All Ball. Melanie Thibodeau. Collaboration with Juli Majer.
Mellow Room, Vancouver. 2014.

The sense of urgency has disappeared. The dizzying feeling to feel accepted has been replaced with a deep, true love for carbs and really nice bread.
I look at life in a much more calm and  grounded manner these days. I feel closer to my emotions and I am able to embrace them without trying to mask them with partying, drinking and acting cool. What's cool anyway?
I take supplements. Like a reborn new age guru, I can swear to you that Gaba and Astaxanthin have in fact changed my life. I eat healthy. I quitted drinking. I go to bed early. I still smoke cigarettes though. I call it my Gainsbourg complex. Cigarettes, cursing and beaten up Repetto loafers. Those are the remains of what it seems to be a past life.

To doubt about who you are as a person and to doubt about your competencies and abilities, is a terrible thing to do. Hiding your head in bed island, beneath soft duvets and watching Seinfeld  for an entire weekend can be considered a good thing, but if it becomes a routine, it's actually more of a lethargic (non) existence. You become a Kafka character, which sounds really good in literature, and sounds really impressive when you tell this to others, but in reality it's neither impressive or cool.
I used to feel terrible about myself for not having the perfect job, or the perfect home, or whatever you're supposed to have when you get to a certain age. Of course I am aware of the fact that as years go by, I might never become a mother, for example. This idea used to trouble me a lot. I would think, that as a woman, I would be a complete failure, since motherhood is a primordial aspect of being a woman. Or is it? As I get more and more focused and calm, I also get so much more unsure about so many things. Maybe it's Jupiter's influence crossing the planetary arrangements. Maybe it's the absurd quantity of Fiji water that I drink. Fiji water makes me feel like I belong in a classy r'n'b video.

Either way things are so much diluted today that it's impossible to keep the pace on all fronts. Career choices, relationships, spiritual growth, leisure, culture, fashion, money, laundry that won't wash by itself.
At this age the heart has been broken a few times. Detachment seemed rather inevitable. But as weeks go by, and moons come and go, attachment surfaces as a rather physical entity other than just an abstract idea built on poor judgment.
The nice girl  who helps mother preparing a Sunday meal has also faded away in the course of time holes and indie records. Whatever happened to the nice girl who would go to Marks & Spencer with mother on Saturday mornings in 1992? Walking on beige carpeted floors, and looking at perfectly displayed  items, softly highlighted with the aid of gentle, indirect lights. And we would go testing artificial scented shampoos that smelled of lilies, roses or magnolias, or whatever English people are supposed to smell of. And as a child, I would sit staring at my mother as she tried on clothes.Putting rollers on the grandmother's thining hair while talking about your first love.

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