There are many things in life i still have to figure out,  

like how to live on something more balanced than hummus and vino,

the opening hours of the supermarket and how to manage money without spending it all on shoes, smoothies and frilled t-shirts.


It’s like having a tangle made of a bunch of other tangles and the more you try to figure out from which one to start

the more you look clueless and decide to leave it there and keep your fingers crossed

it’ll solve its enigma by itself.

That’s pretty much how I approach life and its myriad of questions.

Or i google them until I find some ridiculously long explanatory article and get distracted after a handful of seconds by all irrelevant things like how to cook 3-ingredient pancakes or how to find your soulmate in the snacks aisle.  


And it takes quite a few hours of my week to try and figure this ever growing list of

‘things people my age start to get together and rearrange in bullet points’ out.

But at the same time I realize how little this cleaning up mind space suits me.

I’d feel completely out of place, like when I try to put some makeup.

Nobody knows where the hell you’re supposed to put all those palette colored things anyway.


And it gives me that sense of contentment to know that I’m not the only one not painting my nails or curling eyelashes,

like when I get on the balance in the morning before breakfast

tricking my brain into thinking i’m fit. and it’s all a matter of psychology, you are what you think of yourself.





To come to a compromise with grown-up responsibilities and do something about my absent mindedness, I took one of those personality tests that take an hour of ticking boxes and skim-reading questions that are too articulated for me.


Turns out I’m an impatient, easily-bored and impulsive human being.

And according to the results I should work on my incapability of being consistent with what makes my eyes spark for the moment, I should turn my stubbornness into my drive to finish at least one of the ideas I have when half-asleep and write down in confused notes.

I like to call myself creative and like all creatives I use it as some rubbish excuse to go on dealing with my messy bedroom, my ugly calligraphy

and terrible relationship with timing,

living on extremes like buying four pairs of the same trainers because comfortable or eating a whole party-sized bag of peanuts just because.

But I don’t mind dedicating all my effort or none at all to what surrounds me. It shakes my days up.


Like bike rides through the canals on a late night, sipping whiskey to cure a cold and going to birthday parties of strangers.


The only thing I figured out taking that test is that you can’t expect a computer to solve the tangle that your personality is.

The results slap you in the face with the truths you hide behind smiley emoticons and lipstick and other things from the makeup vocabulary – sorry I ran out of girly terminology.


Nobody needs to be reminded of his flaws,

especially if he embraces them like I do.


It’’ll all work out.






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