in the notebook

exile by the sea

i realized that the version of me who comes out when i'm drunk is strangely the person i have always wished i could be when i'm sober: warm, easy, laughing without thinking, unafraid of being seen.

i remember the railway tracks. the nights we wandered like children without a home to return to. i remember all your arms around me, and the the love you carried for me, the girl who has been sentenced to a lifetime of exile.

and sometimes, here in the heart of this unfamiliar city by the sea, a sadness catches me without warning. i find myself wondering whether, somewhere further down the road, there will still be someone willing to make a home around my sorrow, to soothe it and spoil it and let it stay awhile.

the way you all once did.

in the autopsy

how to ruin a daughter

anyone who's ever known me when i'm in love knows how completely fucked up i can be. i have a habit of wanting love more than anything in the world and then having absolutely no idea what to do with it when it's mine.

in the machine

the code that helped land Apollo 11

i'm sharing the original Apollo 11 source code, written for NASA's historic 1969 mission that landed the first humans on the moon. developed by teams at MIT, including one led by Margaret Hamilton, this software helped guide the spacecraft and kept critical operations running even when

in the machine

on AI, art, and human hands

i had a boss named Dave. Dave loved AI. Dave also had opinions about how i was using AI. a lot of opinions. wrong model. no tools. no retrieval. no memory. no agent. no second agent supervising the first agent. Dave, i am trying to rename a file. i got

in the notebook

the every version of me

i don't think people realize how quickly i have changed over the years, mostly because from the outside it probably looked like reinvention. from where i stood, it often felt more like burial. there was the million-dollar baby Bailey whose ambitious lit up the building. she learned