There comes a time in every accomplished young lady’s life when she arrives at the unfortunate realization that the world is full of shit. Virtually simultaneously, she also recognizes that she can see her own reflection staring back at her as she looks at said pile of shit (the world) thus presupposing the notion that she, too, is full of shit.
Sometimes this realization is unprovoked. Sometimes this realization comes in the wake of an old friend’s death. Sometimes the realization takes getting black-out drunk, yelling at inanimate objects and perfectly nice people, and then narrowly escaping becoming the worst drunk-lay a person you ardently admire has ever had. On very special occasions it involves falling down the wooded lawn of one’s neighbor’s property and somehow winding up wrapped naked in an American flag, covered in mulch in the back of a moving landscaping truck full of migrant workers. Other times (why just the other day!) psychedelic mushrooms can lend a helping hand.
But whichever way a lady chooses to get to her destination, the final stop mostly winds up being a pile of poo. That’s right humans — and I mean this in the most hopeful, positive, brightest and breeziest way possible. Life, or all these ideas that we call life — they are merely things we conjure up to distract us from staring directly into the abyss of death. And while that may seem exceedingly dark — it’s really not sad unless you are not having fun too much of the time! Here are the things I’ve found that lead to a life of unfunness:
- not enough bacon flavored stuff
Here’s what Lady Bianca spends her time thinking about:
- human eyebrows are weird, but take them away and things become even weirder
- how dogs have eyebrows covering their entire bodies
- one million tater tots
- the paradox of the human condition
- living in a tree house
- insects that feed on brush and shrubs
Here are a few things Lady Bianca does:
- tells stories
- switches on again off again from first to third person narration — she knows she’s irritating you because she’s irritating herself but i just can’t help it and that’s just part of the style, deal with it
- sniffs around the ground seeing if there are any leftover morsels of food she might have missed the last time she was sniffing around the ground for leftover morsels of food
- sprinkles magic fairy dust on life and makes it look pretty
- kicks ass
Here’s what she wants to do: all of the above. But alas, the tiresome and dull society strange humanoids have built around themselves require her to hunker down and choose one path. And just — lady Bianca hates hunkering! She wants to be free. And cuddle. Those things.
Why it’s depressing when the world compartmentalizes her and makes her do icky things. She starts to fall apart at the seams because she doesn’t know what to do moment to moment dammit, and why can’t everything just make sense but on the flip side — a lady cannot stand too much reality…OH, and do I smell sausages cooking?
For Lady Bianca Miller, there is nothing more depressing than dealing with her own depression. Except for, perhaps, dealing with other people’s depression. Which is why, when several months ago I stumbled into an extended and particularly strong strain of the blues — my staff attempted to stage an intervention by shipping me off to one of those horrid depression retreats.
Fear not friends, I dug my claws into the ground and positively refused. Let me explain to you, dear readers, the manifold reasons why these places just don’t make sense:
- There is nothing more depressing than being around a bunch of depressed people, especially garden variety depressives. Booooooooooooring.
- Depression retreats are way more expensive than vacation and way suckier.
- Class A drug addicts and alcoholics are much more fun to be around and have wayyyy better stories than garden variety depressives.
- A depression retreat is like a trip to the container store with a disorganized person. Even though it doesn’t even matter if they are organized or disorganized because the container store is the biggest crock-of-shit-bull-crap-suck-ball-sack fabrication of ridiculously superfluous consumerist malarkey. When you think about it, the container store is really just one big container that contains other containers that contain more containers. And when you think about it more, our whole lives are about containers and containing more containers – the car we drove in – a container – to get to the container of a container store that contains containers for containing and then we go back to our container house with containers even though it already contains containers for containing more containers.
Here is the staff Lady Bianca Miller keeps in order to function:
- cabana boy
- tarot reader
- life coach
- personal trainer
- pet psychiatrist (for my human)
But before you think me foolish for requiring the assistance of such an extensive staff, look at the whuld dahling, look at the whurld! We all need something — some ritual, dahling, to make the otherwise impossibly overwhelming universe seem smaller. Some people like to believe in medieval fairy tales, some count beans, others like to chase around balls or holler and bang on objects to make noise, some people take a little wake up pill, a happy pill, a pill to relax, sleepy-time pill, until the day begins again.
Whether we’re in Sartre’s waiting room, waiting for Godot or waiting for the apocalypse, one thing is sure — we try really hard to get somewhere that is inevitable anyway and in that struggle, we go and kinda make a mess of the essence of the very thing itself.
It all boils down to the old free will vs. fate muddle. And well, darling ones, you see, I believe it’s somewhat both. We are all are on this boat we call life, darlings — within the confines of that boat, why, we may do as we will…but the boat is on a very large ocean and so we are just very tiny specks upon a small speck on the horizon that is something else’s speck. So while we might be able to steer the boat a bit, overall, the ocean is a grand force much greater than us – and thus, it will lead us the way that it will.
And so you ask, what is the meaning of all this nonsense then? What exactly are we striving for? For what purpose do we struggle and suffer and sacrifice and triumph and achieve — why do we possess such spiritual yearning?
The only answer this little dog can come up with (besides a lovely rib eye steak preceded by several dozen oysters and concluded with a champagne MDMA cocktail) is….without getting too serious here — other people. Life is other people, is it not?
It may be my old age (I turned 7 this year but people tell me I don’t look a day over 3), but if you strip everything away, it seems the only thing we all have in common is this ridiculous situation we call life. And though, in essence, life is a selfish endeavor — nothing is more damaging to the soul than loneliness — the joy of life comes from our encounters with people that we admire.
And so, although I don’t really know, I believe somehow, that if one goes about things not with pride but with wisdom, not with greed but with generosity, not with control but with love, and not to serve yourself but to serve others — then you’ll see, if anything, what it’s all about.
And with that, if you’ll pardon me for the time being — I’m going to stop worrying about this silly little floor show we perform here on earth for a while, and go call my mommy.
Lady Bianca Miller