It’s one of those no-good-very-bad days about which I shouldn’t write. Mostly because it’s also one of those “outside looking in” days and I’m feeling like my tolerance for those has ended.
It got me to thinking about ol’ Whorothy. Which caused immediate indigestion. But which enlightened me to so many things.
I am awesome. Nah, I am fucking magical. And I am sick to death of trying to keep convincing people of it. Especially when they seem to think others are more magical.
I rage so much against ol’ whorebag because I can’t rage where I really want to. And while I don’t care so much about people’s opinions of me because I know I am the epitome of awesomeness, it gets pretty damn wearying to continually have Baby being put into a corner. Baby belongs in a corner office with a corporate car, a black AmEx and an unlimited travel budget.
And when you’re on the outs enough times, you really genuinely lose your drive to ever want to be on the inside again. And the sad thing is when nobody seems to miss you.
Sadder still when you realize it doesn’t even matter to you anymore, either. Of course, I’m still waiting for that day.