I like talking. I like the sound of my own voice. This is stupid because I have no confidence. If you cut me to the core, you’ll see meekness. I am not sure of myself. If you cut me deeper, I have a kernel of brash confidence. Make of that what you will.
I believe in family. And I’ve always wanted one. I honestly believe I’ll be okay if I stay single for the rest of my life but I’m also a little afraid.
I don’t want to be a vet anymore. Which is stupid because I wanted so badly to be here. Maybe I just wanted to go overseas. I don’t know.
I didn’t want to come to Sydney. I wanted to go to Melbourne.
I speak like the world is grey but I know that decisions are black and white.
I’m really not that clever. Sometimes I’m lucky and people believe I’m smart. I spend the rest of my time with them wringing my hands because I know I’m not.
I want to do many things. Probably so I can avoid trying to be the best in one field. Probably because best is absolute. I don’t know how I feel about absolutes.
I like telling the truth. But no one asks me the right questions.
The one time I should have told the truth, I lied. I don’t always look back but sometimes I do, and I wonder.
(I wrote this two months ago and these things are still all true. Haven’t changed too much yet, I suppose.)