There comes a time, in every little girl’s life, when the only kind of gem that makes sense is a diamond.
It’s called growing older, more materialistic, more desperate and more cynical.
It seems a mighty shame though, to throw away all those rhinestone rings and teenage baubles….nothing would ever quite match their cheap sparkle against sweaty teenage skin.
Those were good times indeed, despite the acne, despite the drunkenness, despite the permanent confusion over choices both academic and sexual. Better times, perhaps.
Because nowadays every time when I feel like I’m moving forward I discover that I’m still running into the same cul-de-sac. Running on empty. So much sweat, so little productivity.
Time to regroup – keep running on until one bashes through the fourth dimension, or look for other, invisible exits? How does one spot an invisible exit anyway?
Unfortunately, life isn’t a video game. The storytelling isn’t linear, the tasks aren’t ultimately manageable, the challenges aren’t predictable, order is never restored, sanity is never guaranteed, and mortality isn’t an issue. Sometimes, though, I really wish life is a little bit more like a video game.
But then where would all the beauty be, I suppose? In life, we get better voice-overs, better conversations, infinite possibilities for both ascension and descension, a more exquisite Heaven and a way hotter Hell. We get reality, and all its terrible colours.
Reality that’s more real than you ever bargained for. Bills to pay. Deadlines to meet. Dying relationships to mend. Fuck buddies to placate. Parents to appease. Messes both physical and emotional to clear. The future, depressingly uncertain, yet to be lived.
No wonder sometimes the escape route is the wildest hallucination?
The anthropology of girlhood 