Just remember…

every bad thought you have about me, I have about myself.

“You,” in this context could mean: the checkout clerk at the grocery store who I think believes that I should lay off the ice cream; the weird coffeeshop guy I just ignored; my husband; my mother; the asshole in fifth grade who accused me of farting in class when I clearly did not, etc etc etc ad nauseum etc.

And if you’re thinking this is whiny and self-pitying and totally self-centered because nobody really thinks about me (or anyone else) that much anyway–well, yeah, I already thought that, too.

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