I have this fantasy where all of the older, cooler, worthy-of-the-word-hip people in my life take me under their older, cooler, worthy-of-the-word-hip wings, and I transform into a lovely, cultured butterfly who knows how to dance to indie rock. A girl who knows how to curl her hair, how to hold herself and how to live. I’m surrounded by swarms of driven people at all hours of the day—twenty-somethings with goals, jobs, great hair, down-to-earth confidence, and a work ethic to boot. I look at them and I wonder: when the heck is that going to happen to me? And in truth, I know these people lead chaotic lives. I know they get bored and they cry and they’re just as inclined to marathon Community alone in the dark as I am (???) but in the warm light of day they look like Gods, especially in comparison to the dishevelled pile of dirty laundry I call my life.
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Art by Alessandra De Cristofaro