The Truth

30 Apr

I’ve got the soul of an office manager and the body of a sexually frustrated Burlesque dancer. I’m telling you the truth. I wish I could be one of those people that just doesn’t care about things like taxes, baseboards, and Mother’s Day. But I care so baaaaaaaad, you guys. 

I try to look like someone that doesn’t care. I’ve got a big black tattoo on my chest and I brush my hair, oh, not that much. But the idea of not getting my taxes in on time or having dirty baseboards just makes me want to die. (please note – this does not mean I will clean the baseboards, just that I will feel bad about it and remind myself that my older sister has impeccable baseboards that bitch) AND EVERYONE ELSE HAS TO CARE, TOO. Everyone else must be miserable and not good enough as much as I am not good enough.

Basically, I’m the worst and I’ve spent my life trying to be the best. It’s exhausting, friends. I do think there’s something to be said about the value of self-improvement and self-loathing. But for now, I’ve scheduled a FaceTime date with my boyfriend so we can discuss Mother’s Day gifts that I’m ghost-buying for him because YOU HAVE TO BE GOOD AT MOTHER’S DAY OKAY GOD. 

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