Oh, This Is Really Getting Pathetic. I'm Hating Myself More Every Day.
Made the horrific mistake of spying on Mr. X's photo website. Happy shiny faces of people I once knew who I guess never really knew me then and really don't (care to) know me now. Dumb dumb dumb.
Not that I miss the guy. Or the relationship. What it truthfully comes down to is that I have far fewer Facebook friends than I would if I hadn't kicked him to the curb. Oh well. At least no one's counting.
But that's not even why I'm depressed. I'm just feeling overwhelmed. Too much responsibility. Too many livelihoods riding on my success.
While I haven't by any means abandoned the idea of selling The Canary, I have retooled my plan: to sell Canary 2 with licensing arrangements. I actually have the perfect person in mind to buy the place and take over the shop. I dropped it on her like a hot potato in the middle of the work day. She was surprised and excited, but, for good reason, needs to think about it. We're going to talk on Tuesday about this. If it doesn't work out with her, I will pitch the same thing, but to strangers, and with higher licensing percentages.
SFG and I are trying to hatch a plan to sneak off to Nantucket for a few days. It's a bit of an asspain to get there, but lodging is free, we can bring Ernie (plenty of room in the Subaru!), and do some Internet-free grillin' and chillin' in the quietude of the pre-Memorial day stampede. Let's hope for sanity's sake it works out, because the Klonopin prescription is running out fast (helping the heart palpitations immensely).
We ask Ernie if he "needs assistance" getting up the stairs. I need assistance.