Protein Bars and Hate

Good, good…let that hate flow. I let it wash right over me. You see, your hate sustains me.

When I turned 40, I decided to stop doing things I don’t want to do: Cooking, landscaping, socializing with people I despise. You know, the basics. Mostly, I decided to stop feeling pressured to do things but I also decided to stop feeling pressured to *feel* things. I’m not obligated to take care of anyone but myself and my dogs.

An interesting byproduct of unfucking my life is how little I care about whether or not people like me. In decades past, I would try to avoid people when I found out they disliked me or I would try to fix it. Now, I’m like YOLO…look at this fabulous outfit I have on today. It fits perfectly and I’m not sorry your diet failed. That was mean but women usually are. My mom thought I was joking when I told her I’m pretty much living on protein bars and hate.

I mean, I am kind of joking but I’m also serious about not letting people control my actions or feelings. I don’t give a frog’s fat ass if you approve of my eating habits, drinking habits, vacation habits, or living habits. My priorities are all about me and what I want my life to be. Your knee-jerk judgment of anything (not) going on in my life says far more about you than it does about me.

I’ve been taught my entire life that choices have consequences. If you want to play, you have to pay and all that. I’ve been disappointing people my entire life and have no intention of stopping now. Deal with it or don’t. Your emotional blackmail has no effect on me.

It turns out adulting involves a lot more Netflix and frozen pizza than I expected. But also a lot more peace and quiet.