I stayed longer than I wanted. I’m still here. I burned the toast. It was my fault. You said you couldn’t live without me. I stayed. You said you loved me, and you really didn’t mean to hurt me. I stayed.
I reason that no one else will love me. You are all that I know. I spent a lot of money on a fancy degree for you to love me more. I dress appropriately when we are together. I say all the right things, until I don’t. And then I am forsaken.
Nonprofits, We are Finished.
You are broken. It’s not me. I burned the toast, because the toaster has been broken for nearly 10 years. You actually can live without me, because I hardly ever use the skills you say you need. You don’t love me. You love the version of me that is only desirable or functional when given the tools and resources to be that superwoman. You don’t give me those tools. I cannot be your superwoman.
You are still all that I know. And I have a lot to discuss.
You’d better sit down.