I had no idea of today’s date. That should have been a sign. The dictionary.com word of the day on my email account was “depredation” as in “the cold’s depredation of her immune system.” All I wanted to do after exercising this morning was go back to bed. The cawing of crows at daybreak left me nauseous.
The literary competition that launched the careers of such luminaries as Tim Winton and Kate Grenville (The Australian/Vogel Award) is only open to writers with unpublished manuscripts born after 1974.
I look at people driving by and wonder if they really are old enough to be driving a car. I think that women over twenty should abandon crop tops and babydoll dresses. I speculate on what someone’s tattooes will look like when they have had several children or are in a nursing home. I have to write notes to myself on my calendar about basic things. I went to a concert and thought that the music was too loud. I fall asleep watching television in the evening. I can no longer drink coffee after about eight pm.
It’s official: I am no longer a BYT (Bright Young Thing).