She had her mind set on it and she couldn’t help but think she would and had to buy them, even if she had to first save up for it for months, and I just didn’t understand, and then she didn’t understand me in return, in an angry way, and I couldn’t understand why she wanted to make herself disabled deliberately, wanted to make herself vulnerable, why she wanted to limit herself so that she couldn’t get away quickly if she had to, why she would choose to not be able to walk or stand without staggering and without pain, and she thought that was utter nonsense, why from now on she would only want to walk on uneven paving stones holding onto the arm of someone else, probably a handsome man, which seemed like a good idea to her, and why she felt that she would be much more attractive if she forced her body into an unnatural position, but she thought it was not that bad; and why on earth she wanted to appear four inches taller, because what was wrong with her own height and posture, she thought herself too small and too unnoticed; and I simply couldn’t understand why she was willing to deal with that discomfort and pain, why she would from now on after going out throw those things into a corner, cursing and tending to her latest blisters and wounds over and over again, but she thought that was ridiculous because greatly exaggerated; and I just couldn’t understand why she was willing to spend so much money on things that were bad for her body: for her feet, her joints, her back vertebrae and neck vertebrae; because they were so beautiful, she claimed; and I just couldn’t understand why she thought she would get all the attention she craved, and she thought that was a stab in the back, if from now on she were to squeeze her feet into overpriced shoes with sky-high stiletto heels; and what on earth was wrong with that, she asked, and why I was bothering with it, she asked angrier, and I asked her what on earth was wrong with just being able to walk without pose and pain, and what was wrong with feeling comfortable in your own body and with facing people, men, without unnecessary vulnerability and submission, to face them strongly and proudly instead; but I guess she didn’t hear me anymore.
Because when you get up, longer and longer, but shorter too, sat on the chair, that you look at things from a higher perspective, but from a smaller angle, from up there, to down down, yes, twice down, look, but just not see, because when you get up and get taller and taller, stay, stay in the same place; you can imagine that you down, that you go down, or maybe even back on the chair, but certainly not too long, and then she said, because you still have to, you, today, still do so much and think of so much, and then she said, but for that you have, that you don’t have time to get up, no dówn, to sit up dówn, but you must now actually go, or to descend, but that you today, that you now, would rather descend up than ascend down.
She had noticed that the younger woman in the corner of the cramped living room every now and then wriggled a little on the strict hard chair assigned to her, and that during the long dull conversations of the older ladies around her, who fanned themselves in between talking, or wished they had brought something to fan themselves with, she alternately rearranged the straps of her bra inconspicuously and searched hopefully for incoming messages on the screen of the telephone hidden in her palm, all the while keeping the pretense of listening exceptionally well and, nodding and smiling politely, agreeing with whatever it was that the elderly woman who was speaking to her confidentially at the time – sigh – was firmly asserting.
She didn’t normally shriek, so the other kids, who stood in a circle around her, had never heard that before; but she thought it was about time that the adults in their goody terraced houses behind their freshly mowed little yards on either side of the street realized that they, the youth of today, were still there, so she braced herself and let out the loudest and longest shriek that could technically be produced with human vocal cords, after which she noted with satisfaction that a deafening silence fell over the dull street.
Makes herself bigger and wider than she actually is, steps so close to the offender that he forgets what personal space means again, finally accepts the glass of beer that she had refused time after time until then, pulls the young man’s half open white shirt under his black leather jacket forward, and pours the contents gracefully over his almost hairless chest, with a most friendly smile followed by a definite ‘I said NO.’
Sometimes she wished she had considered other career options earlier, such as deep-sea explorer or archaeologist or ice sculptor, even though she could hold her breath for less than a minute underwater, she had to sneeze from dust and the blood would withdraw from her fingertips as soon as she took a tub of butter from the fridge.
Is life fun? Of course it is! You decide that yourself.
You decide what you watch and listen to, you decide what you focus your attention on.
Do I have all the answers? Of course not – I too just mess around.
But I do know this: those who indulge in creativity have no room for negative thinking.
Behold my blog.