Dear Diary: I Think I'm About to Do Something Reckless Again...

MJ Wynn
Jul 22
3 min read

Tonight I’m writing by candlelight, bong and lighter within arm’s reach, about to spill my newest hyperfixation all over the page…

God, where do I even start?

You know how my brain does this thing—like really does this thing—where it won’t let go once something sinks its hooks in? Well. It’s happening again. There’s this little indie bookstore downtown (yes, the one with the neon sign humming softly in the window and those overpriced stickers I can never resist because “it’s supporting local” somehow justifies anything).

Turns out, they’re looking for ambassadors this fall. And I swear to god, I haven’t thought about anything else for days.

Books have always been my first love, long before blogging, before I scribbled teenage heartbreak into spiral notebooks, before I even knew what the word “community” really meant. I still remember hiding under blankets with a flashlight, pages smudged with chocolate or tears (sometimes both), escaping into worlds that felt softer, or at least made the sharp edges of real life more bearable. Those dog-eared paperbacks got me through breakups, moving boxes, that gutting post-breakup year where everything felt like it was falling apart. 📚

So when I saw that Instagram story, it was like something in me cracked open. This. This is exactly what my soul has been itching for. Remember when I’d stay up until 2AM pouring out entire paragraphs about fictional characters’ tragic childhoods?

I want to find my way back to that version of me so badly it physically aches.

✨ What I'm Thinking ✨

I want to bring back messy, midnight reading recaps. Not the “it was good, 4 stars” kind, but the “this line destroyed me on page 167 and here’s a 900-word essay on why I’m emotionally compromised” kind. Prepare yourself for chaotic 3AM Instagram stories. Sorry not sorry.
Blog posts that go deeper. Like how that messy romance I read last month made me rethink the way I approach love, trust, or why I keep swooning for fictional men who are the dictionary definition of a walking red flag—even though IRL, I’m a lesbian. Make it make sense.
Loving on local places that feel like little portals. Remember how we’d spend whole Saturdays in the library just existing between stacks, reading dust jackets and whispering over new finds? I want to document everything: the smell of old pages, the staff picks shelf with its handwritten notes, the way the light hits the reading nook at golden hour.
And yes, you know I’ll probably film stuff too. Once my heart latches onto something, I’m doomed. My room already looks like a paperback tornado touched down. Books piled everywhere, Post-its poking out of every spine.

🌿 It’s More Than Just A Project 🌿

Of course I want this ambassador gig. Desperately. Like, borderline embarrassing levels of want. But really? It’s about clawing my way back to the girl who felt everything too much but made it beautiful by underlining, annotating, and sharing it.

The girl who printed out fanfiction so she could dog-ear her favorite parts (yes, those printouts still exist in a dusty box).

The girl who still cries re-reading a single paragraph because she remembers where she was the first time she read it.

Lately, everything in life has felt a bit… hollow? Like I’m moving through days in grayscale. But books? Books turn the saturation back up. They’re the place I run to when the world feels too jagged. I want to wrap myself in that again. To stay up until 4AM, whispering “just one more chapter” like a prayer.

To fall so deep into a story that it feels like coming home.

🌙 So Here We Go Again 🌙

If you’re still here reading this ramble—bless your patient heart. Consider this your warning: expect a flood of passage screenshots, messy theories, and way too many midnight thoughts on fictional emotional trauma. This isn’t a phase. It’s a return. A homecoming.

And if by cosmic chance someone from that bookstore reads this?

(disclaimer: not me)

Hi. I’m Kass. I live across the city. Slightly unhinged in the best, most passionate way. I read the way some people breathe. And I love your shop with a fierceness that might sound borderline, but it’s real.

I feel like I’m standing at the edge of something—about to remember a part of myself I’ve missed for way too long.

xoxo, mj 💋