Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Find a Fit While Living Large

There are so few years fit for living. Anything before age ten just doesn’t really count. We don’t know enough, to really know anything. We only know what we are told and what we imagine to be true, and we test those limits in stupid, timid, uneventful ways that don’t leave us with life lessons, only slaps on wrists and early bedtimes. The whole span of “teen-age” is spent waiting and wanting to be be older so we can do all it is we want to do so badly but cannot, and then when finally we reach this coveted age, then come responsibilities, like school and studies and then afterwards finding a job so we can pay for the school and continue life as we know it, independent and free. People say the twenties are for living, but is that what I’m doing now, is this living? I always feel like I’m preparing to live, always getting ready, like packing emergency supplies in closets and pantries, and is this the doom of the age, this impossibility of living in the present? If I’m preparing to live, then I’ll continue into my thirties where I’ll be too old and tired to really live, which leaves me little to no time for this lovely living thing I’m always thinking about. I've heard retirement is nearly impossible nowadays and how tired and old would I be then? The realities of life crash down and dreams end as quickly as putting pins to balloons, one after another after another. Will I ever live in Italy? Will I ever be famous? Will I ever have a canopy bed? Will I ever be happy?

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Born and raised under the Los Angeles sun and smog. At sixteen spent some time in LA County Juvenile Detention Center, although never really learned her lesson. Moved to Boston for the classic college experience. Spray painted graffiti in the Paris Metro during six month stay in the Marais. Survived an ultra fabulous and frightening internship at Vogue Magazine while living at a nunnery in Hell's Kitchen. Lived a year in Seoul, a city which can only be compared to a Disneyland theme park. Written four hundred sixty-four words of an undisclosed masterpiece novel. Currently pondering her next adventure and also the meaning of her memoirs from an artist's loft in dirty Brooklyn.