Stop buying books. Drink coffee without sugar (though I have tried vehemently). Not analyse everything all the freaking time. Understand why people like Two and a Half Men; it’s the nadir of contrived American humour. Wear underwear that isn’t matching. Lie. Help wearing my heart on my sleeve.
Make a fine cocktail out of random ingredients. Believe that I am stronger than I thought. Stay in bed all day. And not feel guilty about it. Read a book in twenty-four hours. Have all the answers and then forget them somehow. Smile at my reflection. Talk at lightning speed. Be too soft. Love hard. Admit when I am wrong. Sit in silence comfortably. Shh.
Eat meat. It’s not a big deal. Be happy forever but it’s alright. Let etiquette slide, even when I’m fighting. Throw my cigarette outside the car window just because everybody else does it. Apologise for the fact that shopping makes me happy. Let a man think he’s in control… even when he is.
Be a published poet. Be less self-absorbed. Remind myself how awesome I am every day. Miss the sun this summer. Believe that there is more to my appeal than my apparent unattainability. Be proud of being sensitive. Dance more. Have long hair. Always love my scars. Get my driver’s license. Be a cool mother one day. Learn how to apply make-up.
Write more poetry that isn’t about me, me, me. Try to care more about being healthy. Listen to more music. Send my novel out if I want to get published. Think less and do more. Be house-cleaning. Not clean the house so much. Stop see-sawing between self-adoration and self-abhoration. Change the light-bulb in my bathroom/ Stop peeing by candlelight.
Be in bed. Cut my hair at that fancy salon when I’m broke (that is to say: today, and right now). Care what people think. Get into arguments with strangers about feminism/ vegetarianism/ racism/ all of the above. Eat pizza for breakfast. Feel like retiring at 25. Expect so much from myself. Expect so much from others. Expect so little from others.