Hell, I don't even like myself. People are treating me like I got sprayed by a skunk while simultaneously wearing a KKK hoodie, or whatever those are.
I mean, I want the whole act of opening the carrying case to not take 5 minutes and involve a ton of attention grabbing movements and sounds, but I can't. Everyone in a 15 feet radius knows I'm "better" than them and am capable of reading my book without the constraint of turning real pages. It's a harsh realization knowing that I'm no longer "Dub from the block." Now I'm like one of those asshole rappers that rap about the streets, but is sneakily living comfortably in a gated community in Greenwich, Conn. I'm supposed to be blogging about the streets and how hard it is to sit in front of excel all day in a competitively paying financial landscape, not about how I'm better than turning tree-made pages. I almost looked next to me today and complained about screen smudges to a chick that had clear fruit-punch stains on her 900 page novel.
Life's harder when you're better than people and try to hide that your better, but unknowingly appear to be more of a dick when you're actively trying not to be a dick. What?
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Add Commentnothing wrong with being better than someone
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