three years ago today, I arrived in London
I had no plan. I was just playing it all by ear.
I still am.
I keep waiting for something amazing to happen. I keep trying to make something amazing happen.
Something amazing resolutely refuses to happen.
(The something amazing could be the man of my dreams finally showing up. Or professional success. At this point, I think the latter would be preferrable, and more plausible. How sad is that?)
At what point do you have to start saying “It’s not the world, it’s me”? Cuz I think I’m getting pretty close to that.
It’s ridiculous to be in this place at 40something years of age.
Maybe this year will be better. Though I’ve been saying that for years.