My morning commute to work consists of the few seconds that it takes me to open the door in my living room. To get to my previous job, I could walk at a normal pace and get there in 10 minutes. If I walked super fast, I could get there in 5. Before that, it would either be a 3-minute drive or a 15-minute walk.
Today, I learned that I’m spoiled and lazy and also, so anal/paranoid that I feel like I need to be close to home at all times, just in case. What if I spill my coffee and I need to change my shirt? What if I didn’t bring enough snacks and I want to go into my kitchen? What if I accidentally wipe off my eyebrow and I need to re-draw it? #firstworldproblems
I like being physically comfortable.
In elementary school, my teacher made a prediction about my future. He painted the following picture: me in the future, a successful writer, sitting in my underwear, writing away in the comfort of my own home.
(Try not to read too much into the whole grown-ass teacher imagining his elementary school-aged student in her underwear part. Although, he did ask me for a kiss on the cheek once… Oh, relax. Nothing happened.)
The other kids laughed at the word “underwear” as I embarrassingly explained that I would never just be sitting at home in my panties because ew that’s yucky.
But turns out, he was semi-right. I love sitting at home in my underwear. I like having a
bottle glass of wine with dinner. I hate complicated things.
I’ve been told that I’m not very good at going with the flow because I ask too many questions. I’m a bitch, but I’m not a ride or die bitch. I need a plan. I need a schedule. Please don’t ask me if I’d take a bullet for you because you won’t like my answer.
The answer is no. Why the fuck are you getting shot at in the first place and why would you get me involved? That’s not the type of relationship I want.