So I was reading these messages, sent less than 24 hours apart and instantly thought: “Who the fuck is this bitch. She needs a fucking Xanax. She needs to calm the fuck down and stop acting like a fucking cow. Someone needs to shove a fucking foot up her fucking ass, in a completely non-sexual way. This guy who’s taking this fucking bullshit needs to fucking gag her (in a non-sexual way too) and tell her to shut the fuck up. Why won’t he tell her to shut the fuck up. Good lord I want to shake him, but only after I feed her to Hannibal Lector. Why are some girls so fucking hormonal and clearly this girl has passive-aggressive Anger Management issues and needs a lobotomy. Fucking hell, just make it stop. Please.”
Then I realized those messages were written by me. Oops. In my defence, the past 5-6 days have been scary and difficult. However, this is how I behave on a regular basis. Who am I kidding? It’s my personal mission in life to run really great things to the ground and be skeptical of my happiness. Don’t ever give me your number/contact information unless you want a migraine.
My next book will be titled “How To Shit On Your Own Parade: A Guide To Self-Sabotage.”
P.S. I text essays and dissertations, as you can see.
