Lately I’ve dreamt I’m invited to be an extra on the set of the TV show Girls, only “I’m not a girl anymore,” I tell the producers.
Soon I won’t remember what it was like, but I’ll keep trying to act like one because what else am I going to do?
I’ll say things like tots and Facebook me. I’ll grow my hair long enough I’ll want to cut it.
A woman at the bar tells me she wants to climb a guy who isn’t on her spiritual level. Another man she likes, he’s off with the Sufis somewhere, and that’s better. All that spinning, she says, is so totally enlightening.
She wonders, almost crying, if the best part of herself is gone forever since she’s been unhappy these past few days over the guy who’s gone to the Sufis and because she still lusts after the materialist, while her ego, she says, is caught in the middle, just like a little girl.about the author