I always say that my two greatest motivators are Vanity and Anger. I hasten to add that somehow these emotions eventually turn to the Light Side. I’m not truly certain of that last fact, but it helps me convince myself that I’m not an absolute monster. However, I am certain that at some point vanity and self-respect meet, as do anger and motivation. Who knows? Who cares? I actually care. And about who cares. That’s the problem. Or have I been taught it’s a problem?!
Look, I obviously need to examine this thoughtling a bit more deeply, and with my therapist.
Until that undoubtedly world-changing — and stilted, trite, and poorly edited — post, I offer this abbreviated list of what my Pride, Insecurity, Awkwardness, Anxiety, Mood Issues, Social Anxiety, and PTSD will probably cost me if I’m lucky. I need hopes.
1) All of the souls of those I’ve held hostage and forced to listen to Morrissey and/or my lectures on the Late Republican Roman era will haunt my waking life.
2) If there is an afterlife, I will be similarly bound and forced to listen to derivative drivel obviously written for culturally uninformed troglodytes and watch historically inaccurate depictions of Roman warfare in Caesar’s Gallic campaigns.
3) Someday, someone smarter than I will call me “basic” for loving The Plague and Camus.
4) I will never have enough fame or money to exact all of the revenge I seek.
5) I will be having a bad hair day and wearing the wrong shoes when I finally meet Adam Driver and/or Morrissey.
I’ll also probably die first in the zombie apocalypse.😒 Therapy tomorrow. Breathe. Listen to Morrissey.
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