If I had a penny for every single time I’ve whispered “what the FUCK” to myself by the end of any day- I’d be rich. I’d be able to pay off my credit cards. I’d be able to half-ass-afford my own Starbucks addiction without willingly overdrawing my bank account-I don’t think you’ve been able to grasp the “realness” of my caffeine struggles guys.
If there were a way to capture a screenshot of what’s happening inside of my fucking head right now, I’m positive it would be immediately flagged as inappropriate content and banned by whoever those prick-people are who have actual jobs judging what gets banned from social media. It would look like a fucking battlefield-except there would be no bodies nor blood-only wounded thoughts: some shattered into millions of fragments, desperately dragging their amputated, decapitated bodies in every direction-never to make any sense; some held captive as prisoners in shackles by the enemy- Denial; some are innocent children-abandoned, confused, and seeking purpose; some are cowards-hiding from their own shadows…too terrified of what would happen to them if they stood up for themselves. A brutally poetic setting, I can assure you.
Ok ok ok. I’ve told a little white fib. It’s going to be more like 50 things. But I wouldn’t have dared smuggle “50” anything into the title because such a choice would have doomed this post the *Rue of the Blogger Games. And we all know the odds were not in her favor.