My gardener quit after 16 years.
It’s not about me.

An important date was not remembered.
It’s not about me.

I was cut off and honked at on the road.
It’s not about me.

The rudeness I endured in line at the grocery store was appalling.
It’s not about me.

At what point am I finally understood?
It’s not about me.

Thank god this is my blog.
It’s not about me.

This makes no sense.
It’s not about me.

I don’t know what it’s all about.
It’s not about me.

I feel better.
That’s about me.