I have decided to start writing again - because it's good for my health, it's good practice, it gives me something to do. The same could be said for exercise, but I'm going to pretend like that realisation didn't just come to me.
It's been awhile since I blogged. It feels a bit like a fall-back, a type of therapy, really. But instead of having someone else go through my head with a fine psychological comb, I can just vomit everything out here and go on my happy way. I'm none the wiser to whether or not you enjoy it or hate it or have any kind of human reaction to it whatsoever.
What's happened since the last time I blogged? Well, lots really. Not enough to write a biography, but enough to require a lot of gin. I'm still up to my old tricks. Getting in to mischief, finding myself in genuinely odd situations, having the occasional existential crisis. You know, same old same old.
I'm fully-fledged mid-twenties now. I've done all the things a twenty-something is meant to do. Got herself a HECS debt she can't afford, lived with an assortment of bizarre housemates, gone travelling, come home, worked, not worked, tried not to accept money from her parents but accepted it out of necessity and had the same quarter life crisis which seems to creep up on all Gen Y-ers who's parents told them they could be whatever they wanted to be. It's been a tough gig but someone had to be KH.
So ,it's time to welcome you back to the palava that is my twenty-something life. I can't promise I'm going to write regularly. Hell, I can barely remember to clean behind my ears most days. But I do promise to talk a lot of crap. I'm particularly good at that. And I'll try to make you laugh, but there's a good chance you'll end up cringing instead. I know I do.
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