Sunday Prayers With Babe Walker

Not everyone understands me all the time. What I mean by that is not everyone likes me all the time. Not even you psychos like me all the time.

It’s not in my nature to judge people based on their jealous judgments of me because my dad always taught me to “Try and curb the asshole gene, Babe.”, but I’ve been thinking about this a lot as of late and it’s starting to raise a kind of serious question: Do people need to like you, like really like you, in order for you to feel happy, worthy, and thin enough?

I think the answer is no. But also yes. No idea. One thing I do know is that I haven’t been feeling like myself lately. I don’t know if it’s the stress I’m under about not knowing anything about politics and not really caring, or the fact that Jack Osbourne (my first hand job) just got married and I’m single this month.  So, I’ve canceled my private Sand Pilates session AND a smoothie date with my old dog walker who I’m trying to fuck. I’m taking this Sunday to remind myself that all I need is me. Fuck expectations, fuck assumptions, fuck trying to be likeable and FUCK you. Totally joking calm down.

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