So, I turned 30 this year. I turned 30 and I have a Tumblr account, a Facebook account that I check everyday, a best friend who lives on the other side of the pond and with whom I skype several times a week. But have i got a life here and now, in this place, in this town ?
I guess I do. I am 30 and I have a boyfriend who loves me beyond measure. Yet I act like a whimsical and insatisfied little brat, regardless of how it might affect others. GJ cooks for me everyday, he takes out the trash (and not just literally), he put up with my changing moods and smiles to me no matter what.
I also have a job, not exactly my dream job, but in these rough times it seems like a god given gift. I have friends and a roof over my head. For all this, I keep finding reasons to brood over the things I haven’t achieved or that I might never be able to achieve. I do this constantly these days, to the point it could be mistaken for a hobbie of mine.
I can’t live in the present. Actually, I think i was never able to live in the present. Even as a teen, I remember thinking “now it’s like this, things might be harsh, but they’ll get better later”. They did not really get better, but maybe there weren’t so harsh to start with. Happiness is a warm gun, at least according to the Beatles. I am far from unhappy, it is just challenging for me to feel the warmth when it comes.
It’s my 30th year, I’ll probably get married soon and eventually have a kid or two. These are prospects a girl my age should look forward to. Theorically. Instead, I am just freaking out and I am not sure how to explain it. I do not like the idea that I know what my life is going to be like from now on and that there is no way to go back, still I would not have it any other way.
So, every single person who knows me well, (and they are not that many people who do), knows a bit about my pseudo-groupie background. To perfect my groupie science, I purchased I am with the bandby Pamela de Barre. I always wondered why I never read this book earlier…
When I started to turn the first pages, I was anticipating all of her fabulous encounters of all sorts with men of a “very special kind”. That is to say the kind of men whose sweat reeked of sexiness so strongly that zillions girls all over the world dreamt wet dreams about them. Am I speaking like Pam already ???
Anyway, I finished the book a couple of days ago, and when I shut it I decided this was not exactly what I expected. First, Miss de Barre is not a very good writer…She’s not bad either, and you can feel all of her girly excitement throughout the whole book, but her words sounds as if they were written by a 13 years old, even in the epilogue. I will not take it from her though that she managed to infuse nostalgia in her epic accounts.
But I do not understand why she is so proud of her feats. As she depicts herself and narrates her adventures, at times you get the feeling she’s a mere starfucker. She thinks she knows such or such guy but never get to bond with them in a deep way (except maybe with Jimmy Page)…At least if she had had a more “punk” attitude about this, you know like “he’s hot and sexy, I just wanna fuck him, fuck the romance”, you would think “allright, she’s just using them like manwhores”. But she did not, she wanted to give a romantic hue to her experiences. I thought her story is a sad one. I just do not get why she did not look one step behind more often, even if her spontaneity makes her charming too.
She kept looking for something she never had, and hang on to guys who only wanted to fuck her in every ways possible (yes, in every ways, physically, but above all they splendidly mentally fucked her up), and times are seldom when she seemed to realize it…but wait maybe even if you’re married, guys only wants a good fuck from us?
Plus I did not get the dose of wildness expected.
nurserozetta:
Where you just feel the need to be all over eachother in public…
Credit to catsandrabbits for showing me these photos, I’m very amused!
Am I the only one who feels weirded out by this?
(via patronsaintofqualityfootwear)
Another animal skull by Georgia O’keefe
