Cosmic Coincidence

My friend Adam told me that I was a cosmic coincidence. I really liked that, and I told him. I didn't really understand what it meant, but I really liked the way it sounded. Good use of alliteration, nice sound with a perfect form, A+. 

He meant it in the way that we were all once made up from stars, maybe even made from stars that were trillions of light years apart. Maybe your stars are now part of the sun or 'the comet that will hopefully kill us all', or someone who made a difference (Marilyn Monroe fingers crossed). The phrase star crossed lovers takes on a whole new an literal meaning. You are so insignificant that the fact the you are so complex and fucked up is so improbable is literally amazing. Sometimes I think he doesn't even realise how beautiful what he says is. He is so smart in a devastating end-of-the-world way.

Thinking about this and Meloncholia made me realise how completely unproductive and unimportant I am. I don't want to go into radical existential matters so I'm going to relate this train of thought to how its 11:54 on the last Sunday night of holidays. School tomorrow.

I have honestly done nothing these holidays apart from seeing friends and procrastinating. At the begnning of these holidays I was so optimistic and pathetically niave.

"I'm gonna do so much these holidays! The first week I do heaps of homework, blog entries and studying, catch up on all those Woody Allen movies. And THEN in the second week I'll cure cancer and that new AIDS that they were talking about on Vice. Yes! Yay productivity."

Reality check.

"I'm so bored. I've painted my nails about ten times with the same tacky glitter nail polish, cut my hair, researched Louis Theroux and watched 'Joseph Gordon Levitt sexy funny interviews'. I hate myself."

I'm never going to become a super famous journalist who writes for Vogue, jets off to Paris for the weekend, leaving my New York loft. I will never be a spritzer girl while I'm at uni who casually seduces Casey Affleck while he's buying perfume for his wife in a pathetic attempt to save his failing marriage (a la Eva Mendes in The Women). I will never be the sexy teacher at an all boys school while secretly fucking the bookish, yet amazingly once he takes his glasses off, attractive English teacher who also happens to be a billionaire.

I'll be an insignificant particle of a star who develops a casual heroin addiction and has to support her seven children using the dole, while her redneck husband, Davo, is a dishwasher at the local McDonalds. She'll do her best to make their trailer as homely as possible, but Davo will never be pleased with all the hard work she puts in. 

She's just an insignificant star, not even a complete star. 

Just a part of one.