Nothing has tamed my monkey mind more effectively than being the proud owner of Miles.
Maybe, despite what common wisdom suggests, it’s actually kind of a dumb idea.
When my boss appeared at my desk and asked if I had any “capacity,” I paused contemplatively, and then proclaimed that I was all full from the chicken burrito I’d just eaten. When he rephrased the question using the word “bandwidth,” I suggested that we ask the IT department to check the bit-rate on my computer.
There are few things in life as humiliating as throwing a party that nobody attends. But, to let this dampen my spirit would have only exhibited weakness. By springtime, my apartment became a raucous, unregulated, jam-packed, anything-goes drug den and fuck palace.
We all share one common thread: somewhere along the line, we internalized the belief that we need to put up with shit to be loved. And, in case you didn’t know, this is not how love works.
Fuck You is a mindset. It knows no gender, no race, no class, no creed.
But, your friends can only take so much. And, if you do what I did, you’re almost certainly going to annoy the fuck out of them.
What’ll happen if you do nothing?