It’s my birthday next week. We are going to a steakhouse. I invited vegans.
I am back from the dead, where creatures sleep deeply and crack dens become living rooms so comfy. I’m not gonna say I’m sorry. I know I haven’t been around these virtual woods for a while. The thing I hate most about irregular bloggers is how apologetic they become when they don’t post. It’s okay if you are a blogger and you take a break. Okay? Sometimes life happens in excessive amounts. It’s a rare occurrence, but it happens. They are times of quiet desperation. Or absolute bliss.
The holidays are here! Woop-woop. Joy, happiness, X-Box.
I write this from a crowded terminal in the airport. Yes, I am heading to Brazil for a month of parental nagging and hanging out with my famous writer-sister (not to be confused with the Scissor Sisters). If only you could see how hipster I look in my airplanewear, shaggy hair, leopard socks and MacBook… like, you’d probably want to shoot me. And that’s okay. I’m on holidays, and so is my Hipster Abuse alarm.
Yeah, so things have been hectic.
While I know a lot more about independent journalism than I did six months ago, my bank account has shrunk. Like, zero. We all talk about being broke, but this time… it really happened.
Well, there goes Easter.
Bummer. The good news is, though Christ has died 2011 times (and counting), He still comes back every year for supper with enough bread and wine to go around. And because He’s such a nice guy, bunny rabbits get really happy this time of year, and we all get to benefit from the chocolate eggs they lay. Feel free to correct me but I’m pretty sure that’s how the story goes.
I gotta admit: I left this to the last minute. I had great plans to give every other respectable blogger wannabe a run for their money because I was going to come in with a bang: but alas, I will blame any signs of underperformance on you, Miss Queensland University of Technology: you’ve been keeping me under wraps.
I am old – I guess not old, but older than your typical university first year student. And I suppose that doesn’t matter one bit when it comes to a new experience like being a uni student for the first time. I had the same first day chills as everyone else: Should I wake up extra early to figure out the bus timetables? Do kids these days still scribble notes by hand? Do I wear a dress or do I wear pants? Will I meet ten cool people today? Five? One? Will I awkwardly sit alone outside the library eating a ham sandwich? I really don’t want to sit outside the library eating a ham sandwich.