I had a comedy of errors with the State Library of Victoria.
My cousin brought me on as a consultant to her media distribution company and I got her a meeting at a major studio.
I watched my friends fall apart over “A Woman Scorned,” the antepenultimate episode of season 2 of Scandal.
Shonda Rhimes is clearly a former mistress turned murderer.
I went to a “job interview” for a massage therapist during which a very well meaning Chinese woman asked me, in sign language, if I gave happy endings.
I said no.
“Well, what if they just want to touch your leg a little?”
I compared and contrasted raw dairy legislation between America and Australia with the store clerk at the organic food shop up the road.
I wore yoga pants.
I did no yoga.
My flatmates and I had wine/cheese/story time while listening to Sam Cooke and the Everly Bros on vinyl.
I ate a black sesame and vanilla macaroon.
I realized that I never pictured myself at 30 so I don’t know if I am “where I thought I’d be.”
I hoped for something amazing.
I always do.