“Hey, Brain? I acknowledge I’ve made several minor mistakes this morning that could’ve been avoided easily if I were a better organized person. Could you stop being a dick to me about them for just, like, 3 minutes?”
“…Sorry, have we met?”
Listen here, jerkstore — I go see the nice lady tomorrow, and if I tell her you’re getting outta line, she WILL medicate that smug look right off your dumb face, dumbface. Get your shit together.
I’ve been in a fight with my brain and frankly it’s winning, including skipping the gym all week and a triumphant return to feelings-eating that’s left me no longer able to see the changes in my body exercise had achieved.
But fuck you, Brain — I’m smarter than you. Nice people are delivering me healthy food so I’m prepared for Philly’s forthcoming bullshit snowstorm. So if you insist on staying indoors, that’s fine. But you are gonna drink weird fruit smoothies and do SOME form of exercise and have a goddamn productive day, and you are going to LIKE IT. And tomorrow you’re talking to the therapist.