Furiously Happy: A Funny Book About Horrible Things

by Jenny Lawson

Whenever Victor and I are fighting, I like to pull out my phone and take a selfie of us together because that way when he tells me to calm down I can prove that I’m less mad than he is because “How could you think I’ve lost my temper? Look at me in this picture. I look adorable. You look like the one with a temper problem.” It’s also nice because when I’m taking the picture he either has to smile or he has to choose to look shitty. Either way, I win. Plus, I have a terrible picture of him I can threaten to tweet out if he doesn’t agree that I’m probably right about everything.

The amount of money I would pay for people to stop fucking up grammar is only slightly lower than the amount I’d give to ensure I never have grammatical errors in the statements I make calling others out on their grammatical errors.

Grammar

Those same well-meaning people will tell me that I’m keeping myself from recovering because I really “just need to cheer up and smile.” That’s when I consider chopping off their arms and then blaming them for not picking up their severed arms so they can take them to the hospital to get reattached. “Just pick them up and take them to get fixed. IT’S NOT THAT HARD, SARAH. I pick up stuff all the time. We all do. No, I’m not going to help you because you have to learn to do this for yourself. I won’t always be around to help you, you know. I’m sure you could do it if you just tried. Honestly, it’s like you don’t even want to have arms.”

About depression