I called off work today. Of course I lied, saying I was sick, getting a migraine, blah blah blah, but really I was just at the end of my goddamn rope. Cumulative sleep deprivation over the course of two weeks has gotten to the point of seriously fucking with me.
In short, I had a mild case of Not Giving A Fuck. (And no, Mr. Manager, I do not have a doctor’s note.)
It feels pretty good. Last night I celebrated by watching mindless shit on TV. Then I slept for 14 hours. Then I got up, had a big breakfast and a cup of coffee, stole some shit off the internet, and reflected on how good it feels to not give a fuck.
Again, in case you were wondering, it feels pretty good.
I went into Starbucks not giving a fuck about “social anxiety” and being “weird” and getting “jittery” from too much caffeine. I just gave zero fucks. It didn’t change any of that stuff, but it did make it kind of amusing.
This guy was sitting in front of me in one of those douchey armchairs, douchily crossing his legs and pontificating about I don’t even know what. He had the attitude of a man who has the ear of a woman — a man who can say nothing wrong. We glanced at each other. “You are a douche,” I said with my eyes. “The fuck do you care?” he said with his.
Beautiful. I turned back to my book. He was right. The fuck did I not care.
Anyway, now I’m home, about to watch the UFC fights from last night. I’m still hard at work not giving a fuck. It’s great. Seriously, try it. It’s the simplest form of self-help there is.