Melancholy and the Infinite Sadness of Being Happy

I feel sorry for millenials. All true forms of art seem to be dying off with our childhood heroes. And we're not kidding anyone, we came way before the millenials. Bowie, Prince, Michael Jackson *oh yah i totally went there* everyone who has ever written a book worth reading? Dead. Except Margaret Atwood and I have some suspicions that she's actually dead pretending to be alive, I met her (she's dead).  I was looking at books at a book store the other day. They had roughly drawn stick pictures in them. I'm like this make the New York Times? *she shakes her head* and remembers she has overdue library books.

I'm as much to blame as anyone else. Everyone is like, you're a writer? Yes. You have a book? Yes. Is it hidden in some secret file on my computer that I intent to leave a letter with the instructions on how to find it with Jay for when I die? Yes.

When I get upset, I don't say, I'm feeling conflicted. I need to take some time to figure out the most positive course of action. One that will enable me and those I care for to successfully navigate this situation and ensure the best possible outcome.

I send my best a friend a text that says "FML". While I truly love the eff word deeply, I'm not using my better words anymore.

You know what's a great word? Melancholy. 

On that note, I tolerate my MBA, with only one course left after this one, I don't care anymore. I'm struggling to figure out why I cared in the first place. All that time and money. Will those three little letters after my name change anything? NO. Life doesn't care if you are smarter than someone else. The jdubs discourage education which is why I went ALL THE WAY. What I learned was I was always this smart and now I've spent so much money just to prove it to other people, who let's be honest, don't give a fuck.

Charisma, courage, passion, those are what you should do an MBA in. I'm so bored with myself, I don't know how other people even put up with me. Like let me help you with your marketing strategy, throw me a math problem I can't solve or a business I can't turn around by working your assets and assessing your balance sheets. Boring.

Today, I am definitely supposed to be writing a paper. Instead? I lure my boyfriend/manfriend/lifepartner/husband whatever you want to call him to kensignton market so I can buy sage to burn all the negative energy out of our place and get new earrings. I really just wanted to go to Blackbird Baking and Courage my Love and all the places that stole all the best names.

Then we got Vietnamese food and we're running late. So I'm like just drop me off at the market (the other market) cause Ken would would be very upset if I didn't show on a Saturday. Dudes there alone. I'm like where's Robin? She couldn't work. I've offered 17 million times to work for free on the weekends. I jump behind the cash and start ringing people in and packaging flowers. Sweep the floors and take out the garbage. Yes, I love my marketing job. Yes, I'm somewhat important. You cannot however compete for working in a flower shop for minimum wage. I was so lucky I got to do that. Coming home and your whole place smells like beauty and hope.

Some guy was saying shit about our green roses which are actually my favorite and I wanted to punch him. That's your passion, charisma and courage. But the customer is always right. I have an MBA bud. These green ish roses are amazing and by the way, I know your girlfriend and in her culture those white ones mean death and she believes it. Have fun with buying those. :)

Life is more fun when it's fun. Bur damn tomorrow I gotta stop breathing in the flowers and write that paper. Finish line is in sight. Hey, I still remember how to use my words so I'm betting on that to get me through to the other side. My massage therapist is like why do you hate yourself so much? Your body doesn't like you. You'll probably come in here next time saying you're doing your PhD. NO EFFING WAY. Thanks for looking out for me though Craig. :)

PS. I get over this, I might do my PhD, (I'm so so so sorry Jay) cause I've always thought I'd be a great therapist. But definitely a long enough break is planned where I will be the best partner and dog mom and make up for this MBA mess. 

Sullivan out.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

This is about Nothing.

well it's happened. i feel like i need to write, but i have nothing to say. not entirely true, i have lots of things to say. but there are thing i protect and won't talk about, like family and friends. unless it's positive. if you want to know who in my family has the worst secrets (and it's a toss up, spoiler alert!) you'll have to wait for the book, which will only be published after i die. :)

speaking of death, jay was amazed last night to hear i'd already planned every detail if max's funeral. hey, he's a big dog, he's not doing to live forever. i've planned my funeral, why shouldn't i plan his? his is going to be so much cuter than mine. when all you do is work and study sometimes your mind wanders.

i'm a planner. i figure i feel too much, been through too much. i'm a pisces, so whatever you feel about anything, double that, add in some drama and then double it again. if max just dropped dead they'd probably have to put me in a psych ward. he is the best thing that ever happened to me. that homeless helpless huge puppy. i always call him my love because he is. with my funeral no one is coming. (except a very small guest list, you're probably not on it and i've paid jay to get bouncers.) max though, is everyone's dog and it would be selfish of me not to share the grief this time. so i plan it now, halfway thorough his life and i get 5 years to come to peace with it. which we all know i never will but at least i'll be better prepared.

turns out, both my "kids" are almost exactly me. max is having a sleepover party tonight so i'm home alone with rosie. she kinda scares me. if max exudes the please love me, i'll do anything for you side of me, rosie is the other side of the bed. hey, i know how to stand up for myself and i've been doing it for years. that's why y'all love me right? i've done the brave honest thing till it hurt. rosie takes it one step further. i could learn a thing or two from that tiny little kitten. jay says rosies' go-to is: lick, lick, BITE. she's your friend. until she's not. then she makes you bleed. for all my friends with kids, this excludes children, she respects them and would never bite your child. please don't be afraid to come over.  

in the end, she spends a lot of time in her cage. she'll scratch until you bleed, then go pee on your bed. she'll eat your flowers just because she knows you love them more than anything else in the home. stuff you don't care about? she'll never touch it. but she WILL destroy your roses. the cage never teaches her a lesson. it's almost like she likes it in there, quiet time alone to contemplate how she'll take over the world. she becomes totally calm. it's disturbing. she is however very loving and loyal to her half-life partner (cause cats never die) max.

at the end of the day, all i can say is thank the universe i have a boyfriend / man-friend/ lover/ husband/ best friend whatever you want to call him, who would notice i was missing if i died and come find me before rosie ate half my face because i wasn't able to feed her. this whole blog is very morbid but if you were in my messed up head, you'd think it's really funny. i'm laughing :)

sullivan out.