The summer semester, the beginning of the end of this magical/heinous year, was billed, unofficially, as the easiest one. Straight up, that is a vicious lie and I will dirty knife fight anybody who stands by that claim. One reason, one word, one fucking horrorshow – Flash.
This is a computer program that has no roots in anything sensical, natural or believable. I could write (copy/paste) a line of code and give you 800 guesses as to what that does and you would never come close. Awesome thing – it probably means when you click here, this word moves an inch to the left. How very helpful and worth my time.
It started out suspiciously fun (tween! circle into square! cheese party! me getting 5 out of 5!) and then, and then...action script. (lightning strikes, my hair is white). Also known as the single thing that will finally make me cry at school. Yes, Dreamweaver was annoying to lay things out using negative math and fingers tightly crossed as you tested it, but Flash is just not worth the brain cells I have left on tap.
One day, I need to teach my children the provinces in Canada. I am hanging onto that knowledge so fucking tenuously, I do not need .addChild.eventListener = true. boolean(); clogging up any more space. I'm pretty much done with it/pissed. Like, this hurts me more than it helps me and writing long haikus about its fucked up ways, angry. So yes. If you are good at this program, you are either half UFO or going to help me a LOT with my final project.
One Saturday morning my Mama called and told me to watch something my brother had put up on youtube. So I blindly & trustingly go and watch this thing and end up sobbing uncontrollably, hunched over the laptop in my pajamas and glasses, while Nuv wonders what the 80 millionth thing to make me cry this hard is.
It's about our old, and new dogs, Maggie & Caesar. I didn't even make it through till the end. I don't live at home anymore (made it to 30 without paying rent – something I choose to see as a hearty accomplishment and not stunted development) but even when I did, I always dodged the 'taking the pet to the vet for the last time' death ride. There is zero chance I could have walked out of the office on my own. I would have required 8 Xanax, a wheelchair and a new set of tear ducts.
If I see an older dog being walked and it looks a little slow or a little matted, I will cry in the car, no matter who is there. (to mock me) Getting through the death of the littlest members of the family has made me think twice whether I can have dogs as an adult with my own family. I don't know, sometimes that circle of life has a shitty circumference. Anyways, if you feel like losing your shit, here's the link to the video:
Oh, and I pulled a muscle in my back filing yesterday. There is not a lamer sentence I could type right now. The end.