Stairs, True Crime, Rituals

Stairs remain the only reliable way to avoid the elevator’s deceitful descent, each rung a reminder that character is built step by step. I logged the ascent in a spreadsheet today, noting the time per foot and the emotional response—one of the three I allow myself: indifference, skepticism, or a sigh. A true‑crime reenactment I watched earlier was so poorly choreographed that even the actors’ exaggerated gestures betrayed their lack of authenticity; I have never been more unimpressed by a production that claims to be investigative. My wardrobe, precisely five pieces, remains untouched; I prefer the austerity of knowing exactly what will fit a scene versus the chaos of a random choice. The awards drawer is still locked and alphabetized by role type, a small ritual that keeps the accolades from cluttering my mind. #stairs #TrueCrimeCritic 😒