…in June when we think that if we close our eyes fiercely enough and wish [or pray] with enough intensity we can change our lifes.
Then there are days in November when we just realize: This is it.
…where the novel/autobiography is for all the girls who were not a Caitlin Moran or a Lena Dunham when they grew up?
Don’t get me wrong; I love the above ladies.
But. Let us not forget the other girl.
She who was half popular, not the prettiest and perhaps not thoroughly happy but neither a bullying victim.
She who wasn’t the forgotten, who didn’t scream or slept with the wrong guys because she felt compelled or was forced to, never felt the rush of weed or other drugs because she simply did not try.
She who never dyed her hair green, who never carried a fabric bag, with an Amnesty International screen print on it, in which she kept her worn, tenderly nursed though seldom read paperback with Sartre’s collected writings, all mixed up with various textbooks, also they seldom read, and a black marker pen to paint her nails with.
She who never sucked the dicks of semi-famous rock guys behind a porta-a-potty, never was anorexic, nor threw up her lunch.
She who never dressed in a red beret, ripped black and somewhat dirty tights and well-worn Dr. Martens and never felt the urge to escape to Berlin.
She who, ten years later in history, never went to a rave or a let loose at bubble bath dance floor on Ibiza.
She who was just, heaven forbid, “normal”, not poor, nor rich. She who followed the fashion somewhat, liked to go to the movies, liked to get drunk on a Saturday but not on a Sunday, had if not splendid then relatively good grades.
She who considered Chaka Khan pretty cool, never saw the point in Six Pistols or The Clash and listened to Bette Midler in secret.
She who cut her hair every six months, knew that she would become a preschool teacher when she was seventeen but didn’t want kids of her own and made mixed tapes while listening to Top of the Pops.
She who might have suffered in silence but still just a itsy-little-bit, liked to hang out with her girl friends and hummed “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go“ and then there was nothing more to her or her — not bland just less colorful — personality.
When will she get a book deal? Which publisher will realize that also she has things to teach young girls? And to see that these girls also have the right and the eligibility to feel normal.
Who will be the first to see that those girls also needs to be comforted?
…have come to this.
*Eats no sugar until December 13th.
…ger oss vänner. Ger oss möjligheten att uppskatta vänner. Kommunicerar vänners lojalitet och kärlek. Tar ifrån oss vänner. Får oss att tröttna på vänner. Låter oss välja bort vänner. Skiljer oss från vänner.
Men ibland får man en andra chans.
…hits again. The. Anxiety. That. Thing.
…du är kass med ord så tänk bara på att till och med tyst så är du är bättre än alla de som, när de i en tröstande situation, utbrister: “Så, så! Du skall se att det inte är så farligt.”
Herregud, vad vet de?
Visserligen antar jag att ingen av oss verkligen vet vilket ord som har makten att på riktigt hela och trösta så vi försöker allt i vår makt och testar minsta lilla ord men alltså hallå… “Så, så […]”