Peace out

The thing with granting yourself peace, it’s just like cleaning or eating right.

You can’t do it once and be good for life. You have to make the conscious choice to do it every single minute of every single day … or at least enough to make your body or house inhabitable, but on a cognitive level.

What I have loved about the type of job I’m in, is that I bond with top experts. They do their thing, I make them look better. They fuck up, I cover it up. I earn their undying gratitude, and we all live happily ever after. Whenever I need a favor, I gots the hookup.

And then there are people who suck the air out of the room and who throw you under the bus and back up over you a few times while never acknowledging how many times you lifted up that same bus and helped them out from under it.

I’m not looking for a parade for all I have done for them. God knows it doesn’t work like that. But escalating every little thing to crisis levels and trying to make me look like a slacker in public? Deserves a nice hot cuppa “shut the fuck up” dumped all over their pointy little heads.

It’s already hard enough most days to scrub my butt and toss on some clean scandalous gutchies. Pantyhose and makeup on top of it means I’m REALLY trying hard to keep it together. And to constantly be on the defensive is really, really messing with the inner peace I only catch fleeting glimpses of.

Karma may be a bitch, but I’m here now and I can be a MUCH bigger one. In case anybody missed THAT memo.

Peace out … the window once again.

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