The Bad Woman

I’m not a good woman.
For a long time I thought I was, but then one day I understood this: I am not.

I am selfish. I am slightly flaky, even if I don’t want to admit it to myself. I am not such a good friend. On top of that, if you remind me of it, I hate it. I’ll sulk!!!
I care for other people, but not as much as I care for myself: I never remember a birthday, I never send a thank you note and sometimes I don’t call for months. I am scattered, messy and I don’t even know how my friends still care for me.

They must be saints.

I am not a very good ex either. I break up. I cut ties. I don’t check in.

On top of that, I’m a terrible boss. I am disorganized. I don’t like telling people what to do so I let them figure it out. If you’re with me, basically, you’re on your own.

—

I’m not a good woman, I’m too sarcastic for that. Anytime I try to paint myself in a glorious light, I remember that whatever good I did is in perfect balance with all the bad.
 

I’m such a bad woman that anytime I start judgi…