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for the messiest girls
languishing.
Languishing. Not depressed but not thriving. Just drifting along, one unsatisfied day melting into another.
didn't change the fact I was forty-two years old and didn't know how to make anyone stay.
Things were finally, strangely good for me and I was more unsettled than ever. I hated that feeling. It was like my skin was too tight and the sun too dim and every passing minute a second too long.
What the fuck did I have to be unhappy about? Why couldn't I be content with the handful of decent, functional things I had in this miserable, broken world? Why couldn't any of this be enough for me?
Vaccines Cause Adults.
frowning. People like me, we'd sooner condense ourselves down into smaller and smaller particles and disappear altogether than land in a situation where we were straight up told to our fragile little faces we weren't good or right or enough.
was excellent when it came to having a small crew of close friends who I knew well enough to be selected as a bridesmaid in their weddings though never close enough to be the maid of honor.
I was terrible at the bestie thing. I just didn't understand how to let anyone into that much of my life.
"Maybe he shouldn't bark! Why can't we ask that of people? Don't bark. Don't treat female staff like children. Don't slut-shame anyone."
The truth was, I didn't choose the messy life.
was a perfectionist good girl with the heart of a raging bitch. Messy was the only way to rock this bun.
