“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.
Once in a while I have to play a little game with my brain called, “Sick, Exhausted, or Depressed?” because I have a hard time knowing the difference.
This game is EXACTLY as much fun as it sounds.
Turns out depression can look a lot like laziness, which sucks when you are, in fact, ALSO lazy. Spending my Saturday night differentiating my lethargies? AWESOME. *humming club beat*
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.
It’s funny when my brain tries being an asshole like it doesn’t know I have access to pills, bourbon, cheese, chocolate, and pictures of baby animals.
Not today, fuckface.
This morning on my way to work, I was letting my mind wander to the Bad Place, wherein I dwell on how thoroughly and painfully I’ve misjudged a given situation.
And then “Danger Zone” came on the radio. Ha ha ha — well played, Universe. I’ll refocus.
Smug Singleton 