Mary's One Hundred

172: because all criticism is self-criticism

What you dislike in another’s work is what’s really wrong with your own.

Thank the heavens I told that nagging, curiosity-stifling voice to fuck off.

This life is full, friends.

I am not the pacing heart, shuddered breathing, constantly engaged fight-or-flight.

I don’t typically on eavesdrop, but what The Bald Man at Starbucks said fucked me up good.

Raise your hand if you’ve ever cried in front of a floor-length dressing room mirror after trying on your twelfth pair of jeans that didn’t fit.

You really should buy pants in the right goddam size, because I’m sick of looking at you.

There isn’t some life-altering lesson hidden in every experience; sometimes, you’re just sad.

If you think marriage is the end of your relationship (and not the beginning) you’re in for a real rough-fucking ride.

Calm the fuck down; it doesn’t make you weak, either.