I don't think i'm A “wild child,” now, at thirty-seven. I'm all grown-up. But it depends on what you understand by that. Being grown-up doesn't mean giving in to all the pressures that crowd in on you from outside. Sure, you have to accept certain ground rules that make it possible to live alongside other people. For me that includes, for example, a willingness to help. But ground rules that people think up just so they can trample on others because they themselves want to get ahead — I don't hold with that at all.

When someone tells me they find such and such disgusting but sometimes you just have to compromise — well, not me. I'm no one's psychiatrist. And there aren't any fixed ground rules that you have to keep to. You yourself help make the ground rules by accepting certain things and not others. I can't wear a mask either: acting cool when I'm excited, interested when I'm bored. There's an advantage to this: I don't need to say certain things, because people can read it in my face.

I still remember getting up in the dark, very early in the morning, whenever we went on a trip. My knee socks were lying over the chair, and my dress; everything was ready, and I wasn't tired at all. But then it became a nightmare, every time. My father had reserved seats months in advance, and of course other people would be sitting in our seats, and my father would make a huge fuss; he'd roar and wave his arms about and couldn't calm down till we were halfway there.

Sure, I don't let anyone get away with anything either, but you can protect your rights in a different way. I don't scream at anyone, not even during an argument, and I don't need to keep myself under control. I'm much quieter, use gestures more — it's simply a different kind of language, not one expressed so much through words.