Today

I am 420 months old. Or 35. Which somehow seems more than 420 months. Go figure.
To be perfectly honest, by 35 I thought I would have achieved a fair amount of renown* by now.
I thought I’d be a published author.
I thought we’d own our own house on Sydney’s north shore and basically be repeating my growing-up years, just doing it better.
You know, not divorced. Together. Happy.

I’m sounding so glass-half-empty aren’t I.

A happier post to follow.

* In my head there is great difference between being renown and being famous. Renown comes with doing something of note, something of value, something that has made a difference. As opposed to fame which I gave up on long ago as I’m not particularly thin or pretty.