Like my grandmother always said, “Your opinions are valid and important. Unless it’s some stupid bullshit you’re being shitty about, in which case you can just go fuck yourself.”
I remember when this book showed up in the 2015 Goodreads Choice Awards. I didn’t know what it was about, but I knew it had a big, smiling raccoon on the cover and it was in the humor section, so I threw it on my TBR and promptly forgot about it for two years. Flash forward to January of 2018 when I decided to start reading (or listening) to more nonfiction. A memoir about dealing with mental illness sounded like a good choice, and oh, look, there it is in a dusty corner of my TBR list.
I knew nothing about Jenny Lawson when I started reading (listening) to this book. I just knew that she was supposed to be really funny and this book was supposed to be very good. So, it was really funny at times (I laughed out loud on more than one occasion, particularly in the chapter about possums) but also really serious and sad at the same time. Jenny toes the line between sarcasm and sincerity, but I think that she always stays on the right side. (That said, it’s her memoir and her life and she can be as flippant about it as she wants!)