Well, hey, all right.

I was going to do some sort of post farewelling my 20s, but I’ve spent most of today with this mild motion sickness and associated feelings of nausea, then I was really bored so I went to the supermarket and engaged in a bit of lite shoplifting, which was genuinely thrilling for about five minutes, but then I soon came crashing back down into the land of the empty and meaningless, etc.

So, yeah. How about those 20s, eh?

In that time I’ve been to three tertiary education institutions, had three jobs, owned three cars (and that’s where the triplets stop). I’ve lived in 12 different flats, been to seven foreign countries, been on the dole twice, written two shitty novels, walked from one side of New Zealand to the other, and painted my bathroom shelves pink.

I’ve probably done more than that, but due to my spinning head, I’m going to spend my last few hours as a 20something asleep rather than drinking Vodka Cruisers, pashing girls, listening to Ashlee Simpson, or whatever it is that the youth of today do.

Au revoir, vingt. Salut, trente.

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