I’m throwing myself a pity party

It’s 8:52, which means there’s only 8 minutes left, but you’re all invited. Because misery loves company, but you know what’s even better? Having misery AND all your friends with you feeling sorry for you.

Whoops, seven minutes.

Six minutes because I don’t know what to write.

Here’s the thing about feeling sorry for yourself. It feels great, because you get to complain and play the world’s smallest violin and if you have great friends (read: suckers) you can get all their sympathy, and maybe even get some sympathy cookies too.

I’m talking small potato feeling sorry things here. The kind of things that happen because it’s usually somehow in a little way your fault and you realize it but you’re still allowed to feel sorry for yourself right before you begin hating yourself. Usually they’re first world complaints, like “wah wah wah I can’t finish my filet mignon.” “wah wah wah I forgot to tell starbucks I wanted my latte iced”

Today it’s things like like “it’s over 100 degrees outside but I’m sick and have a sore throat and stuffy nose and I’m constantly cold and THESE PEOPLE KEEP TURNING THE AIR UP AND I’M TURNING INTO A POPSICLE.”

or, “I came home late from work and all I wanted to do was fall into my bed and find sanctuary from my sickness. Instead I found bed bugs all over the apartment.”

or “wah wah wah I really really wish I bought those apples but I was too lazy to carry them for the THREE MINUTE WALK HOME and now I’m hungry and sick and all I want to eat is an apple.”

By the way, all these things are happening to me. See what I did there? I started complaining about my problems in such a subtle way I bet you didn’t even know you were being complained at!

Now where are my cookies?

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