in the notebook

seventy-eight ways to grieve

there is something devastating about watching a tarot reader lay the cards down one by one, only for them to look at me afterward and say, "i just want to hug you."

and i always wonder what they saw.

which card gave me away.

which combination told them that beneath all the surviving, all the leaving first, all the pretending i have made peace with things, there is still someone inside me quietly asking why love always seems to find me without ever deciding to keep me.

sometimes i think that is the cruelest kind of hope.

not believing that nobody will ever love me.

believing they will.

just never enough to stay.

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