About the author
It’s Sunday and you’re hungover, angry at the world, at bartenders and most of all: yourself. No worries, we feel the same. That’s why we’ve invented : Sunday Roast. A bi-weekly ‘column’ that’s in fact more a conversation. A written one. Online. Every other Sunday, Mark and Sabrina vent about the horrible burdens and ungodly mishaps of their 21st century life. Usually reserved only for bars, we bring our problems right into your home. Sharing is sexy, and a problem shared is a problem halved.. You are cordially invited to our pity party.
Last week’s Sunday Roast here.
Dear Mark,
Sorry but I have to disappoint you. I was one of those people, enjoying the sun with their winter coat on, sipping on mint tea. There was a feeling of new bliss in the air, and I wasn’t missing out. Lately it seems the world has been painted with a soft, pastel Photoshop filter. Everybody seems nice, I enjoy the company of everybody around me and I actually fed a bird on my balcony this morning (from my hand!), so I’m pretty much living a fairy tale. Except, I’m not.
Sitting in the sun, listening to Cat Stevens’ The Wind, I’m thinking he must have been doped up pretty bad. “I listen to my words, but they fall far below. I let my music take me where my heart wants to go”. Well Cat, don’t do that! Following your heart is romantic, but a bad idea. I always used to say: “Following your head is smart, but follow your heart and you won’t regret a thing”. I would love to believe this idealistic idea I had quite a while ago but these last years have made me afraid. Pursuing happiness is a dangerous game, because once you have it not a moment of peace will cross your mind. You constantly keep looking for that flaw in your story. It’s like looking at the cover of your life’s book and all of a sudden seeing some loose plastic at the corner. You try to peel it off but that starts looking uglier and uglier and reveals something that ruins everything.
Misery is just so much easier to endure
Happiness is a ticking time bomb and something will make it stop again. So therefore I simply can’t really enjoy it. I start sabotaging it, believing it’s for the best. Misery is just so much easier to endure. It’s not scary ‘cause everything is already broken. If something goes wrong, ah c’est la vie, it was shit to begin with. You eat some ice cream in bed and problems fade away. I know I sound like a depressed person but trust me, this is the sanest I’ve ever been. Even the Beatles agree with me. But now, I have this rare feeling like something is at stake. Something that’s delightful and I don’t want to lose it. So I tip toe around this rapture like it’s a precious little baby that’s sleeping. As scary as happiness may be, how daunting ecstasy may seem..those small moments of complete mental sunshine are worth it.
Until all the colours go grey again, but let’s hope that still takes a bit more time.
Love,
Sabrina
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