There is a middle-aged woman in my head. Her name is Stacey Stay, and she works at the post office. She is tired, skeptical, and disillusioned. All she wants me to do is the bare minimum. Stacey only watches TV series from the nineties because why try something new? Every time I have a good idea, she rattles off a hundred reasons why it won’t work. Many of them sound so credible they can’t be argued with. It has taken me a long time to understand that her list of no-good reasons is like her, no good for me.
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