Good As Hell

I think failure gets harder when you get older. It hurts more. There's a larger sense of permanence to it. When you're young everything is changing all the time. It's supposed to. Your body is constantly changing. Your class, your grade, your friends change annually and there's a safety in the consistent rate of change. The failures of yesterday aren't that important because the potential of the next year feels assured.

And suddenly the constant change becomes a problem. At 30 if you are still making big moves on an annual basis there is something wrong. The safety nets are gone and all excusable drastic changes should have been made by 22. You're well past the acceptable age of a Taylor Swift song title or Adele album so you need to settle the fuck down.

I live in a blue house. I think I want it purple.

I'm finally making money. I want more.

I don't know much else on the daily.

I am constantly surprised that I seem to be keeping up with my assignments, and looking, with dread, to the end of the month when I have apparently signed myself up for two month-long math math courses. Which means they'll definitely be accelerated, and I need to not fail them because then I will never ever ever stop being in college. And it's starting to feel like I'll never be an adult. Or that I don't even know what I want as an adult anymore. Outside of possibly not working at a grocery store (not that there's anything wrong with that, it's something I need people to do so I can get food and it has it's challenges) and painting the walls purple.

I feel like we've been here before. Like we're here almost every day.

The coffee isn't even that good.

I need a bookcase. And to sell my ACL tickets.

I often wonder what life will be like when you're not here any more. Maybe we will go together. I think you've outlived your sister, but I never really knew how old she was when she passed. I still try to make myself believe she was older so that her death wouldn't be because of my negligence. When you appear with scratches and bald patches similar to mine I consider that our fates might be scribbled on the same thread. We may both die fighting a raccoon who snuck in in the night.

I think I spend about an equal amount of time wondering if you are happy. Is my withholding personality damaging your psyche? As I let the world blur through my synapses, unable to hold onto the details passing the window, I notice an odd heartbeat. And it makes me think of you. At first, I wonder if I'm being hexed. Then I worry that you're not okay. We probably both have cancer. It's too random to be a panic attack.

Maybe through some magic, when we die at the same time, we can share a life again, and we'll both be you. It's the fate of all familiars. It's the reason cats have 9 lives. Who else is in your head already?

Do you call me by a different name? I wonder how you learned yours.

I spend a lot my time on the possibility that my cat is far more intelligent than I am. Crows are.

I've had this weird alternating series of thoughts: "I just want to die." *snippet of Good as Hell plays* "I wonder how The Kitten feels"

One of my marketing professors worked for Mattress Firm. They're filing for bankruptcy. He just mentioned the Christian faith at work. I want to ask him how he feels about the massive failure of his company to anticipate the emergence of online retailers. #marketing #goodashell

I just need to go dancing.