We're all a bunch of masochists anyway

I feel Pinterest is it's own sort of subversive passive aggressive evil. On the surface it's this amazingly addictive application with such "fantastically creative ideas/recipes/motivational posters featuring svelte models and toned bodies/ beautiful clothing/hair/makeup/glorious homes and vacations" when really, it's a repository for us to remember all the things we can't do, can't afford, and don't look like. And by we I mean me... because I don't see why it's fair I drag you into my disdain. But do ya feel me? Eh?

OR

It just reminds me that because I work and because I must work out and because I then eat/sleep/repeat that I'm too tired to glue millions of tiny sparkles to Mason Jars or bake and intricately decorate 200 butterfly themed cupcakes or exercise for another three hours or truly write that award winning novel so I can afford to buy that beautiful brass bedframe and comforter from Anthropology that will naturally look fabulous in my rustic two story, woodland cottage in Southern France where I take pictures of children with red balloons tied around their wrists and blonde curls peaking out of their caps.

It just seems its own special sort of torture, doesn't it? I've also been feeling rather sick for three days so perhaps that has something to do with it too. 

Carry on.