I sit upon my throne, built upon ruin and betrayal, a king with no crown and no country left to call my own. The cruellest joke of them all for my hubris, however, is a Creed CD playing somewhere in the hall. Echoing into nothing.
No one tells you that once you find the right routine for your neurospicy brain, you'll cry.
Because life WAS harder.
You can finally focus and do things easily without getting overwhelmed.
If you're struggling, try The Fabulous.
If you say you’re good at Excel I’m gonna assume you’re one of those people I’d walk past and raise both eyebrows with a light exhale as if it’s cost me energy just moving past your air. Toad.
My fault. MY FAULT? IT'S NOT MY FAULT. Whether I order your primitive folded pizza item at 7pm or 1am. IT IS IRRELEVANT. Stop fucking unloading 3 litres of grease into it. And remove the onions. Obviously. I waste my breathe mentioning this.