“It doesn’t matter,” Moldeficent, my inner mean voice, whispers into my subconscious as she has done for decades. “You’ll never amount to anything, so give yourself a break.”
It is a struggle not to agree with her, especially in the afternoon and on Fridays.
“They’re holding us back,” Holly Go Holy, my sanctimonious trait, explains to me in seven charts. “The combined effect of all we have done for them and the reciprocating energy suck is a ninety-degree uphill battle.”
Holly has done everything right, and now she can lean back and binge on blaming others for not catching up.