You're not broken. You're buried.
30 days. One page at a time.
This book is not a guide. It’s a gentle confrontation.
A book for the days when you want to disappear.
But also for the part of you that still wants to come back.
No sugarcoating. No pressure. No self-help tone.
Just one raw section a day to help you feel again.
This is for you. Exactly now. Your chance to come back to yourself.
This is not a workbook. It’s a mirror.
Two books. One relationship. 30 days of radical honesty.
Not cute. Not fluffy. Not another “love language” quiz.
This is the raw stuff – the things you don’t say, the things you pretend not to feel.
Read it alone. Read it together. Fight a little. Laugh a lot.
It’s not therapy. It’s you two – unfiltered.
(Also: possibly the most brutally honest wedding gift ever.)
They don’t give you a license to be a parent – but they probably should.
A 30-day challenge for the bravest kind of love: parenting.
This book is the crash course you never knew you needed.
30 days of real talk, uncomfortable questions, and inner child drama.
Read it if you're about to have kids. Or already do.
Because love isn’t enough. Awareness is.
Do not have kids before reading this. Seriously.
A satirical survival guide from the frontlines of emotional real estate.
It’s not just about apartments – it’s about the rent you pay with your soul.
If you’ve ever cried in a furnished shoebox or got ghosted mid-lease: this one’s for you.
Brutally funny. Painfully real.
Like Hunger Games – but with rental contracts and inner collapse.
(Also- housewarming gift for anyone who's just moved in – or barely holding it together.)
Ever tried calling a government office before 10am on a Tuesday?
This book is for you.
A darkly funny descent into the absurd rituals of modern bureaucracy – from tax forms to telephone hotlines that never answer.
We sign. We submit. We wait. We rage.
Because no one escapes the system. But at least now, you can laugh while you're stuck in it.
Because “good enough” was never enough.
A satirical scream into the fluorescent void of modern work culture.
Endless hours. Constant pressure. And a to-do list that regenerates overnight.
You don’t climb the ladder. You bleed on it.
Read it at your desk. Read it in the breakroom. Just don’t let your manager see it.