It has recently come to my attention that I am Fucked Up. But therapy in LA is dang pricey. I know it’s an investment in me, but Me can’t afford it. And if we can’t afford it, chances are yous can’t either. So I’ve scoured the Internet for free brain-doctoring to help us all finally unpack that baggage we’ve been hauling around since our self-esteem was destroyed in grade 3.
I thought I’d embark on this psychic journey by picking up some used psychology books, but since that takes actual efforts, I signed up for Tut notes (tut.com) and receive a daily message straight from The Universe to my inbox. So wherever you see my name, swap it out for yours, and wherever you see “I” or “me” it’s you-I and you-me.
“A life properly lived is an easy, luxurious life, it’s not supposed to be hard though we can make it that way with limited thinking, low expectations, or failing to see ourselves as we really are: Infinite Beings of Light. Fun loving gladiators of the Universe. Adventurers just being human, with eternity before us and the power of our thoughts to shape it!!
WE MAKE OUR OWN REALITIES, OUR OWN FATE AND OUR OWN LUCK. That, is how powerful we are, and andrea, that, is how powerful YOU are. And to offset all the mainstream thinking to the contrary, you deserve to hear this kind of message as often as you have to hear all the others.”
So Spartacus, is the power of your mind box making your personal reality, fate and luck as craptastic as mine? And we only have ourselves to blame! Not even Mom.
No really, let’s just suck it up and take responsibility for something once in our lives. Fuck. Shit! Fuck.
Oh my god what have I done?!
What am I doing?!
Think about it: That’s why people act like assholes!
Is this a breakthrough?
I feel like ass.
THIS is hard.
I awoke thirty-seven hours later (is that normal?) with a vice-like grip on my tear stained pillow to find this guy:
“What if the one person who you believed liked you the least, andrea, loved you the most? Yeah, ‘hate when that happens.’
P.S.- It sometimes happens like that, andrea.”
Um. What? Does it just sometimes “happen” or is it due to the incredible power of my thought making?
Someone doesn’t like me? Who?
Wait, no. Someone loved me in that way and I fucked it up?
Why am I not open to love?
And why didn’t the asshole just tell me he loved me instead of acting like I smelled moldy? I might have issues with feeling deserving of love, but that’s some seventh grade style bullshit.
I don’t know about you-me, but I need a drink.