In the loop






I’m the kind of girl that wants to see a hint of the colour of the wine she drinks in a picture.

I’m the kind of girl that goes for all or nothing – and quite often muddles them up.

I’m the kind of girl that loves winter in some places, hates it in others.

I’m the kind of girl that will often find her anxieties stirred up by mud on the streets, sudden rains, lack of wine in the shed,¬†dysfunctional earplugs in the case of solitary travels, persistent flu, the proximity of people that exude an unmistakable smell of garlic, bad lying, people with no manners, people with manners, the sale season, the endless fashion week-uhm-month season, the tremendously large gap between TV-show seasons, the unstoppable cycle of seasons in general, over-sleeping, insomnia, unwanted bulge around the belly, ass and thighs, wearing 5-to-6 inch heels for a whole day of walking, not wearing 5-to-6 inch heels for that day that grabs me out of my comfortable home, missing deadlines, repeatedly missing deadlines, too much food in the fridge, not enough food in the fridge, weekends that should look like weekends but ask for the same treatment as a regular weekday and still don’t get to be properly used as fucking Wednesdays and Thursdays, weekdays that lure you into the lust of weekends, bad hair days that turn into weeks that turn into months, missing one bus, then the one afterwards, not talking to people I miss talking to and feeling guilty about it, not feeling guilty about anything, in general.

I’m the kind of girl that can’t decide whether this shit could mean anything at all to anyone at all.

I’m the kind of girl who always has to be reminded, in case she forgets to remember, that everything she does, she does out of narcissism and selfishness, and whenever something feels out of place, it’s because her ego isn’t fed the thing it needs to grow. I’m the kind of girl that knows that this size of an ego can get you nowhere, in life.

I’m the kind of girl that still posts photos of herself every once in a while, even though she pretends to hate it, not because it’s mostly a useless self-contemplating activity in itself, but even worse so – because she’s not as good as she’d like to think she is.

I’m the kind of girl that can’t stop listening to this song:¬† (and it’s neither Game of Thrones, nor TV on the Radio to blame).

I’m the kind of girl that never backs up what she really wants to write and ends up losing it instead.

But you already knew most of this. It’s neither that out of the box as my shoes are, nor that unpredictable as my anger proves to be, most of the time.

*If I could brag about something, it would be that I’m among the few thoughtless persons that would take a pair of new, pink pony-haired Jeffrey Campbell wedge shoes across the muddy streets of a town like this.






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