I have to read the rest of this later because I can't get past the first paragraph and the idea that someone doesn't like you?!?! Like who tf doesn't like Dr. Wendy Robinson?
Feeling solid in being the exact right age is truly one of the best feelings. I am a former people pleaser, and (especially at work) I just do not care if these ding dongs don't like me. I am also petty and hold grudges, so I try not to take it personally when someone thinks I suck, because I still think a lot of people suck for possibly dumb reasons that are honestly not that deep. (I figure if I still don't like the coworker from five years ago who would throw his chewed gum into my trashcan, I've definitely done worse to annoy someone, and that is their little grudge to carry.)
I absolutely want to ride those little go carty things, and would assuredly end up hitting my deductible. I can just see my leg now, going in a direction it should not go.
The absolute fuckwaffle took me down for like a MONTH in May. It was so bad, I lost all the strength in my left arm. I took ibuprofen and muscle relaxers, I went to the chiro, I went to the masseuse, I used heat, I used cold, nothing worked. Every morning I’d wake up and it was the same pain, the same intensity.
I finally had some success with a TENS unit, (mostly, I think, because I used it several times a day) and I attribute my eventual success at getting rid of said fuckwaffle by just keeping at it and not letting the damn thing win.
I have a copy of Murderland - the book mentioned in the New Yorker article you linked - sitting on my nightstand right now, and when I brought it home from the library, my husband said, "That looks interesting. You'll never get through it before it's due back." (And he's right)
I have to read the rest of this later because I can't get past the first paragraph and the idea that someone doesn't like you?!?! Like who tf doesn't like Dr. Wendy Robinson?
Oh, I can give you a list for sure...
Feeling solid in being the exact right age is truly one of the best feelings. I am a former people pleaser, and (especially at work) I just do not care if these ding dongs don't like me. I am also petty and hold grudges, so I try not to take it personally when someone thinks I suck, because I still think a lot of people suck for possibly dumb reasons that are honestly not that deep. (I figure if I still don't like the coworker from five years ago who would throw his chewed gum into my trashcan, I've definitely done worse to annoy someone, and that is their little grudge to carry.)
I absolutely want to ride those little go carty things, and would assuredly end up hitting my deductible. I can just see my leg now, going in a direction it should not go.
There is no way I leave that kart track without either road rash or a concussion
The absolute fuckwaffle took me down for like a MONTH in May. It was so bad, I lost all the strength in my left arm. I took ibuprofen and muscle relaxers, I went to the chiro, I went to the masseuse, I used heat, I used cold, nothing worked. Every morning I’d wake up and it was the same pain, the same intensity.
I finally had some success with a TENS unit, (mostly, I think, because I used it several times a day) and I attribute my eventual success at getting rid of said fuckwaffle by just keeping at it and not letting the damn thing win.
That sounds MISERABLE
I have a copy of Murderland - the book mentioned in the New Yorker article you linked - sitting on my nightstand right now, and when I brought it home from the library, my husband said, "That looks interesting. You'll never get through it before it's due back." (And he's right)
How delightfully annoying and lovely to be known so well