…wrote in a mail yesterday that he hates to think about me being blue and broke.
Blue and broke.
Listen to them. Somehow, in their own weird way, quite beautiful words together. Aren’t they?
They actually put a smile on my face for the first time in a long time. I needed that.
…as a Meissen porcelain ballerina in an arabesque pose. Handle with care.
…läs hela Heidi Avellans opinionsledare i Sydsvenska Dagbladet 150926 här:
…the British stand up comedian Gráinne Maguire epitomizes in one single Tweet what I want in life [too].
…elephants can’t fly free as birds just because they believe in themselves a teensy-weensy, tiiiiny bit more.
They might be able to fly encased and embraced by protective metal, however, if they get some help and someone at [insert airline company of your own choice] shoves them into an Airbus A380.
Connections, connections… She said quietly and sighed like a depressed zoo elephant.
…applying mascara and eyeliner, suddenly met my reflection in the bathroom mirror and I wondered who she was? I was not really there; not inside that body I saw reflected. My true soul, far more emotionally distant than that face of mine appeared to be.
Like if the real me lived instead in all those millions of sentences I only almost started.
But then I went on with my day, as you do, and right now I feel I’m pretty smug for someone who, I guess, experienced some kind of personality disorder light this late morning and a minute ago obsessively ate chocolate inclosed liquorice. But, considering that my brain seem to be totally unable to upgrade to anything better than Windows 95, maybe my true calling and happiness is just buffering.
However…my brain and heart are spinning and looking for a soft landing in Adventureland. Private helipad someone?
…is bigger than mine because the biggest egos belong to the ones who think that the fact that other people are late has anything to do with them. Like if.
I, at least, have more serious things to meander myself through every day than “stealing your time”.
Anxiety to strive against, making money to pay my rent, finding the perfect pair of black jeans that doesn’t make my butt look explosively big, worrying about a sick relative, mixing the perfect shade of lip gloss, solving systems of linear equations over finite fields, trying to have normal relationships with people and to check my breasts for undesirable lumps.
Then finding true happiness only in sleep my bloody alarm clock tries to make me into someone I’m not every morning. And still the little bastard always leaves me totally alone and blue with minus 10 minutes to get ready. It’s a feeble and for always cheating lover.
So, once and for all, my tendency to be late has NOTHING to do with you! Get it!