Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Our last summer
Oh, I'm so so whiny all the time. Thing is I feel brain dead. Not just because it's morning. I was just thinking and realized I don't remember the last few summers except from photographs and small things. I used to have an amazing memory when it came to the good times and the loved ones. I knew every detail, I held on to every tiny souvenir. But now it's empty. I try and try and all I have coming back to me is rage and some sort of dryness in my mouth. I used to think I never hurt. I was sure there were no regrets in my heart. I guess a young soul has an infinite ability to repress the evil. And I guess I'm growing older. The more I become at peace with myself, the more I feel the need to keep the wrong ones out. And I'm thinking now that if I don't love others unconditionally and don't find excuses for them anymore, maybe I'm becoming one of those authoritarian people I hate, who are always judging the world by their own standards. But now, the more time I spend with others, the more I remember of what I am not. And it shreds me to pieces that what I actually am is hardly visible and I'm not the girl to put it all out there. The things I like never fell in the blueprints of a stereotype. Most people have coherent personalities. Being mediocre is the only thing I was avoiding all this time.
And now that the whiny has been covered, I must say I can't decide whether I like to stay here, all alone and pretending I'm working, or to go home, where the voices of my family wake me up in the morning and the food is great. Maybe I woke up with a rock on my chest. I have no idea. But it's already summer and I've seen so much of the walls of this room, but I can't get out. I do things for fun, I walk and take photos and go to parties and see places. But I sometimes wish we were all butterflies and this is a cocoon. That there is something great for me out there.
Putting myself to sleep, I was trying to make a list of what I want for my birthday. Truth is, it's nothing money can buy. Or at least partially. As weird as it may seem, I actually want a job. But one where I'd feel I'm making a difference. That I'm not just a corporate slave or civil paper pusher. One that would keep me working overtime just because I like it. The money is not such a big issue. My lifestyle does not need much, but of course I'd love a good salary. I'm going to career fairs and sending out applications, asking everybody to give me a hint when they hear of something. I need a break in my academic career [sic!] before I'm left with one dry neuron. As for other things, I want a place of my own and I don't want to share. I had my first kiss when I was 13. Ten years of dating sucked the life out of me. I'm exhausted. I'm tired of the butterflies in the stomach and the waiting by the phone. I want around me just the men who make me happy. For example, I spent last week with Kusturica. I'll probably hit a photo exhibition of Anton Corbijn (director of Control)this week. And I'll shoot hoops with my brother very soon. There's plenty of fun for me out there if that's what I'm looking for. But a place of my own would make me very very happy. And so that I can have three things on my list, I want to travel around. I'll do that a lot this summer, I might even end up in Poland. As for the stuff money can buy... I don't feel like anything's missing. Of course, earrings and books and tea are never enough.