two weeks in scotland, and i’m already in a pool of mess. eight thirty am, and i come home breathing the fresh air that also smells like peroxide, greet E outside the bathroom, say “i am truly the most fucked up person”
***
the feel of hair blowing in the wind, a pleasure i have not felt for a long before.
***
bathing the skin in warm sun, running down sand dunes, watching sheep grazing, rabbits running into holes, snowy mountains in the far off distance, snow followed by sunshine then rain in the space of 20 minutes, endless lakes and frozen ponds, the sound of the sea.
***
watched 20th century women, in love with Greta Gerwig of Frances Ha, that sad solemn face who will break out into a dance or a nervous chuckle, revealing a knowing smile and beautiful teeth.
i will grow my hair like hers.
***
did something happen to you, asks Nata, while we are walking at the beach, at the very edge of Harris. Yes, but it is something even I cannot tell you. Emotional, or physical? A little bit of both, I think.
***
“so tell me, how’s your life been these past twenty five years”
“well, i grew up pretty privileged : in a good environment, good family, good education, – no misfortunes happened to me that i do not bring upon myself. it’s not that i am crazy, or out of control, i just happen to hate myself sometimes that i am drawn to self-destruction”
perkaraperkara 