20 January 2006
Originally posted on greenfairydotcom
I live like a student.
There's no getting away from it, I do.
And I'm wondering if the fact that I actually am a student may not be adequate excuse for this.
I go out and become insensible with drink and end up in hospital. I cut my hair into stupid indie shapes and dye it red. I spend my money on neon knickers with skulls on and Super Noodles. I still think strings of lights shaped like goldfish are really cool. I live in a flat with atrocious subsidence, mice and ceilings prone to come crashing in at a moment's notice simply because the landlords don't mind that I've painted the bathroom acid green. I can't look at my bank statements without feeling faint. I have been known to sleep with men simply because I like the way they dance.
Currently, my most precious possession is my Darkness setlist.
But then I think, well, what would be better?
My car with air conditioning and leather trim and 0% finance until June 2006?
My Lalique crystal vase?
My fulfilling (or at least hightly paid) career in publishing?
My engagement ring?
I should have a flat in N1 somewhere with stripped floorboards and Hint of Peach walls and halogen spotlights highlighting my tasteful wall tapestry bought during my recent excursion to Marrakesh and my dining room table set for a dinner party with Conran plates and David Gray playing gently on my Bang & Oluffson (see, I can't even type that without sniggering at it's faint rudeness) as I slip on my Manolos and make sure the wine glasses are spotless as I wouldn't even dream of drinking straight from the bottle with a straw these days and oh God it's too depressing, I can't go on.
But I am almost twenty six. Shouldn't I be a more accomplished grown up?
I have a sinking feeling that people approaching forty look at me in the same fashion as I look at teenagers drinking cider at East Croydon train station, and I wonder if this might not be wholly attributable to normal generational incomprehension. All my friends from school are one (and in many cases more) of the following: married/cohabiting, rasing a family, homeowners. I am sure not one of them regularly ends up drinking tea from plant pots because they can't face the washing up.
Why is it me stuck with this refusal to accept my Cosmopolitan-shaped destiny?