Well who else would I be, if not for myself?

From the “should I say it or not say it” files, I’ll say it but probably wish I hadn’t.

Mom gets so mad at me when I tell her stories from work and she realizes I cuss or go yam-tastic in front of important people.

You know, I have so few joys in life that BEING MYSELF is about the only thing I have to show for my 39 years on this planet.

And I like me. I hope others do too. At least I’m not boring. THAT would make me want to kill myself.

So today she’s mad at me again, saying I could get fired for being my usual over-the-top self.

You know, it’s like getting screwed at my apartment building. They seem to have all the rights even though they continually disappoint me and I pay dearly for the privilege of being screwed with my scandalous panties on.

So basically the place where you spend 10-ish hours of your day and 2-ish hours commuting to/from isn’t a place to actually enjoy yourself, either.

Which, believe me, I KNOW. Fun and work don’t mix. But I forget too easily that the only place where I was able to be myself without fear of consequence, well, I don’t work there anymore.

And even then, if we’re being honest, I’ve muffled many a scream. Or screamed after-hours. You know, when NOBODY ELSE was there to hear it.

I don’t know. I’m sick of spending a lifetime pretending to NOT be me, to impress people who may or may not be in my life after a certain period of time, who may or may not even CARE one way or the other what comes out of my mouth as long as I’m loyal and do what I can to keep us all in business.

Is it too much to ask to find a nice guy to marry who’s a trust fund baby so I don’t have to worry about this shit anymore?

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