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A review by hanabaiyu
Little Weirds by Jenny Slate
5.0
Neues Lieblingsbuch.
Noch nie hab ich mich so gesehen und geborgen gefühlt beim Lesen. Jenny Slate weiß, was es heißt, komisch zu sein und es zu lieben.
Es sind irgendwie Geschichten aus dem Leben der Autorin, aber oft sind sie wie ein Fiebertraum geschrieben. Herrlich selbstironisch, witzig und tiefgründig. Ich hab mir auf fast jeder Seite etwas markiert und musste öfters zurückblättern und mir nochmal die Stellen durchlesen. Little Weirds fasst das ganze Buch perfekt zusammen und safe to say, das wird (ist) meine ganze Persönlichkeit von heute an.
----
But what am I supposed to do with all of the
parts of my heart that are only there to be
given? Those parts of the heart, they really
aren't for me, they are not for my home or
my body or my self-love. They are for you
and wherever you are, you are too unknown
to be in my daydream.
I am stuck here in a cycle and I am getting
older but I am not growing up and my heart
is getting soft dark spots on it like a fruit
that has gone bad or is soft because too
many hands have squeezed it but then put it
back down not because I am not ready but
because they were not ready for my type of
fruity flesh. I felt so ripe and sweet - what was off?
Maybe because I was so obsessed with what
it would feel like to one day fall in love, to
have another person who loved you the
most, and loved you so much, voluntarily,
that it became involuntary.
I am supposed to be touched. I can't wait to
find the person who will come into my
kitchen just to smell my neck and get behind
me and hug me and breathe me in and make
me turn around and make me kiss his face
and put my hands in his hair even with my
soapy dishwater drips. I am lovely
woman. Who will come into my kitchen and be hungry for me?
In the very grooves of my being is the desire
to bust open, and the certainty that it is
right to begin to live again even after long
periods of cold and darkness.
You see my garden, you come into my
home, and it tells you not just what I like to
see and what I want to be around, but how
you should treat me. I am the live thing that
belongs here, with other live things like this.
The reason I think that it will be hard to
meet someone who I am actually interested
in is that I cannot stand these preliminary
moments when you can't deeply know each
other and be together forever.
Noch nie hab ich mich so gesehen und geborgen gefühlt beim Lesen. Jenny Slate weiß, was es heißt, komisch zu sein und es zu lieben.
Es sind irgendwie Geschichten aus dem Leben der Autorin, aber oft sind sie wie ein Fiebertraum geschrieben. Herrlich selbstironisch, witzig und tiefgründig. Ich hab mir auf fast jeder Seite etwas markiert und musste öfters zurückblättern und mir nochmal die Stellen durchlesen. Little Weirds fasst das ganze Buch perfekt zusammen und safe to say, das wird (ist) meine ganze Persönlichkeit von heute an.
----
But what am I supposed to do with all of the
parts of my heart that are only there to be
given? Those parts of the heart, they really
aren't for me, they are not for my home or
my body or my self-love. They are for you
and wherever you are, you are too unknown
to be in my daydream.
I am stuck here in a cycle and I am getting
older but I am not growing up and my heart
is getting soft dark spots on it like a fruit
that has gone bad or is soft because too
many hands have squeezed it but then put it
back down not because I am not ready but
because they were not ready for my type of
fruity flesh. I felt so ripe and sweet - what was off?
Maybe because I was so obsessed with what
it would feel like to one day fall in love, to
have another person who loved you the
most, and loved you so much, voluntarily,
that it became involuntary.
I am supposed to be touched. I can't wait to
find the person who will come into my
kitchen just to smell my neck and get behind
me and hug me and breathe me in and make
me turn around and make me kiss his face
and put my hands in his hair even with my
soapy dishwater drips. I am lovely
woman. Who will come into my kitchen and be hungry for me?
In the very grooves of my being is the desire
to bust open, and the certainty that it is
right to begin to live again even after long
periods of cold and darkness.
You see my garden, you come into my
home, and it tells you not just what I like to
see and what I want to be around, but how
you should treat me. I am the live thing that
belongs here, with other live things like this.
The reason I think that it will be hard to
meet someone who I am actually interested
in is that I cannot stand these preliminary
moments when you can't deeply know each
other and be together forever.