Bless Your Heart
I will not change my personality/writing to be a chameleon of society writhing within the guffawed persona who sees life's comedy of errors as a mindset problem with a manifestation fix.
Maybe it’s time for all of us, obsessed with the eff-ups of others to cast a ‘Bless Your Heart’ into the atmospheres and hit the unfollow button for those who chap our well pressed khakis.
Republicrat?
Madness or change?
The only way to any kind of impass is to stop playing into this madness of blaming each other , keeping score and sharing trauma like it’s oxygen.
Manifesting
I can pragmatically figure out a plan and learn from people who do not talk in circles about money and social media with language so loaded it’s as lit as the Real Housewives on any given weekday cocktail party.
It’s just life. I’m alive. My dog is alive and a part time French Food critic with palatable anxiety and needs his own therapist.
Eat A Sandwich
I think this crescendo of fundamental fuck ups within my career started when I decided I wanted to become a fitness instructor. I was catapulted in the menagerie of social media bossbaberies when I stumbled upon a class created by an virally infectious motivator. This person is a living breathing barbie doll of everything that would come to mind if the alien walked up to you and gestured “WTF is a Girlboss or Bossbabe.”
Is there somewhere between $2.40 an hour waitressing at Starburnt and Girlbosssing your way into googlieyed oblivion in your stories?