Primalsoup

How I am kinda, sorta back..

[Representative Image generated using AI]

Dear gentle reader (that is just me talking to myself, because let’s face it, there are no readers),

Presenting: a resurrection and a comeback absolutely nobody asked for.

Why did I quit this blog? Who knows. Maybe I thought I was protecting future me from the shame of putting silly, half-baked thoughts on the internet. Maybe I convinced myself that deleting everything would unlock some sort of literary clarity. Or maybe I just rage-quit in the middle of an existential spiral and called it “editing.”

It all began like most millennial crises (and yes, I’m a Gen X-er, but in spirit I’ve fully defected) with COVID. The world felt like it was ending, and I thought, hey, maybe this is the moment I finally write that novel. Spoiler: I didn’t. I did, however, delete this blog. Not as an act of closure. More like a 3am impulse, like cutting your own fringe, texting your ex, or joining a Zoom poetry class you immediately ghost.

And let’s be real – some shit has gone down in the last five, ten, or however many years this timeline’s been unraveling:
Cancer (mine, but in remission, baby),
Grief (the kind that moves in and rearranges the furniture),
Jobs (rage-quit one, quiet-quit the next),
Democracy (hanging by a WhatsApp forward),
The return of a former “leader of the free world” (unclear if he’s a man or a malfunctioning reality show),
And the general feeling that we’re all living in a soft-focus dystopia where the notifications never end.

But let’s not get into all that. Not today. Or any other day truth be told.

Let’s focus on what has stayed gloriously, stubbornly the same:

• Crippling self-doubt that could be monetised as a SaaS product.
• Nobel Prize–level procrastination.
• And more screens than ever, serving up a 24/7 buffet of dopamine, delusion, and doom.

Also—if you see em dashes here, know this: I used them because I decided to. Not because the AI lords told me to. I don’t really know how to use them properly, but I do it anyway. Because I can. Had to be said.

So here we are. Again.

This isn’t a promise to write The Novel™. I still haven’t figured out if it’s a coming-of-age satire, a generational trauma spiral, or just a collection of oddly specific rants about weddings and WhatsApp groups. What this is, is a quiet re-entry. A small, chaotic offering to the algorithm gods.

A digital soup bowl for all the thoughts that refuse to become structured narrative arcs.

If you’re reading this—welcome. Or welcome back. Or welcome by accident. Either way, you’re now a party of one at this literary pity brunch. I’m glad you’re here.

With zero structure and several abandoned Google Docs,

R