OK, I’m going to venture into another obvious theory, a theory about second chances. And here it is — the older you get, the fewer you get, in whatever arena. We’re inevitably expected to bear ever fuller responsibility and ever more accountability for our many mistakes, mishaps and missteps. So here’s my problem — I’m still living in my misguided little world where I assume no mistake can ever dead-end me. I gotta be careful, now; so very easy to fall into pessimistic stasis or cynical resignation this way. I’ve been rear-ended by my lack of reasoning and forethought till I’m all bruised with thwarted potential. I’m not going to rationalise my fears and doubts and all that joy away. But I’m also not sure if I can or should self-pep-talk my way into confronting my friggin’ failure to friggin’ launch and getting my keister off the off-white plastic Ikea chair. In my life’s work, in my life’s loves, in my life’s beliefs, I’m still indulging in a lot of waiting for Godot and crazy endgames. Is it still wise, at the ripe old age of 27, to hold on to some sort of pitiful hope for a simulacrum of mainstream happiness? What am I peering into the distance for? Do I even see what’s in front of me?
Anyway, so enough sour sheddings (for now, ha ha). Isn’t that Nokia 93 ad with Gary Oldman so cool? Here’s a picture of me in happier times as a bronzey bridesmaid, thanks to good ol’ movie blogger guy. Yeah, I was so late, I didn’t have time to put on contacts.