I do cartwheels in your honor

fannylemon:

It’s just, like, no one in the world is ever going to be able to make me stop caring deeply about every single stupid goddamn feeling Jenny Lewis ever had in her whole damn life so don’t even bother. Just the same, I am glad I was too young to get a tattoo back when I was obsessed with this album and wanted “I am flawed if I’m not free” between my shoulder blades, because, well. I don’t need that, is all. We don’t need that. It would be a little embarrassing, is all. And we don’t need that. Not because I care what anyone thinks, except I do, of course, but because, well, that flag isn’t as fun to wave when you’re not a twelve year old virgin, is all, because then you were listening and planning the becoming but now you’re at least partway to what you’re going to become, the planning over, too late, and it feels less necessary to take as a motto the line to a song about a woman having an affair with a married man, although that isn’t the point. You saw, see, her as a type. It’s not about the act. It’s about the choice. The person who can make the choice. You don’t, didn’t, think they were wrong, persay. That’s not what this is about. It’s a switch. A switch in relation, connection. Things change, is all. The allure isn’t forgotten,  the tendency to find that woman thrilling, to want to be her, that tendency you’ve always had, it’s just, well. It’s just that there are things that seem exciting, the idea of being cool and wild and complicated and untameable unbreakable un-tie-down-able that seem so appealing when you can imagine really having them, or when you can only imagine. Not to say I am or am not those things but just to say that it’s not as hard to imagine, and so, I don’t need the tattoo, is all. You don’t imagine it as sad, is all, but then, one day, you don’t have to. That’s all.

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let’s not forget ourselves, good friend
you and I, we’re almost dead
and you’re better off for leaving
yeah you’re better off for leaving