I am uncomfortable.
The "Queen B (word)" is making me uncomfortable.
Having that awesome, no-holds-barred place to pull off my earrings, put up my invisible dukes, and come out swinging is making me uncomfortable.
I'm squishy. I want everything to be sweet and soft, so we can all be happy and get along, and hold hands and burst with absurd rainbow-colored euphoria.
Writing out nothing but bitchy, nagging, ranting paragraphs and having nowhere to put all the sugary bits left me feeling as if I'd devoured an entire rare steak with my hands, and then skipped dessert.
I want a soft place. I want a place to take off the bitch-tiara, and sink into a big, fat, sugary mattress, and admit that I'm a huge puss more often than I'm a raving, bitching lunatic.
I'm a huge puss more often than I'm a raving, bitching lunatic.
That's all. Carry on.