DATE
11/14/25
TIME
2:09 PM
LOCATION
Oakland, CA
无filter
no-filter
我好像不是很在意别人怎么看我，但我不能忍受被影响。疯女人、精神病、土、阴郁、报复心强，两面三刀、尖刻、土匪、不服管，胖、喜欢跟人吵架，我都认。但如果你影响到我的生活，我不能忍。你的观点是你的，但你不能干扰我正常活动。这是做人基本吧。我的家，我的东西，我的朋友，我要做的事情，我喜欢的东西，我的习惯，我的口头禅，穿衣风格，不是，你有完没完？
我应该怎么解释谁在这个情况里都他妈都会冒犯。就是，为啥？有意思么这样？不是？我应该觉得被赞赏了吗？我怎么觉得这么反感和恶心呢。而且是吃屎很久迟来的恶心。我他妈，哎。怪我，怪我。
刚开始，因为我俩住得近，我有空、你有空，打网球，出去干什么，都没啥。别人也占我便宜，我以为这没啥。毕竟我，不能拿自己和刚毕业的大学生比吧？但我发现，对于进入社会的人，没啥好手软的。我就一顿爆。你把自己的当前辈，人不把自己当后辈，还开始教我做事做人了，这还得了。
不是这些00后什么意思啊。你给他们帮忙，他们当理所应当，反过来，因为他们自己装逼不成，对你一顿规矩、一顿撒气。我特么只想特么一起交流一下电影、书籍、艺术。有事没事可以一起出去转转，有必要搞这么复杂吗？还孔雀开屏起来了，不是，每次出去搞成雄竞/雌竞，有意思吗。累不累，上班不卷啊？还得卷人设？不是，你们这些卷人设的人，都特么影响到我了。我现在被搞晕了，我得喷。
姐穿什么关你啥事啊？姐结婚了。姐特么想露点，我特么老公没问题也管你屁事啊。作为一个付费成年女性，我特么想调戏你调戏你，我也要享受男人的特权。但果然我比男人有深度，我不喜欢这种东西。不是，我都骂共产党了，我为啥不能骂你？人们只在意他们自己的地盘，别影响别人做事就行，懂不，跟我一个逻辑。还有，人如果跟你说了不要，你就别再继续了，不然后果很严重。骂他是问题，但是不骂他也是问题。我谁都骂，一顿骂，无所谓吧。作为一个第三幕只写了开头，但已经有60+页的人来说，我真不知道写完是不是得200页，然后再砍。我对着这任务，望而生畏，每天拖延，我还想继续拖延着，但你让我生气，打断了我的进度。现在只好专心撒撒气。
I don’t really care how people see me, but I can’t stand being affected. “Crazy woman,” “psycho,” “tacky,” “gloomy,” “vindictive,” “two-faced,” “sharp-tongued,” “bandit,” “disobedient,” “fat,” “likes to argue”—fine, I’ll take all of it. But if you start messing with my life, I won’t tolerate it. Your opinions are yours. That’s just basic human decency, right? My home, my things, my friends, the things I need to do, what I like, my habits, my catchphrases, my style—like, seriously, can you stop?
How am I supposed to explain that anyone in this situation would be fucking offended? Like, why? What’s the point of acting like this? Am I supposed to feel flattered or something? Why does it make me feel so disgusted? And it’s that delayed nausea you get after eating shit for too long. Fuck. Whatever—my bad.
At first, since we lived close, you had time, I had time, playing tennis, going out—whatever. Pan Yan also took advantage of me sometimes; I thought it was no big deal. After all, I can’t compare myself to someone who just graduated, right? But then I realized: with people who’ve already entered society, there’s no point in going soft. So I snapped. You act like you’re the senior, but they don’t even see themselves as juniors—they even start lecturing me on how to live and work? its about time to put this shit to a stop. Like, seriously? Who told you that's okay??
What’s wrong with these gen-zs anyway? You help them, they take it for granted. Then because their own posturing doesn’t land, they start laying rules on you, dumping their shit on you. All I fucking wanted was to talk about films, books, art—maybe hang out sometimes. Does it need to be this complicated? And suddenly they’re peacocking. Every time we go out it turns into male-competition/female-competition—like, is that fun? Aren’t you tired? Isn’t your workplace competitive enough? You still need to compete on “persona”? And the worst part is, your persona-competing bullshit is affecting me. I’m actually dizzy from this, so I need to vent.
What I wear—what the hell does that have to do with you? I’m married. If I want to expose my tits and my husband doesn’t care, why is it your business? As a paying adult woman, if I want to tease you, I’ll tease you, I wanna enjoy the privileges men have. Casually, sexually harassing all the time. But, I don't like it. I guess I'm not as abusive, and vein as men, after all.
I mean—if I can call out an authoritarian party, why can’t I call out on you? People don’t care; they only care about their own turf. Just don’t get in the way of their business—that’s it. Same logic as me. Also, if someone tells you “don’t,” then stop. Otherwise there usually are consequences. I curse everyone, just unload it all. Who cares.
As someone who’s only written the beginning of Act Three but already has over 60 pages, I genuinely don’t know if finishing means this script will hit 200 pages and then I’ll have to chop it down. I stare at the task and feel dread. Every day I procrastinate, and I want to keep procrastinating—but you pissed me off and knocked me off my workflow. Leaving me with no choice.
I don’t really care how people see me, but I can’t stand being affected. “Crazy woman,” “psycho,” “tacky,” “gloomy,” “vindictive,” “two-faced,” “sharp-tongued,” “bandit,” “disobedient,” “fat,” “likes to argue”—fine, I’ll take all of it. But if you start messing with my life, I won’t tolerate it. Your opinions are yours. That’s just basic human decency, right? My home, my things, my friends, the things I need to do, what I like, my habits, my catchphrases, my style—like, seriously, can you stop?
How am I supposed to explain that anyone in this situation would be fucking offended? Like, why? What’s the point of acting like this? Am I supposed to feel flattered or something? Why does it make me feel so disgusted? And it’s that delayed nausea you get after eating shit for too long. Fuck. Whatever—my bad.
At first, since we lived close, you had time, I had time, playing tennis, going out—whatever. Pan Yan also took advantage of me sometimes; I thought it was no big deal. After all, I can’t compare myself to someone who just graduated, right? But then I realized: with people who’ve already entered society, there’s no point in going soft. So I snapped. You act like you’re the senior, but they don’t even see themselves as juniors—they even start lecturing me on how to live and work? its about time to put this shit to a stop. Like, seriously? Who told you that's okay??
What’s wrong with these gen-zs anyway? You help them, they take it for granted. Then because their own posturing doesn’t land, they start laying rules on you, dumping their shit on you. All I fucking wanted was to talk about films, books, art—maybe hang out sometimes. Does it need to be this complicated? And suddenly they’re peacocking. Every time we go out it turns into male-competition/female-competition—like, is that fun? Aren’t you tired? Isn’t your workplace competitive enough? You still need to compete on “persona”? And the worst part is, your persona-competing bullshit is affecting me. I’m actually dizzy from this, so I need to vent.
What I wear—what the hell does that have to do with you? I’m married. If I want to expose my tits and my husband doesn’t care, why is it your business? As a paying adult woman, if I want to tease you, I’ll tease you, I wanna enjoy the privileges men have. Casually, sexually harassing all the time. But, I don't like it. I guess I'm not as abusive, and vein as men, after all.
I mean—if I can call out an authoritarian party, why can’t I call out on you? People don’t care; they only care about their own turf. Just don’t get in the way of their business—that’s it. Same logic as me. Also, if someone tells you “don’t,” then stop. Otherwise there usually are consequences. I curse everyone, just unload it all. Who cares.
As someone who’s only written the beginning of Act Three but already has over 60 pages, I genuinely don’t know if finishing means this script will hit 200 pages and then I’ll have to chop it down. I stare at the task and feel dread. Every day I procrastinate, and I want to keep procrastinating—but you pissed me off and knocked me off my workflow. Leaving me with no choice.