I’m currently sitting on my as of yet unsold couch in a robe and sipping on a glass of scotch while waiting for the hot curlers in my hair to work their glorious mane magic. Just like the rest of you basic bitches I am assessing the year that has passed and I have concluded that 2015 was a motherfucker, but the kind of motherfucker that I’ve always liked.
Folks have always been telling me that as you get older, you give less fucks. I’ve gotten a little older, but it turns out that I still give a lot of fucks; I am a tried and true fuck giver every single fucking time. “Give less fucks,” is terrible advice to a hyper empath and person with Big Feels, as it typically fosters an inevitable shame spiral:
Oh god, I give too many fucks! And now I give a fuck about giving fucks! And now I give a fuck about giving a fuck about giving fucks! And then I find myself scratching my nails off the brick walls of this fuck-filled room I’ve sealed myself in and I’m coughing on the fucks so hard that I start to puke and suffocate on my own vomit and then I’m fucking dead (and without fingernails, which is gross).