Author: Eryn 🐰

Okay so—hi, hello, welcome back to the chaotic sitcom that is my life. It’s April 19th. THE 19TH. And somehow this month has already packed the emotional equivalent of, like, six Novembers and a tax season.

Also, quick side note: this was *supposed* to be the month I wrote every single day. Like, “new month, new me, consistent, thriving, journaling queen” energy. And yet… here we are. Seventeen days in and I’m just now checking in like a student who forgot the assignment existed. So that’s going great. Love the follow-through. Truly inspiring stuff.

First plot twist: apparently my body has decided to start a side quest into ✨prediabetes✨. Love that for me. I’ve been trying—truly, gold star effort—eating healthier, making better choices, adding fruit like I’m starring in my own wellness rebrand… only to find out that maybe I’ve been a little *too* enthusiastic with the fruit bowl. Who knew trying to be healthy could backfire like that? Not me, a fool, standing in the kitchen with a banana like it betrayed me personally.

Meanwhile, work has me feeling like the human version of a “miscellaneous” drawer. You know, the one with batteries, a random key, and three pens that don’t work? Yeah. That’s me. I’m the filler person. Need someone to plug a gap? That’s me. Need someone to shift plans last minute? Also me. And it’s getting…old. Like, how am I supposed to plan my own life when my schedule is basically written in pencil by someone else?

And then, because the universe said “let’s really commit to the bit,” I’m officially giving up on school. Again. But this time it feels different—like, capital-D Done. Not dramatic, just…real. I didn’t pay the acceptance fee in time (turns out money is required for that, rude), and between everything else going on, it just wasn’t happening.

Which brings me to the final plot twist: my dog is pregnant. Yes. We are expecting. I am not emotionally prepared, financially thriving, or logistically organized—but we *are* expecting. So if anyone has ever dreamed of owning a German Shepherd puppy… hi, hello, this is your moment. Please come get one. Or five.

So yeah. It’s been a month. And we’re only halfway through. At this point I’m just holding on, eating my slightly controversial fruit, and waiting to see what the rest of April has planned—preferably something calm, but honestly I wouldn’t bet on it.

This Easter, I’m keeping things simple, cozy, and a little citrusy.

No over-the-top baking marathon. No stress. Just one soft, sunshine-filled cake that feels like spring showed up in dessert form. Something light, something sweet, something that tastes like opening the windows and letting fresh air into the kitchen.

So this year, I’m making a lemon blueberry Bundt cake — the kind that feels like it belongs on a pastel plate next to a cup of coffee and a quiet Easter afternoon.

It’s easy, which is honestly the whole point. Easter doesn’t need to be complicated to be special. Sometimes it’s just about making something warm, sharing it with people you love, and letting the day feel gentle.

What you’ll need:

• 1 package lemon cake mix
• 3 oz instant lemon pudding mix
• 2/3 cup water
• 1/2 cup vegetable oil
• 1 teaspoon lemon zest
• 1/3 cup lemon juice
• 4 eggs
• 6 oz blueberries (fresh or frozen)

For the glaze:

• 2 cups powdered sugar
• 3 tablespoons water or lemon juice
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

How I’m making it:

Preheat the oven to 350° and generously grease a large Bundt pan (this part is important because nobody wants a broken Easter cake).

In a big bowl, whisk together the lemon cake mix and lemon pudding mix. Add the water, oil, lemon zest, lemon juice, and eggs, then mix everything until smooth. Gently fold in the blueberries so they don’t burst and turn the whole cake purple.

Pour the batter into the Bundt pan and bake for about 40 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out with a few soft crumbs.

Let it cool in the pan for 10–15 minutes, then flip it onto a cooling rack and let it rest completely.

For the glaze, whisk powdered sugar, water (or lemon juice if you want it extra bright), and vanilla until smooth. Drizzle it over the cooled cake and let it set for about 10 minutes before slicing.

That’s it.

A soft, lemony, blueberry-filled Easter cake that doesn’t try too hard but still feels special. The kind of dessert that sits quietly on the table while everyone talks, laughs, and maybe sneaks an extra slice when no one is looking.

Sometimes Easter isn’t about doing the most.

Sometimes it’s just about making something sweet and letting the day be soft.

Not the post I intend to post today but I got news today.

Not good news.
Not bad news.
Just… news.

The kind that sits in your chest and refuses to tell you how you’re supposed to feel about it.

I think that’s what makes it so hard. If it were good, I’d celebrate. If it were bad, I’d grieve. But this lives in the uncomfortable middle — the quiet gray area where nothing is clearly right or wrong, and yet everything suddenly feels different.

And it came at the worst possible time.

Life already feels fragile, like I’m barely holding everything together with sticky notes and deep breaths, and then this news shows up and gently knocks on the door like it belongs here. Like it’s allowed to rearrange everything without asking if I’m ready.

I didn’t plan for it.
I didn’t prepare for it.
And I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do with it.

That’s the strange thing about news that isn’t good or bad — it still changes things. It still asks you to think about your future in ways you weren’t expecting. It still sits quietly in the back of your mind while you’re trying to go about your day like nothing happened.

But something did happen.

Even if no one else can see it.

Right now I’m just sitting with it, letting myself feel confused and a little overwhelmed and unsure. Not rushing to decide anything. Not forcing meaning onto it. Just letting it exist in the messy middle of my life.

Because sometimes news is just news.

And sometimes that’s enough to shake everything.

Listen. I know what day it is.

I know the internet is out here duct-taping googly eyes onto everything and calling it content. I know someone, somewhere, has already announced they’re quitting their job to become a professional cloud watcher (honestly… tempting). And I KNOW you might be side-eyeing anything posted today like, “hmm… but is it real though?”

So let me say this as plainly—and as un-prankishly—as possible:

This is not an April Fools’ joke.

Your girl is doing the 30-day writing challenge. For real. On purpose. With intention. And probably snacks.

You might remember I already announced it (look at me, being consistent *before* the challenge even starts… growth!!), but today felt like the right day to gently (read: aggressively but lovingly) remind you:

I’m showing up. Every day. For 30 days. To write.

Not perfectly.
Not brilliantly.
Not with a feather quill by candlelight while whispering to my muses.

Just… honestly.

Some days might be thoughtful.
Some might be chaotic.
Some might read like I wrote them while emotionally attached to a cup of coffee.

But they will exist.

And that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?

Because if I’ve learned anything, it’s this: we spend so much time waiting to feel “ready” that we forget readiness is a myth invented by procrastination and its close cousin, ✨overthinking✨.

So this month, I’m choosing momentum over magic.

I’m choosing done over perfect.
Messy over missing.
Showing up over showing off.

And if you’ve been sitting on something—writing, creating, dreaming, doodling, whispering “one day” to yourself like it’s a personality trait—consider this your extremely gentle, bunny-approved nudge:

Start.

Not because it’s the perfect time.
Not because you suddenly feel fearless.
But because you’re allowed to begin before you feel ready.

No punchline. No twist ending. No “haha just kidding.”

Just a small, steady commitment:
30 days. 30 pieces. One slightly unhinged but determined human.

If you’re in, I’m cheering for you.
If you’re watching, I’m still cheering for you.
If you’re skeptical because it’s April 1st… honestly? Fair. Respect.

But come back tomorrow.
And the next day.
And the next.

I’ll be here.

No fooling. 🐰

There’s this unspoken idea that you’re supposed to become best friends with your friends’ partners. Like it’s all one big, happy, perfectly blended group where everyone clicks effortlessly.

But… that’s not always how it goes.

I tried, genuinely. I reached out, invited her to things, made space for a connection outside of just group settings. And for a while, I kept thinking maybe it just needed time. But it started to feel a little one-sided—like the friendliness only really showed up when he was around, and otherwise it was a bit distant, a bit surface-level.

At one point, when they had broken up, I even sent a message just trying to be respectful of everyone involved. I didn’t want to be in the middle of anything—I just wanted clarity on how to exist in shared spaces without making things uncomfortable for anyone. It came from a good place: caring about both people, separately, and wanting to navigate things thoughtfully.

But looking back, I think that was one of the last times I really tried to bridge that gap.

Now that they’re back together, not much has changed on that front—and weirdly, that’s been clarifying in its own way. Not every connection is meant to turn into a friendship, and that’s okay.

Because the truth is: you don’t have to be friends with your friends’ partners.

This isn’t some sitcom version of life where everyone ends up inseparable, sharing inside jokes on a couch every night. Sometimes the dynamic is just… different. More casual. More “we’re friendly because we’re in the same orbit,” and that’s enough.

And honestly, this has been the year I’ve started letting that be enough.

Less overthinking. Less trying to make everything perfectly aligned. Less worrying about who likes what, or how to make every interaction land just right.

I gave it a real shot, and I feel good about that. But I’ve also learned that not every effort needs to be ongoing.

Now when I see her, it’s simple. Polite. Easy. No pressure for it to be anything more than what it naturally is.

And that feels… kind of peaceful, actually.