I had an insecure day at work, and I’m attempting to reason with the cunt-y part of my brain that’s telling me I’m complete shit at the ONE marketable skill I allegedly have.
But the thing is, the bitch in my brain doesn’t run on logic. So, “Hey, you still HAVE the job, and you just had a good annual review and got a raise!” And she’s like, “NOPE, doesn’t matter. You suck at everything and should just hole up in your hermit fortress and stare at the walls forever. Oh, and you’ll do that ALONE, as long as we’re planning.”
This part of my brain should be in Congress. Can’t tell that bitch SHIT.
But also, fuck you, Brain. I’m gonna give you sleep, then baked goods in the morning, and tomorrow will be better. You go ‘head and try talkin’ trash with a face fulla scone. Wench.
Smug Singleton 