How to Not Give a Fuck for 24 Hours

The cultural practice of Giving a Fuck has been ingrained in society long before Freud identified the mother-of-no-fucks-given id, the I’m-just-about-keeping-my-shit-together ego and the I’ll-dedicate-my-life-to-the-greater-good superego. These fucks are not straightforward, either. On a daily basis we give: the gainful employment fuck, the familial ties fuck, the “be the change you want to see” fuck.

In my attempt to become a grown-ass woman, I have succumbed to a charitable nature in the fucks-given department, and it’s exhausting. What keeps me going is the hope that one day, when Mercury finally leaves retrograde and the Olsen twins wear matching outfits, I will wake up refreshed and gloriously out of fucks to give.

I fantasize it will go something like this:

5:30 a.m.

Wake up. Hit snooze six times.

6:15 a.m.

Stuff my face with crunchy sugar-coated cereal designed for children. Cast a steely gaze at my steel cut oats with no guilt whatsoever.

6:30 a.m.

Run my hands along my stubbly legs and decide to wear the skirt anyway.

6:40 a.m.

Forego makeup.

7:15 a.m.

Endure the concerned coos of “Are you sick?” and “You’re looking a bit pale” from my co-workers. Tell them I’ve gone makeup-free; relish in their flustered attempts at back-pedaling.

7:30 a.m.

Go teach my first grade class (if there’s anything we should give a fuck about, it’s education).

10:30 a.m.

Make tea in the staff room. Get approached by co-worker Ryan-with-the-wife-and-infant. Get shown latest photos of infant. Have the topic of my own fertility and desire to bring new life into the world probed. Reassure Ryan-with-no-womb that I’m not having unprotected sex. Further elaborate that I enjoy the ability to travel and sleep whenever I want. Thank him for his concern about my reproductive health and sex life. Walk away with Kathleen Hanna ringing in my ears.

1:30 p.m.

Fish a tampon out my bag and walk proudly across the staff room because I’m bleeding and I don’t care who knows it.

2:30 pm

Leave the family chat group after one too many inspirational quotes.

2:31 p.m.

Give no excuses for leaving the family chat group.

3:30 p.m.

Leave work on time. Skip the gym.

4:00 p.m.

Remove bra. Do not think about what’s for dinner or whether there’s milk in the fridge.

5:00 p.m.

Restart Season One of The Vampire Diaries with zero shame.

6:30 p.m.

Skip the art show with the tiny overpriced slow-cooked burritos and order a pizza.

7:45 p.m.

Open the fancy bottle of red I was saving for a special occasion.

8:30 p.m.

Call out a relative on their bigoted Facebook post.

8:31 p.m.

Get blocked by bigoted relative.

9:45 p.m.

Get distressed message from friend about douchey boyfriend. Tell her what I really think about douchey boyfriend.

11:00 p.m.

Go to sleep feeling lighter without all my extra fucks weighing me down.

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