I’m feeling better, by the way. Do you know how I know? The zip on the coin part of my purse broke and my coins all fell out, and I just said Shit. I didn’t burst into tears. And I didn’t start constructing some woe-filled sentence about the symbolism I might attach to the passing of my purse. So there you go. You can ask me out for coffee again now, and I might even say and so, how are you?
The story so far
I'm from Adelaide, but I'm living in Abu Dhabi right now. One day, I saw a gold leaf four wheel drive. It made me cry.
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My first novel, Black Dust Dancing, was published by Wakefield Press in March. It looks like this:
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My first novel, Black Dust Dancing, was published by Wakefield Press in March. It looks like this:
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adelaide from adelaide 
Yes. Well.
The thread of my Tibetan prayer beads broke and they scattered throughout my travel bag.
Talk about symbolism.
That was quick.
I kinda thought blogging *was* narcissism.