I’m an asshole who doesn’t have patience for high maintenance gals who wear makeup, paint their nails, exercise, generally take pride in their appearance. I can’t be bothered to make an effort because I really can’t be bothered. But. That isn’t the whole truth. I also can’t be bothered because I’m scared if I try I still won’t be….enough. Not pretty enough, not skinny enough, not fashionable enough. It’s easier to hide behind superiority–smart girls don’t worry about things like looks. Smart girls aren’t high maintenance. Which is garbage. It’s also cowardly. And if I think about it I adore a lot of women who wear makeup, paint their nails, exercise, and generally take pride in their appearance.
So I’ve been having an extended pity party for myself all day. My ears are plugged up, my throat is sore, and I’m fucking exhausted because I nursed C 4 times last night-he is sick, too. My sweet little boy is sick and it is messing with his sleep and instead of being concerned about him I’m annoyed that I have to get up in the middle of the night when I don’t feel well.
I’m pissed because I’m sick and am not getting rest and on top of it I’m pissed because I’m a shitty person for being worried about my comfort instead of remembering C is sick, too. Then the anxiety starts butting in to remind me that what all this means is I’m completely worthless. And speaking of butting in, who the fuck am I to write a blog post of ADVICE to my sisters-in-law? The hubris! That was a really stupid choice. And suddenly I’m sitting on the sofa, absolutely mortified that I exist.
But when I go to collect the mail I find this amongst the creditcard offers.