I am so happy that today a lady asked me what size jeans I wear and then frowned and said “Yeahh… that’s probably the size I am now, I’ve gained so much weight in menopause.” SO happy.
People ask me why I hate the universe. Well, no one really asks me anything aside from my jeans size to then call me fat or my personal favourite, “hippy” (not “hippie”, which would at least have some comedic value). If anyone WERE to ask me something concerning my thoughts instead of about my apparently enormous figure (wtf), I’m sure it would be “Why do you hate the universe?”, to which I would reply, “Heavens, me, I do not have an ounce of hate in my body, for every human is born pure and true, and there they stay until their final slumber.” And then I’d add: “Pieces of shit.”
It’s just the way I react to things in my head. I also talk to myself in the car so there’s that. Should I even be allowed out?? Maybe I’ll just stay in bed and pig out all day. Just like when you’re an insecure maniac at 55 years old who needs to let go of her glory days back when she ate a carrot for breakfast and coasted on those two calories until falling down the stairs around noon to wake up the next day and nibble on a reward wafer.
I love everybody.