Last year, I fell in love. Mayhaps, for the first stupid, glorious — yet seemingly pointless time. How does one meander through this material world and reach thirty-five years of age without falling backside over elbow in grown-up, big girl, love a dozen or so times? I don’t know, but I did a stellar job of avoiding it.
How did it all end, pants? Did it turn out simply wonderful and are you all married and sprogged up? Oh no. There are seemingly no happy endings in my little, messed up, crazy shook up world. One thing I have realised is: there are way too many sad, busted heart stories out there. Humans are often shitty at best to each other and to use the kids’ common vernacular: “it sucks”.
