But maybe I’m not doing it right, maybe my efforts aren’t properly directed. I think they are but that’s the scary part–the chance that you’re doing it all wrong. The chance you really aren’t as put together as you think you are. After all, I picked the wrong person. Again.
I’m trying to erase self doubt.
I’m trying to believe.
I’m trying to trust.
I hate reading British lit now, I hate all the “keens” and “mustn’ts.” I can hear the stupid accent in the text. I used to love it, I detest it now. Anything UK related makes me want to turn away in disgust. I finally cleared the fridge of all the “jams” and lemon curd. Threw away the barley drink, and I have yet to dump the Heinz beans. I want nothing to do with it. None of it.
I’m pissed. I hate it all like the coal miners hated Maggie Thatcher.