Crashing Out in Silence

If a writer feels something and no one is around to read it, did the writer make a sound?

Apr 25, 2025

Everything in April pissed me off.

I had to cancel an annual doctor’s appointment because of a Big Meeting, and the Big Meeting ended up getting moved. That pissed me off.

People I didn’t know were acting like they knew me so well just because they read my words. That pissed me off.

The girl behind us at the Comedy Cellar kept saying “yeehaw” after every joke instead of laughing. That pissed me off.

My boyfriend couldn’t read my mind about what I actually wanted for dinner????? That pissed me off.

My friends and I went to Evil Trivia and it was the 200th trivia so they made the questions really hard and kept us there for 4 hours and I’m not kidding it felt like taking the SATs. That pissed me off.

I tried to get my landlord to lower my rent increase and he stopped responding until it became the deadline and I was forced to renew at the new price. That pissed me off.

I had to pay my taxes. That pissed me off. (Obviously.)

My leather bag charm got stuck in the rolling conveyor belt at airport security and got ripped to shreds. That pissed me off.

My company announced it was switching from Zoom meetings to Microsoft Teams. That pissed me off.

Cafe Select got new tables outside so they’re not red anymore like they have been for years. That pissed me off.

Pitchfork rated Djo’s new album a 5.9. That pissed me off.

The weather in New York was 80 degrees on a Saturday and then 29 degrees the following Tuesday. That pissed me off.

I kept getting invited to things and trying to say no because I knew I was overextending myself, and it was giving me anxiety so I would explain why I was saying no, but then I would get booooo and laaame and you should cooome, so then I said yes, and then I ended up canceling anyway and feeling even more guilty because I hate canceling on people, and I felt like I was spreading myself too thin with my friends which is the worst thing in my life I could possibly do. That pissed me off.

I had convinced myself I was over Substack. Lunch on Friday had run its course. The greatest hits track list included We Should All Talk to Strangers, Everything Everywhere All at Once, Yes, You Have Time to Read, and I’m Talking to Strangers (Again). It would all be a matter of time before Angelina Hazzouri was a Ghost of Substack Past. Where was she now? Would there be a reunion tour? Did she still enjoy having lunch on Fridays? Was she still updating that weekly playlist on Spotify? (Yes, always.)

That didn’t piss me off. That just made me kinda sad. (((I am so grateful.))) <3

It was April 22, and I hadn’t written anything in over a month. It wasn’t like I was lacking experiences to write about—I’ve lived so much life in the last month. I went to a concert where the crowd was so eclectic that my boyfriend and I smiled the entire time and then laughed the entire walk to the car and danced on the sidewalk in Brooklyn. I had friends over on a Thursday night to drink bourbon and eat homemade carrot cake, and I laughed so hard that I got a stomachache. I went to TEXAS for work with some of my best friends and line danced at a rodeo bar and drove around pretty neighborhoods and ate the best barbecue of my life. I watched Call Me By Your Name, one of my favorite movies of all time, at the Paris Theater next to my best friend and cried for basically a week after that because those characters are tethered to me in a way that I hope you get to experience at least once in your life with a movie or a book. (If I’m being honest, maybe that’s how I got into this funk. Lmao.) I took hour-long lunch breaks with my Real Friends Whom I Happen to Work With (not Work Friends, there’s a difference). I went to a vintage poster store on a rainy day and lost track of time scrolling through their catalog of old cigarette ads and retro diner posters. I ran into people I know on the street. I sat in a glowy room of 13 beautiful people for my best friend’s birthday dinner and didn’t stop smiling the entire time. I attempted to see Lorde in Washington Square Park. I wore some killer outfits. I wore some highly wrinkled outfits. I got a new pair of sunglasses. I read a few marvelous books. I watched Lost in Translation and couldn’t stop thinking about how important it is to talk to strangers.

All that’s to say, I was busy living.

I kept attributing my lack of creativity during this time to being in a “writing rut,” but I knew it was just an excuse. I could easily sit down and write about all of these lovely experiences—I just didn’t want to. I wanted to be negative for once, but I didn’t feel like there was a place for me to do that.

I finally arose from this dispirited state on Tuesday after an enlightening conversation with two of my Real Friends Whom I Happen to Work With during our lunch break. I don’t remember how it came up, but I half-jokingly said, “I feel like I crashed out this month.” One of them immediately piped up, “Ohhhhhhh you have to read my latest post. I feel that.” I hadn’t even realized she’d posted anything. I hadn’t really been on Substack in weeks, and when I mentioned this, my friends asked why.

I explained how although I’m so proud of the “brand” I’ve built, I feel like I’ve put myself into a certain box of wholesomeness. I’ve been a creative person my entire life, but I’ve also been a good person my entire life, and good people with corporate jobs and loving families are supposed to adhere to a certain set of standards. Or so we’re told.

I said that I wanted to be able to express myself more freely but sometimes felt like I couldn’t do so because certain people may not get it. Certain people might be worried about me if I start an essay with the line “Everything pissed me off in April” and then proceed to write about things that aren’t that big of a deal—but if your feelings are valid then so are mine. I said that certain people might think differently of me if my personal essays started including a few more negative remarks or used profanity or covered provocative topics or slightly deterred from the usual romanticization of my otherwise charmed life.

Maybe I was overthinking it, I said.

My other friend validated me. He has his own brand outside of our corporate jobs and said he feels the same way sometimes. We talked about Instagram, for example, and how a certain post that might not seem indecorous to us might ring alarm bells to someone else. (One time I posted from a party on a Wednesday night, wearing black eyeliner and a lot of leather, and one of my aunts asked my brother if my family should be worried.) Being a creative from a Normal Family is one thing, but being a creative in a corporate environment walks a fine line that isn’t often talked about. I get into the elevator in the morning and I’ll have a man in a suit standing next to me as I’m wearing an oversized Popeye graphic tee with a distressed white denim mini skirt. I’ll be explaining our merchandising strategy to a group of Columbia University MBA students on a Wednesday and then asking to see a sample of a shearling carrot with eyes and a mouth on a Thursday. (Don’t ask.) (This is my dream job, and I digress.)

All that’s to say, perception of art can be stressful to think about no matter what medium you’re in, and I let that get the best of me this month. My friends and I ultimately decided that it’s best just to let go. I should stop worrying I might disappoint someone else before I end up disappointing myself. Wouldn’t that be tragic!

I felt so inspired after our lunch conversation—I was absolutely reeling the rest of the day, thinking about what bothered me in the last month, and more importantly, what I loved about the last month.

I loved so many things in April.

Justin Bieber’s incessant Instagram posting—he is not crashing out, he is EXPRESSING HIMSELF
meeting a new friend and an old friend over wine at Moonflower
walking down Bleecker Street at night and seeing the string lights on the fire escape of my old apartment glowing, just like I left them 3 years ago
leaving my phone in the kitchen when I go to bed
watching Donnie Darko at the Metrograph on a Thursday with wide eyes at such brilliant shots
mezcal cocktails at home
running into people I know in the most unexpected places
my Popeye graphic tee
Central Park on a Saturday when it’s 75 and sunny
Texas
Rejection by Tony Tulathimutte—even though I think I hated the process of reading this, I have never read anything so shocking
the newfound energy I felt after changing my daily alarm from 7:30 AM to 6:30 AM
the Coconut Pandan Pudding from Bangkok Supper Club
Emily saying “sick as hell” 25x a week

I am so happy to be back, and I am so happy in general. It’s important to feel all the emotions in order to appreciate the good ones. I wasn’t crashing out, I was just living the normal human experience. Fin.

HAPPY FRIDAYYYYYYYY xoxoxoxoxoxox