Write a line, delete a line, write another, delete another. It feels like crap, having to put up with this pressure. My generation is one of losers and overachievers, like any other, and the funny thing is, you can and will at most times be both. It continues to feel like crap.
To be honest, all this time I have been typing on this old keyboard for several hours every day. It’s fairly become a lifestyle. But not an inch have I moved towards my inner corners, while at it. This should explain why I freak out at the mere thought of posting something here, another piece of memory, another piece of self randomly cut out from a day’s brim and thrown into the bottomless triple-w. I’ve come to dive into this world on a screen without getting to linger on its downsides – and God forbid, there are plenty.
However, more on that later or never. I’d screw this up even more if, on the one occasional time I decide to move out of the range of my daily wanderings and into the uncomfortable area of self-exposure, I’d end up telling the tale of my actual, boring and perfectly fine afore mentioned doings.
While I am trying my best, and my best seems to have vanished somewhere out of reach, to pick up a worthwhile thought, as I can only hope that I’ve struggled to during these past couple of years, all I can think of is how I wish I had refrained from eating that second slice of potato bread, at dinner. Or that I just want to go to bed and hug my pillow for the next 10 hours, please. Or that I haven’t the slightest idea why I’ve just asked my daughter to also bring me a piece of chocolate, along with the one I’m supposed to open for her. Trying to come up with something worth sketching here, let alone thinking of, is as failed an attempt as all my dietary change plans in the past six months.
I’d so prefer it if I didn’t talk about my meager (in substance, let’s be clear) self all the fucking time. I wish more of you would consider adhering to this position of self-doubt. This is why, on a 1123784789275th thought, I decided to write about all sorts of stuff, next time. There will be.. sort of interesting stuff. With fashion and art and culture and everything. With witty comments and evil remarks in the guise of endearingly smug & smart-ass opinions. It’ll be entertaining. Maybe I’ll get something out of there. Maybe an award and some free stuff from brands. And a bit of pocket money, to cover my expenses to the nearest urban area which could only give credibility to my inspiring lifestyle (a town which is considerably far away from me).
But in the mean time, all I see is my little corner – and how little, indeed, it is. I see no plane crashes, no disputes over the world’s dominance, no shitty pieces of life and people around here – except for the times I scroll down that damned newsfeed. Or when various envelopes* travel to my door to piss me the fuck off. I am eating that chocolate now. And, for the record, a few weeks ago, when we took these pics, I was feeling so low thanks to a few tiny pounds that landed on my waist, hips, and legs during spring, and (un)surprisingly enough I chose short shorts and a crop top. Because when I get out of bed in the morning, I know I’m not exactly what I like to torture myself by calling, and because when I will have wrapped this thing up, I’ll still go to sleep with a satisfied grin on my face, knowing that what I’ve just planted here could seed more reasonably than any of the posts I’ve browsed through in the past few days. And maybe just because I’m trying to convince myself that I should spend more time not taking myself so seriously.
*envelopes informing me that my mother has sued me, for example. bless her.
**Wearing Zara glitter platform sandals – which I obviously adore, because they make walking miles so much easier than those overrated 5 inch heels (I did not just say that, did I? they’ve killed my feet). Thank you, glorious Zara online shopping service! I don’t even have to go to that store with annoyingly loud music and unflattering mirrors. #andthissaiditall
- the greatest and the small are one and the same thing
- I wait too much