dark circles that have become my eyes and hope for the best. It never occurs to me that despite having an eye-mask on I still can see the small sliver of light from my door, which is perpetually slightly ajar due to the fact it is too large for the door jamb. I hear an unknown male voice in the living room, where I had left my best friend watching TV minutes earlier. The conversation seems suspicious as a second male voice enters and I smell smoke. Is she really that dumb to try to score weed on our second day here? and at our apartment no less? It is very clear to me that we should at least know someone for a couple of weeks before that’s even a convo… can’t trust a hoe. And while all of this is happening my phone is blowing up with group texts from my boyfriend’s mom, who has randomly become pregnant and eloped to India, and is sending us photos… tons and tons of photos. I am confused why no one is responding… I clearly can’t respond, I am three sheets to the wind- and not in a fun way. The male voices come to a crescendo as my bestie, who has clearly become stupid due to the altitude, walks them to the door. Door closes. Lock. The sound of “SNATCH” playing on the TV seems to get louder and I clearly need to intervene with my imbecile best friend, so I pull of my eye mask and enter the living room in manic paranoid frenzy.

Nothing happened. I had been asleep for about an hour and a half while she was peacefully watching an Arabic subtitled version of Lord of the Rings on TV, and working on her book- Yeah, she’s a published author, but more on that later- No texts from my boyfriend’s mom, who is neither pregnant nor in India, and no one, except for me, was acting crazy. The reality of my mental and physical state sinks in as I slowly wobble off-balance to my room, grab my computer, and slowly wobble back to the couch.




Because I am 24 and have a blog, I’m an expert and can tell you anything and everything!!


No, I can only tell you the bit of insight I have gathered now, as I am wide awake at 6:30 am in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, suffering from jet lag and a gnarly change in altitude, while listening to the roaring freeway underneath my apartment.

Life is intended to be stupidly difficult, and the more time we ask this question –what is life?!?- the more time we aren’t living it. The people who seem to “do life” the best are the people who accept it for what it is: a total shit show. Life is like an angsty teen, rebelling against the standards society puts on us. “Oh you have to be to work at 9:00, well oops! A tree just fell over on your route, hope your boss doesn’t mind you showing up to that meeting 15 minutes late!”

Any sorts of expectations we seem to create are almost always blown out of the water, and this is especially difficult for those of us who are new to “the real world” and have just graduated college. Our lives have had some sort of structure to them up until this point. Our school, parents, counselors, professors have all in one way or the other taken the responsibility of being a buffer between us and the worlds fuckery; and now we are out there, in the world, burning like a babies ass in the sun.

The struggle is REAL.

I have spent most of my life trying to make plans, or trying to stick to them. The fear of failure lives deep inside me and has dictated most of my decisions. Graduating college felt like what I can only imagine taking a final exam standing on top of a motorcycle whizzing through cars at 85 mph while on acid… It was not going well for me, for multiple reasons. Needless to say I could not keep going at the momentum I was, in the way that I was, so I crashed… horribly.

And so I write, after life fully exploded in my face, and landed me some how on the other side of the world, reminded by a few wise words my grandpa used to say, “Fuck ‘em!”

Success is enjoying and moving with the bullshit and the beauty that is life; failure is spending all our time struggling to succeed.