Transmission from the Glitchstream - File 001: Rip Van Mynx Wakes Up in a Shitty Timeline
What reality did I wake up in?
I feel like I went to sleep sometime around 2006 and just now clawed my way out of a coma wearing cargo pants and eyeliner smudged from a party I don’t remember attending. I’m Rip Van Winkle, if Rip Van Winkle was born Gen X and woke up to discover the entire world had gone through a midlife crisis, joined a cult, and elected the worst possible timeline.
What year is this?
WHO the fuck did you just say is President??
What the ACTUAL fuck?!
It’s been a long, nail-breaking climb out of a depression so deep it had its own zip code. And now that I’m finally—finally—on something resembling level ground, I’m staring down a reality that feels like a bad subplot in The Twilight Zone. Or, for the nerdier among you, Sliders.
Seriously, what the hell, Universe?
Our current timeline is so damn surreal. Up is down. The sky isn’t blue. And the right? So far wrong that Ronald Reagan is probably rolling over in his grave. Which is saying something, but whatever.
Hello again, dear reader. It’s been a while.
I’d apologize, but I’ve never been the type to crawl into a rabbit hole of my own making and stay there forever. (Okay maybe for a few years. Shut up.) This blog was launched with the best intentions—grand, romantic ideas of waxing poetic about writing and nurturing a creative community. You know, light stuff.
Instead, it’s been rotting in this forgotten corner of the internet like a cursed scroll left to molder in someone’s Neopets archive.
Why?
Because if you haven’t figured it out by now: I’m the Queen of Unfinished Projects. One of my favorite t-shirts reads: “Procrastinators: Leaders of Tomorrow.” Honestly, it's less a joke and more of a prophecy at this point.
I didn’t even realize procrastination was a “thing” until I read about it in some innocuous teen mag—probably Seventeen—back when glossy print ruled the world. I was just out there vibing with my Walkman and angst when suddenly an article slapped me in the face with a revelation: if you aren’t color-coding your priorities and categorizing your to-do list by urgency, you’re doing life wrong.
That’s when it hit me: I wasn’t just choosing joy over obligation. I was failing at productivity.
Cue four decades of internalized shame and perfectionism. Of starting things with spark and fire only to bury them under guilt, expectation, and the dreaded pressure to finish.
And gods forbid I actually enjoyed what I was doing—because once I did, it got drafted into the war effort. Suddenly it wasn’t fun anymore. It was work. Something to manage. Something to plan. Something to prioritize until all the magic bled out.
Which brings us back here.
Mynx Writes was born on a whim and a prayer. No map. No monetization strategy. Just me, wanting to talk about words and the wild creative chaos they stir up. But my interests are fleeting. Cyclical. Chaotic. What I’m passionate about today may vanish into thin air tomorrow, and that's not a character flaw—it's a feature.
I didn’t abandon this blog because I didn’t care. I abandoned it because the second it felt like an obligation, I couldn't breathe under it.
Lately, though?
I miss it.
I miss writing.
I miss me.
Or maybe I’ve just cycled back around to the part of the spiral where words feel like home again. Where my brain, for all its chaos and clutter, whispers:
"Hey... maybe it’s time to do something with this unbearably heavy gift of language you’ve been dragging around like a haunted treasure chest."
I don’t know.
But I’m here.
For now.
Stay tuned.
Or not.
You know how it goes.
⚡️ Final Glitch Before the Portal Closes
To anyone else clawing their way back from the abyss: I see you.
Let’s write weird shit and burn the map together.
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