Why My Code Has More Comments Than a Reality Show Thread

Because the real drama isn’t on TV—it’s in my functions.

 

 
 

You ever watch a reality show and scroll Twitter at the same time?
The commentary is half the fun.

Well, my code is the same way.
Except I am the commentary.

If you crack open one of my JS files, it’s less "elegant software engineer" and more "live-blogging a mental breakdown in syntax."
And honestly? I stand by it.

In a world obsessed with “clean, minimal code,” I’m over here running a full emotional support hotline inside my functions.
And future-me? She’s grateful.

 

 

The Truth About My Comments

I don’t write comments for the compiler.
I write them for future me.

And future me?
She’s tired.
She’s juggling five tabs.
She barely remembers what she had for breakfast—let alone why she wrote a nested for-loop inside an asynchronous callback three weeks ago.

Comments are my survival notes.
Sometimes they’re clear, methodical breadcrumbs.
Sometimes they’re the frantic diary entries of a woman on the brink.

Either way, they are essential.


Types of Comments in My Code

Here's a small taste of the emotional rollercoaster hidden inside my brackets and semicolons:


Helpful Descriptions:

✅ Actual documentation. Gold star for me.


Warnings From Past Me:

🚨 I speak from experience.


Confused Confessions:

🤷‍♀️ Look, I’m just happy it passed the tests.


Unhinged but Relatable:

🙏 Sometimes all you can do is pray to the JavaScript gods.


Motivational Pep Talks:

👑 Because code is hard and encouragement is free.


Why I Love It

Over-commenting gets a bad rap in some circles.
But here’s what it actually does for me:

  • Helps future-me navigate the jungle I left behind

  • Makes onboarding easier for anyone brave enough to read my code

  • Keeps me sane when debugging at 1:00 a.m. with only caffeine and regrets for company

  • Adds a touch of humanity to an otherwise soulless block of logic

Is every comment useful?
Maybe not.

But every comment has a vibe.
And vibes matter.


You can have your pristine, uncommented, “self-documenting” code if you want.

Me?

I’m going to keep writing code like I’m narrating an episode of Love Is Blind—complete with side-eyes, dramatic monologues, and occasional screaming into the void.

Because in the world of tech, the real drama doesn’t happen on TV.
It happens at the breakpoint.

Comment your code. Comment it weird. Comment it like your sanity depends on it.


Because one day?
It just might.

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I’ve Been in a Git Merge Conflict Longer Than Some Relationships

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Explaining My Code to a Rubber Duck Like I’m on Shark Tank