The winter diptych of February is eternally dreary. Going to work before the sun rises has been the norm since autumn. That’s six long dreary months. It’s easy to feel impatient with the regimented bleakness. I’ve been searching for endorphins the last few days, doing my best to emerge from this vacuum of stupor. It’s just damn so tricky. The heavy loads and artilleries of attack are left, right and center.
Being a bitch has nothing to do with hormones. It has always something to do with upbringing. If you have grown up in a cool, calm and collected environment, then more likely than not, you will be the paragon of restraint. Women should not be prone to gossips and bitchiness. But some are more obnoxious than others. Those with a lot of hang-ups and insecurities usually own malignant personalities. We are a reflection of our parents or whoever else assigned by fate to ingrain the proper values in our system when we were young. Let’s do them proud.
No comments:
Post a Comment