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Cerulean

I am feeling very cerulean right now. Allow me to explain. Over winter break, I sat down to share an amazing lunch of salad on a pizza with my dear friend, Sabrina. We were complaining about boys (oh… did you think that I was over ranting about them? I’m not. At all.) Sabrina described herself as a white crayon when it comes to men. When met with a quizzical look, she explained that in a box of 64 Crayola crayons, no one ever uses the white crayon for anything. Without missing a single beat, I responded with a tirade. It went something like this:

If Sabrina is a white crayon, I am the cerulean crayon. A lot of people use the cerulean crayon, but it’s only ever for one thing, and that is the sky. The sky is very often a part of the picture you are drawing. And when you want the sky, you always use cerulean. But cerulean is never the focus of the picture. The sky is always there, but it’s never what inspires anything. You look at the house. Or the tree. Or the happy family. Or the guy with the pitchfork. Or the lady with the umbrella and the huge ass. You don’t look at the sky. But it’s still there. And before long, that cerulean crayon gets smaller and smaller until it is a little nub. And the cerulean crayon is one of the first of the 64 to go. But when it’s gone, you still haven’t ever created something beautiful with cerulean. You have just used him at your convenience to supplement what you really care about.

I am cerulean. And I’m over it.

So. Moving forward, I am not going to be letting people use me to draw the sky in the background of what they are truly passionate about. Someone is going to draw a picture of the fucking sky itself, and until that dude comes along, the cerulean crayon has got a big ole chastity belt on him. Personally, I’ve always thought that cerulean was a rather pretty color.

This may sound like an angry monologue, but I truly do mean to use it in a more uplifting way. I am ready to empower my own damn self and I am over the basic bitches who are letting that very pretty color go to waste.

Putting this out there in the open was inspired by another good friend, Aubrey, who I haven’t had a good conversation with in a while. But he told me what I needed to hear tonight.

So get at me, winter quarter. Get at me, boys. Get at me, Chicago. I am the cerulean crayon you never took the time to think about and I can draw the most beautiful fucking sky you have ever seen.

Stay hot and keep it messy,
-Ww

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