picture it. i’ve just moved to sydney. the ‘big smoke’… compared to what? i’m not entirely sure, because i just came back from a trip overseas and sydney is london’s baby sister who doesn’t even know how to talk yet, let alone how to walk yet. wait, does talking or walking come first? whatever, you get the gist. i’m not ready for children. but that’s okay, because i’m already in love with it. (the city, not the thought of kids) (can you imagine lil bby rackers runnin around) (fuck no thx).

i’ve booked a hotel for my first two nights, before my temporary home is ready on tuesday morning, before my more permanent home is hopefully ready by october. picture it. i’m in my underwear, i’m clutching my coffee, i’m staring out my window at my new landscape – buildings. lights. so many buildings and so many lights. not at all what i’m used to, i cannot see a single star in the sky. i miss home already. i miss my dogs. but this is cool! look at me! being an adult! typing away at my computer, like your regular old carrie bradshaw. i am the carrie of sydney. maybe a little less whiny.

so picture it. not just me in my underwear.

i’m a big girl now. i have to start paying rent next week! buying my own food! BUDGETING! mm, adulthood. bitter sweet.

so i get this overwhelming urge to write. i just want to type words on my screen and to make something happen and to seem cool, and collected, and maybe possibly somehow get started on that writing career i’ve always wanted. i stare at my screen. and i type into google ‘i don’t know what to write’… it’s a step up from my usual ‘what the fuck am i doing with my life’… taste it… it’s adulthood.

i won’t pretend that it was all a sign, that the first thing that came up in google helped me to want to write all these dumb words that i’m surprised you’re still reading. it took a bit of scrolling, a bit of reading. and finally one jumped out at me. not literally jumped out of me, because that would be weird and would probably suggest i’m on drugs, but i liked the look of it. and i’m not on drugs. currently.

‘when you don’t know what to write, write about your insecurities.’

well i do have plenty of those.

like, i won’t make it as a writer. i’ll hate my new job. sydney will have been the worst decision. all of my decisions have led me to a shitty life. why aren’t i happy? what is this incessant need to seek approval from shitty people? i hate my skin. i hate how much shit i eat. my most common thought: ooh, i probably should not have done that.

mm, insecurities. don’t they sit so pretty on your windowsill?

eh, i guess if i had have taken that public service job four years ago, i wouldn’t have met the people i’ve met, seen the things i’ve seen and ultimately ended up sitting here at 10:22pm on a sunday night right before my first day at my first full-time job in sydney, completely leaving my life and my home and my dogs behind. was this all worth it? who the fuck knows, probably won’t know until i’m on my death bed when i’m 99 years and 364 days old. and the only thing i’ll be saying then? ‘fuck those insecurities off.’

write about your insecurities. then tell them to go fuck themselves, you’re probably perfect, i’m saying probably because there are some real fucktards out there who need tonnes of work, but anyway, you’re probably perfect, you do you, i support you, yolo, let us see if rackers can really be… in da city

(so that last line totally would only work if you imagine horashio in CSI Miami putting his sunglasses on after that)

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