Clutter. Experts found those with messy homes have elevated stress. If you look around and see crap, piles of paper, old magazines you said you would read, a group of college friends who can’t take a hint that you’ve grown beyond Dungeons and Dragons, it’s time for a change. A clutter-free space is the cure! The fix: You can use a Zorro Circle and begin with one pile per day. Donate old clothes or appliances. Take the fantasy nerd’s dice. They’ll leave.
That problem shirt. You’ve kept that shirt for ten years. You know, the one you bought on sale that would look great on you if you had little tits. But your D-cups stretch the hell out of it. Not only are you stressed every time you go in the closet, see the shirt, and denigrate yourself for buying it at all, but also you consider breast reconstruction. Donate that rag. And while you’re at it, get rid of those pointy high-heels. Wear flats with rubber soles — like those ugly Keds hidden behind the laundry room door.
Procrastination. You put things off until they explode in your face. Like that chicken in the fridge? It’s fuzzy. That’s a missed opportunity. Those incomplete spreadsheets you need for your presentation tomorrow morning are causing an asthma attack. Experts suggest eating the frog — doing the worst task first thing each day. Although you’re fucked for that presentation, unless you forgo sleep tonight, you can use that sage wisdom in the future. I, however, have another suggestion. Quit your job. You’ll avoid the spreadsheets and have time to cook before your food spoils.
Others’ opinions. You spend hours each day concerned you didn’t say the right thing or make the acceptable decision. Wondering who is mad at you or who doesn’t approve of your flat shoes. Experts suggest getting rid of toxic people and surrounding yourself with people who approve of everything you do and support you no matter how many mojitos you’ve downed. Not only is that the sickest, most misleading bullshit I have ever heard, but also the only living things on the planet that will not judge you are houseplants. And we only think they approve because we don’t speak electric pulse language. My cure for suffering the opinions of humans with whom you must associate? Fuck ’em. If you feel judged, hold up your middle finger and sport those Keds with pride!
Francine. You know that toxic social acquaintance who pokes the cake you made for the church social with the tip of her finger, purses her lips, and asks if you used enough butter? The one who asks you who your stylist is, and then expounds on the reasons no one uses that stylist, because she ruins everyone’s hair? That one. Miss My Life is a Beacon for all to follow. What do you do with toxic Francine and the other toxic people in your life? Experts say to get rid of them and surround yourself with loving people. Let’s get real: The concept of loving people is a fallacy. Most people are toxic at least on Wednesday. And your cake was dry and your hair is a travesty. But Francine is still a mega-bitch. Practice that middle finger thing. Or get pictures of Francine’s husband with the middle school gym teacher. Everyone already knows what those two do. Let’s help Francine get rid of the toxic people in her life!
The rug in the foyer. Each time you trip over the curled edge of that rug, you chastise yourself for being clumsy, for not fixing the rug with floor tape, for choosing such an offensive rainbow-stripped monstrosity. We don’t need an expert to explain that creating situations so you can enter negative self-talk is unhealthy. Do yourself a favor. Hire an interior decorator.
Your son, Bernard. That little wanker has caused nothing but trouble since you conceived him. Do you recall the anus pressure when carrying him to term? Now, he’s dating Francine’s daughter. And he lost his job. And he wants to move back in with you. Experts say this is a fine opportunity to say no. To understand that his decisions are his. A stress-free life means letting your adult children live their own lives. I say leave those pictures of Francine’s husband and that gym teacher in the basement where your son now lives with that trollop. Shifting the stress to others is a powerful approach to curing your own. If that approach is ineffective, move to New York where abortions are permitted well into your son’s thirties.
Costco. Once a month, you venture into that big-box store to secure those best-deals on almonds and bleach. Yet, thinking about it over the course of the month, taking inventory, making the list, and checking the flier for protein bar coupons is driving you to the brink. Experts have no advice for your compulsion to enter the chaos and crowds at bargain-central. Do yourself a favor: Never cook or eat again. Problem solved. And, as a bonus, your fridge will be free of fuzzy expired food!
Doing everything yourself. You never ask for help and feel compelled to do it all, all alone. Experts suggest you ask for help. However, I disagree. I know you have asked for help. You’ve reached out to that useless sister numerous times, but she’s too busy with her eBay business. And every time you have even mentioned needing help to your husband, he chastises you for complaining. Or he goes into a long speech about how you do too much and then reminds you you have not made dinner, cleaned the garage, or prepared his taxes. And last, he suggests you spend your time going for a walk so you can lose all that stress weight. So, my suggestion? Stop asking for help. It just opens the door to be rejected and neglected, which causes deep stress. Accept you are alone and unloved. Stress disappears!
Social media. That virtual connection to others is the downfall of society. You suffer from FOMO, feel like your life is meaningless, and anguish over which picture of your plate of food you should post. No filter is going to make you look thirty-years younger — unless you do what Susan does and blow out the white balance so you no longer have skin. Experts say to use timers or sleep modes to limit your time on social media. I disagree. Delete every account. Call a friend who likes your Keds to meet for lunch. A virtual life is not a life.
People disagreeing with you. By deleting all your social media accounts and avoiding your sister, you have eliminated eighty percent of this stressor. For others, you have that hideous foyer rug in which to hide the body. Should you not have the stomach for such an act, experts suggest learning to accept others’ varied perspectives. The healthiest thing we can do for ourselves is accept others’ views. Doing so does not result in you adopting their wayward ideas. Agree to disagree. Then block them on social media if you have insisted on keeping your accounts.
Experts giving you unsolicited advice about things you had not considered problems until you read the advice on some social media feed. You’ve gotten rid of your social media, so that’s a strong first step. You are no longer entertaining disagreement of any kind — so you can eat bacon and wear yoga pants to interviews. With practice, you, with your C average high school education, will become your only source of information. Hold on to that flat earth theory for all it’s worth!
Ruminating. Sleepless nights reliving the day’s moments. Should have, could have, would have. You relive each painful moment over and over, inviting the doctor to prescribe yet another anxiety medication. Experts suggest you meditate and practice mindfulness. I suggest you get a clock and understand the essence of time. You can only be in the now. Your attempts to time-travel to fix your day’s fuck ups could be better spent capturing blackmail photos and practicing your cake-baking skills.
Worrying and planning for the worst. Did you just read about how time works? You cannot change the past, because you cannot be in the past. Same applies here. You are not and never can be in the future. You can only be in the now. Instead of worrying about tomorrow, worry about the dead body wrapped in the ugly foyer rug. Bernard and his slut will smell it disintegrating behind the water heater. Worry about that. That’s happening now.
The inability to say no. You, with your inability to grasp time, believe you can be in two places at the same time, do seven things at once, and handle everyone else’s requests and demands. You’ve been watching too much Harry Potter — you can’t be in two places at once. Multitasking is a gender-biased heap of nonsense created by femi-nazi’s who want to feel like women have superpowers. And you cannot save the world. Your inability to say no, my friend, is a certain sign you have no boundaries. Experts say to set priorities. I say do one thing at a time. First, steal that van from your neighbors. Next, get the body into the van. One thing at a time. Definitely set the house on fire after you grab your Keds.
Nicole. Your main stressor is that little slut on your husband’s bowling team. You saw her sit on his lap and kiss him — no matter how your Charles Boyer want-to-be swears it never happened in his weak attempt to gaslight you. When he demanded you be nice to the girl because she’s so sweet, and you can be so mean, you suffered dysentery for two weeks. You were as nice as you could muster, but this level of stress is untenable. Experts say have a deep conversation with your husband about misplaced loyalty and include a therapist to encourage healthy communication. Those are excellent suggestions. But your decision to roll your husband in that rug and dump him behind the bowling alley makes the Nicole stressor moot.
