once again I find myself unsure of what I should do with myself. i'm in another small town in Western Australia, in a dead hostel, aimless, longing, so close to restless. i start an exciting work exchange in a few weeks but until then i have so much time to kill. i'm trying to use this free time to revisit my writing. i haven't looked at it since the farm.

the devil taunted me recently - yet another archetype of relentless southern european toxic masculinity tried to burgle into my paradise. but im thankful that im 30 and with 30 comes wisdom and the self-discipline of 1,000 buddhist monks. his insolence was so unbridled and honest that it was almost admirable.