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Stop. Stop! Stop, stop.

Seriously, stop.

Sit down.

No, none of you. Stand up.

Uh, I am very bad at endings.

OK?

Remember that.

I can explain myself there.

That will make a lot more sense
once I explain to you

what this entire show
is based on.

So the entire show--do not
worry, it's a very simple show.

It's a very simple show
based on one very simple,

humble note.
Yeah?

One note from the Notes
application off my iPhone.

We're all familiar
with the concept, yeah?

If you don't know what
the Notes application is,

it's a place where people
of my general age,

and background,

and level of mental health go

to express our deepest,

darkest, most intimate thoughts.

Yes?

Onto what we all know is the
most secure app of all time.

Is it not?

The one that's been uploaded
to every fucking Mac device

you've ever touched
or thought of

in the past five years, right?

So I love the Notes app.

I want to say it.
I'm a big fan.

I love the Notes app,
because it's such a fucking

versatile app, right?
It's a versatile app.

It can do everything.

I find it bizarre that it
often platforms, I guess,

the entire breadth
of the human experience.

I read so much in the format
of a Notes app, yeah?

I find it bizarre that I can
read my own shopping list,

yeah, in the same general style
and font as I quite often read

a celebrity apologizing
for making a racial slur, right?

Get you an app
that can do both, right?

And I love the Notes app,
because I have come

to rely on it
purely because the fact--

and I'll get it out of the way
up top, controversial--

I hate writing in notebooks.

OK?

I hate seeing people

writing in notebooks.

I hate seeing people
writing in notebooks in public.

It's fucking pathetic, yeah?

I'm saying it.

The worst comes out of me
when I see someone writing

in a notebook in public.

Honestly, it's a little voice
being like, such a clever girl.

Aren't you so--

So special...

...in your notebook.

Oh, so--

Visited by the muse at this

fucking Five Guys

in the Westfield Food Court.

So I put pen to paper there, doll.

I once saw a woman journaling
on a public beach once.

Go fuck yourself.
Go fuck yourself.

How dare you?

I went up to her,
and I was like, I'm so sorry.

I didn't realize we had
a writer in our midst.

Yes!

Mr. Ernest Hemingway
has graced us

with his presence.

Now, if you'll excuse me,
some of us must return

to taking photos of ourselves

to send to men
who do not care for our company.

Good day.

Some real work to be done, huh?

I don't know if that's crazy.

I just hate
writing in notebooks.

I hate seeing people write.

I just hate everything about it.

For me, writing in a notebook,

it used to fucking
mean something.

That's what
I'm talking about, right?

Used to mean
you're a detective.

Or one other example,
I don't know,

the Zodiac Killer.

It's either or, right?

It just--
I find it bizarre that anyone

can buy a fucking Moleskine
diary, right?

You should have to have
a fucking license

to buy a Moleskine.

I think there should be
a direct correlation

between the quality
of your ideas

and the GSM weight
of your paper.

And I'll die
on that hill, baby.

OK?

I will say that I will admit
to this one thing

I use a notebook for still,

and that is that I...

track my period in a notebook.

I've taken--yeah,
I've taken that shit off grid.

I suggest you do the same
as well

if you experience a period
yourselves.

Because, personally, I don't
love the idea of those apps

and the fact that the fat cats
up at Silicon Valley

know exactly
when I want to kill myself.

Keep that information
close to your chest, right?

It's valuable information.

It's very hard to explain

to people who do not experience
a period

how obsessed one can become,
right,

with tracking your period.

I don't just track the period.

I track everything around it
as well.

I track all the fucking
foods I'm craving,

all the thoughts I'm feeling.

And it's so difficult
to express that to someone

who doesn't have a period.

And I have to say to them,
my brother,

if there was something
that happened

in your balls

every month

that made you
want to move to Berlin...

And start a new life, yeah,

you'd be listening to a podcast
or two as well.

So back the fuck off!

Back off!

Um...

I find it bizarre that I wasn't
taught to track my period,

though, at a younger age.
I find that crazy.

I didn't start doing that until
I was deep into my 20s, right?

I--for some reason--
I don't know if it's the same

in this country,
but in New Zealand,

for some reason--
the responsibility

of teaching one about one's
menstrual cycle growing up

for some reason fell upon
the fucking shoulders

of the PE teacher.

I don't know if anyone
else has this.

So that meant--

I had an adult man

called Nick Wilson, yeah--

bleach blonde hair,
backwards cap,

fucking Oakley sunglasses
on top.

You know that look that makes
a cat look like it's got eyes,

you know?

He was holding up a little
teacup as a prop, being like,

you'll bleed a teacups
worth of blood every month.

And I'd be 11,
being like, into that cup?

What are you talking about?

It's insane.

The PE teacher,
the most emotionally inept

of the entire fucking faculty.

It's not even a real
fucking job, man.

But back to this note.
This note.

Now, I will tell you
a bit about this note.

This note I started

at a rather tricky time
in my life.

I'll be the first to admit it.
Yeah?

That's usually when you do
start a note

in the Notes app of one's phone.

Uh, I had started living alone
for the first time in my life

as an adult.

I went through
a couple of breakups.

Why not, huh?

I lost the lid to my KeepCup.

It was not a banner year
for old Rosie.

Right?

So I started this note,
and I started treating it

almost as, like, this diary.

I put everything into it.

Everything I was feeling,
every crazy emotion I was having

amongst all the other things
you'd put

in the Notes app, right?

Like recipes I saw online
or fucking joke ideas,

everything went into
this one single note, yeah?

And at certain point last year,

I was like, fucking hell, man,
this is fucking good.

There's some good shit
in this note, man.

I can make it--maybe I can do
a show about this note, yeah?

I might print out this note.

Now, I would not recommend that

to anybody in the room
right now, yeah?

Because the thing you'll know
about the Notes app

and notes in the Notes app
is that there is no ending

to a note in a Notes app.

But it turns out that
endings are important, yeah?

Endings are what
give things meaning.

It gives us a moment to reflect
upon the experience

we've just had.

Without endings,

we have no moment
to sort of learn a lesson.

We just make the same mistakes
over and over again

on an endless fucking loop.

But I did not know this.
I did not know this, right?

So I, first of all,
first mistake,

took the note over
to a Microsoft Word document,

migrated it over.

Fucking carnage, yeah?

Formatting is all over the show.

Fonts are missing.

It's not its natural habitat
to see a note

in a Microsoft Word document.

It's like seeing a fucking
teacher in a supermarket.

It's not right.

What the fuck
are you doing here, man?

So I printed it out.

And I didn't check--

I didn't check how
many words there were.

I wrote that.

That just says "good luck."

Keep it in, you cowards!

So I printed out the note

and didn't check how many--

Actually how many words,
or how many pages.

And so, it started printing.

And, um, it kept printing
and kept printing.

Print, print, print, print,
print, print, print, print.

This printer was literally
addicted to printing, OK?

30 pages,

size 10 font.

Whoo!

Now, I don't know
at what point a note

goes from being a note

to some sort of
unhinged manifesto of sorts.

Uh, 16,000 words perhaps?

16,000 wor--

Valerie Solanas,

the woman who shot Andy Warhol,

her manifesto was 24,000 words.

All right?

And I don't want to toot
my own trumpet,

but I could fucking hit that
shit by Christmas if I tried.

And I'm gonna tell you
right now,

it is not an easy read.

I will only share one thing
verbatim from the note

to just give you an indication

as to my emotional state
at the time of starting it.

Um, here it is.

And, uh, this has not been
embellished for the show.

This is truly how
the entire note starts.

Just one sentence,
one simple sentence,

and it says,

"I may have a lot of problems,

but at least I have a heart."

No, thank you.
No, thank you.

No, thank you.

No, no, no, no, no.

No! No!

No, no, no, no.

Not for me that,
as a personality, that.

What sort of Myspace
liminal hell

is this bitch
communicating from?

Uh, and as I say,

it's not only, you know,
all this emo shit,

it's, like, just random,
normal things mixed up.

Like joke ideas
splayed into--like here,

it just says just the word
"cucumbersome."

It's apparently a word
I've invented

for when you're holding
too many cucumbers.

So tonally,
it's all over the show.

And what became so clear to me
reading this note, right,

is that I am very bad
at endings, yeah?

I am very bad at things ending.

I'm very bad
at relationships ending.

I do not take that too well.

Another example of this,
I'll give you this, um,

it's quite hard
to actually do this,

because I can see
a lot of your faces,

and it's a truly vulnerable
thing to admit

because it's entirely true.

At a certain point in the most
recent breakup I went through,

I genuinely found myself
googling the phrase,

"can you be broken up with

for being too cool?"

Now--

the cocky energy
of that phrase alone

could power a small village.

Do you understand that?

Incognito mode, of course,
if I fucking--

of course, straight
to incognito mode as well.

I'm not an idiot, right?

Don't want that
purple linking me.

I think incognito mode gets
a bad rap for being the thing

you go into when you want to
search something a bit cheeky

but naughty, right?
Not for me. Not for me.

That's where I go
to search my most private

anxiety spirals, right,

to their natural end
with no paper trail.

But you'll know this,
you get to make it fun

because you get to put on
little hat...

and some glasses

and pretend to be someone else
for a while,

when really this is the
truest version of yourself.

So it fully--

and honestly,
it shocked me, I think.

It shocked me
that I found myself

googling something like this,
because, look,

I am an adult woman.
I am an adult woman.

I have been through heartbreak
before, OK?

I've done it all.
I've done every iteration of it.

I've been the dumper.

I've been the dumpee. Yeah?

I once got dumped
over the phone during COVID,

which was pretty gnarly.

I like to refer to that
as the reverse Soulja Boy.

Which is a good litmus test

to see how many people my age
are in the crowd.

And I'm gonna be honest,

that's a--that's--
that's a good amount.

I once dumped a man
on a trampoline.

Not my finest hour.

In my defense, not bouncing.

Sort of just sitting on it.

Sort of just, you know,
sadly undulating, I guess.

Don't know if that's worse.

I, uh--I got broken up with

for the reasoning
that the person said to me.

He said,
I don't think I love you

as much as you love me.

I don't love you
as much as you love me.

Brutal, awful, right?

No. Which, then, an hour
later into the breakup

was actually upgraded to,

oh, I actually don't know
if I love you at all.

To which I replied,
I would actually love to accept

your first offer of--

I've actually
talked to my team.

We're actually really happy
with that

if that's still on the table.

It's like "Dragon's Den" where
you have to talk to the wall.

And you're like,
I think we should take it.

I think we should take it.

It's a horrible thing to hear
it said to you, right?

Like, it was a horrible thing
to say to someone's face.

Also, I think it was
a fundamental misunderstanding

between the situation
between this person and myself,

this man and myself.
Because that is true.

If I'm in a relationship
with you,

I fucking love
the shit out of you, man!

Yeah?
Yeah, I'll fucking go hard.

I go hard in the paint
for love--

if that makes sense.
Right?

But what I don't think
this man understands,

and a lot of men
I've been out with

haven't fully quite grasped,

is that I do love them,

but it's actually
how little I respect them.

And do you know what?

And surely that's got to
balance the scales.

Is that too harsh to say?

Of course I respect some men.

Jim Henson.

The list goes on.

The list is a work
in progress, OK?

I think what hurt about
hearing it, though, is that I--

I mean, there's an obvious truth
to that statement, right?

Because that is true.
I am a romantic person, right.

I fucking go hard.

I can't change the fact that
I'm a romantic person, yeah?

I think it's a symptom
of the generation

that I grew up in, right?

I think, as a generation,
we were taught

that romantic love
was the ultimate form of love

to pursue no matter what, right.

And everything we listened to,
and watched, and read,

everything taught us
that romantic love

is to be put on a pedestal,
to doggedly pursue

no matter what the cost.

And I think it's fucked me up
as an adult person, right?

'Cause It's turned me into
this person who looks back

to past relationships,
relationships that didn't

work out,
that were actively bad for me.

But I still look back
with these sort of

rose-tinted glasses, right?

Almost like a little truffle,
but going back in time

to hunt in my memory for
little moments of euphoric love

to sort of chomp on
years and years later

for a little hit of dopamine
in the present.

And it's fucking pathetic, right?

'Cause it feels like going
through an advent calendar

I've already eaten, yeah?

Just to rip open little
cardboard perforated doors

to stare at a plastic mold

and desperately try to remember
what the chocolate tasted like!

Not all of these will be jokes!

OK?

Some of them--

No!

Some of them will be very sad
poems that don't rhyme.

All right?

That's the most one-woman show
I get, I promise.

But you know what I mean?

I think--I think
the generation below us now

have a very different idea
when it comes to romance.

I don't know
if it's any better.

It's this--
I've noticed this online

that I've never sounded older

in my entire life.

What are the young'uns
are doing online?

I've noticed this thing--

is this concept
of romanticizing

your own life, right?

I don't know if some people
know about this.

If you don't,
basically the concept is that

what you've got to do is you've
got to add the romance

to every little mundane thing
in your life.

Just go and make
it romantic, yeah?

So just make everything
romantic and fun.

So it'll be like make up
and then make a cup of tea.

Make a cup of tea,
but make it cute.

Make it cute.

Maybe you could do
the little doily.

Well, you do it.

Or you can maybe make it in
a little antique teapot

from fucking 1998.

Leonardo.

Or maybe you can wear a little
nightgown while you do it

so you're like a little fucking
Victorian ghost

or some shit, right?

Romanticize your own life.

It'd be something like
maybe you go to a café...

And you write a note.

And the note,
it'd be like, have a nice day.

And someone might find it,
and read it,

and feel good about themselves.

Romanticize your own life.

Now, this is a genuine question,

and I ask it with love.

Are the children well?

Do you know what I mean?

Because this is--
it's kind of insane.

I love them.

I love the children.
I love the kids.

But guys, you got to get your
fucking heads in the game,

because you're gonna be fighting
for water reserves,

"Mad Max" style,

in, I want to say,
two months time.

So enough with the shit, right?

It is--I think it's like a--
I kind of think

it's a generational
trauma response, right,

to a crumbling world
around them,

which I think has resulted
in a level of whimsy

I have not encountered
in years, OK?

And I fucking know whimsy!

I grew up in the 2010s!

I fucking know whimsy!

I'm part of the
"Amélie" generation.

Je suis, Amélie.

Justice for Amélie.

She's a good bitch.

Amélie, to women of my age,
she's our Travis Bickle.

She really is.

Yeah, that joke gets absolutely
nothing every time I do it,

and yet I continue doing it.

And that's what courage is, OK?

I just think
it's just so sweet, though.

It's just so sweet,
because these children

almost act as if
they've invented

the very concept of whimsy, right.

And I have to be like,
my child, my child,

let me ask you a question.

Have you--

have you ever worn

a top hat

at the height of summer

to a Panic! at the Disco concert

to impress a bisexual boy
who hates you?

All right.

I have done things that
would make you shudder!

I know whimsy!

Respect your elders.

I, uh,

if you don't know this concept,

the romanticize
your own life thing,

I think you may be familiar
with things

that kind of fall under the
umbrella of this sometimes.

You may notice this
in the algorithms--

the idea of dating yourself.

I don't know if
anyone has encountered this.

It's a fucking rancid
concept, yeah?

'Cause I think
it's aggressively targeted

towards specifically
single people in the algorithm.

And the idea behind that
is that what you've got to do

is you can't wait sometimes.

You can't wait for someone to
take you out on a date, yeah?

What you just got to do,
you got to take yourself

out there, girl.

Pop on a little bit of lippy.

Pop on a little black dress.

Yeah?

And you're just gonna go out
and by yourself, yeah?

Go to a museum
on your tod, hmm?

Go for a meal alone,
if you can fathom it.

Now, I don't know what I missed

in the past 10 years or so,

but the last time I checked,

that concept was just

fucking living
your goddamned life!

What the fuck has happened to us
as a society,

where we have become
so disconnected

with the idea of solitude

that we can no longer do
anything by ourselves anymore

without reframing it
within the context

of being in a relationship

with oneself?

Sorry!

Do you think--
sorry, do you think--

do you really think,
when you see...

an old Italian man...

Sitting down on a piazza,

having a little red wine,

a little cigarette,

do you genuinely think that man

is thinking to himself,

just took myself
on a little date, you know?

Self-care.

No!

I think the weirdest one,
though, by far, I will say,

that has gone through this
rebrand of doing something

to oneself, um, is masturbation.

Has to be.

The rebrand of being in
a relationship with oneself,

rather, is masturbation.

We call that having sex
with ourselves now.

No, thank you. Not for me.

Not for me, that phrase.

It's got a real single parents
alone together vibe

to that phrase
that I don't love.

You know?

Also, I hate myself,
let alone want to fuck her.

Do you what I mean?
Like...

it's bad branding for those with
low self-esteem, right.

And again, I think it speaks
to this idea

that we just can't
call something

for what it is anymore, man.

Just call--

it's call--
just call a wank, a wank, man.

It's a fucking wank.

It doesn't need to be
anything more, anything less.

It's just this--
let's stop making--

let's stop making
everything special, yeah?

Don't--don't light a candle.

Can we agree on that
in the room right now?

Don't light a candle
to have a wank, OK?

The only times
you should light a candle

in this life are if someone dies

or takes a shit.

And that is all.

OK?

So what was I saying?

Oh, yes, I'm a romantic person.

Clearly.

And so, in my early 20s, I, uh--
about 10 years ago,

my early 20s,
I did what any romantic person

would do, obviously.

And that is that I moved
to London,

the City of Love.

Sorry,
that's supposed to be a joke.

Have you been here?

What the fuck is that?
Um...

I moved to London
because of love.

Classic me.

And it was really hard to,
I think,

explain to my family
and friends that--

or I guess reassure them
that I was gonna be fine.

I was a young woman
moving to the other side

of the world, right?

And very early on
I found this quote, right,

this incredible quote,
that really sort of summed up

the experience of what it is
like to live

in a bustling city like London.

And it came from the Russian
socialist Alexander Herzen,

when he put it just perfectly
about London life,

when he said, "There is no town
in the world more adapted"

"training one away from people

"and for training one
into solitude than London.

"The manner of life,
the distances, the climate,

"the very multitude of
population in which personality

"vanishes, all this
together with an absence

"of continental diversion,
conduces, to the same effect.

"One who knows how to live alone
has nothing to fear

"from the tedium of London.

"The life here,
like the air here,

is bad for the weak,
for the frail,

"for one who seeks a prop
outside himself,

for one who looks for
welcome, sympathy, attention."

But I love the buses.

That was me, not him.
Um...

Fuck the tube!
Fuck the tube!

I'm on the bus, where it's at.

For me, I think a London bus,
that's where the fucking stuff

of life happens, man.

Do you know what I mean?

Like the godda--four kids
crying their eyes out

on the bottom deck of a bus.

That's the stuff of life, yeah?

A man clipping his fingernails

for so long that at some point
you kind of have to assume

he has moved on to the toes.

Yeah?

SOL, baby.

I was on my favorite bus
the other day, the 73.

Shout out to 73.
Yeah!

A couple fans. Classy bus.

That's gonna go crazy in an
international market, I think.

73!

I love the 73.
It's my favorite bus,

but I think something
that happened on the 73

recently really
sort of summed up

the kind of experience of
how jaded one can become

living in a city like London.

And it was that this guy
came on the 73,

and he had
a really good sound system,

he had a really great speaker,
and he was playing

that song "Cheerleader."
You know?

♪ I think that I found-- ♪

Great song.

He was blasting that while
also yelling at all of us

that he wanted to kill us all.

It was a real juxtaposition
of vibes, I feel.

It's like, pick a lane, mate.
You know?

But that wasn't even
the funny bit.

What was so funny, and
what I found myself laughing at

at the back of the bus,

was that it became so clear
so immediately

that this man had clearly
not paid for Spotify Premium.

And so--

I don't know if anyone's ever
had their life threatened

to them before to the tune
of a fucking Hello Fresh ad,

but it is a weird experience, right.

But that's what I love
about London, man.

I love London.
It's a place for me.

It's an introvert's dream,
London.

And I'm an introvert.
That's why I love it.

I love being an introvert.

I'm proud of it.

I hate extroverts.

I find them both frightening
and boring at the same time.

I think, when you're younger,
a certain level of extroversion

is kind of forced upon you,

even if you're an introvert
when you're in your 20s.

I dated a lot more in my 20s.

I did that.
That was fine.

That was fine. It was great.

It was fine.

Dating in London
in your 20s is fine.

I will say this, though, and
that is that the only downside

to that is that quite often
dating in London,

what that does mean, is that

you will often date British men.
And--

No disrespect, no disrespect.

But for me, personally,

I'll say this,

the experience of dating
British men sometimes,

for me, felt like some form of
international diplomacy scheme

in which I had been sent
from the islands

to come over here
and teach men

who went to boarding school
how to cry.

Unpaid! Unpaid!

No.

Sort of like reverse colonialism
but make it fun,

you know what I mean?

A bit jaunty.

And it was just--
it was a shocking experience.

It was a culture shock to me.

Because I had never met
a proper posh person in my life.

I'm from New Zealand.

We don't fucking do posh people.

What--what the fuck is
going on

with that lot?

Seriously, genuinely.

Some of them have family crests.

I'm sorry.

What are you talking about?

My family does not have a crest

if that is any indication
as to my family's

level of wealth or background.

If my family had a crest,
right,

I think I imagine what it would
look like is that in one corner

it would just be like
a picture of a box

of off-brand corn flakes, yeah,

a marijuana leaf,

and whatever the Latin word is

for "undiagnosed"
just proudly under there.

A few of the clan in tonight,
I see.

That's good.

It's just crazy, 'cause, the
thing is, posh people, they--

this is the problem, isn't it?

They also--
they go under the radar.

They're very hard
to spot sometimes, right,

'cause they're hiding in
plain sight a lot of the time.

I have found the best time
to catch them is Christmas.

Always. Every time.

That's when they come out
of their shells.

That's when you get to see
into their living rooms,

into their family photographs, right.

Posh people are obsessed
with Christmas

because they get to go back
and see their parents.

'Cause they're, again, obsessed
with their parents.

Again, I don't understand that.

You're not supposed to fucking
keep hanging out with them.

That's not the point.

But they're all like, I
I love my mommy and daddy.

It's crazy, right?

And I know you're not
supposed to judge anyone

from what they come from.

You're supposed to judge them
on who they are.

But I will say, a lot of the
times I look at these family

Christmas photos,
a lot of my own friends,

and I love you guys,
but I will say,

a lot of the times
your girlfriends...

♪ Look like your sister ♪

♪ She looks so much
like your sister ♪

That's Shania Twain.

I don't know if you caught that.

No, no, it's fine.
That's the original song.

She did a cover of mine.

That's quite unnecessarily
actually harsh on posh people.

I do think that British
people, in general,

are obsessed with Christmas
in a way I find embarrassing,

I think.

Do you know what I mean?

If I meet another man
in his mid-30s

who is like,

I love "Elf," you know?

That's my favorite--I love
watching "Elf" with my mummy.

If I meet another man like that,
I will buy a gun.

I'll buy a gun.

I won't use it.

I just want to have it,
you know?

Uh, so yeah,
so I did date in my 20s.

And you know what?

I'd say, on the whole,
dating in one's 20s

is so much easier than
dating in your 30s, right?

Because for me, again,
I'll say this about myself,

in my early 20s, right,
dating was a lot easier

because I had not one
principle

or value to speak of
at that age.

And I've found it's a real asset
when it comes to dating

in a city like London.

Any level of self esteem,
real cock block.

Would not recommend.

'Cause the thing is,
I was, like, so--

I-I was so willing to change
myself to be whatever

this person wanted me to be.

The person I wanted to be with,
I would just change myself,

do whatever
they wanted me to be.

Like, I would just ask them.

I'd just straight up
asked them sometimes.

What do you want?
What do you want from me?

And I would do it.
I would do it.

I'm very malleable.
I'm like Play-Doh!

Just mold me into
what you want from me.

I know I'm very tall.
I can be so small.

I can be so tiny.
I could squeeze myself.

I'd be a tiny woman,
like a Thumbelina

or a little Anne Geddes baby,
sort of in a calendar,

in a tulip,
barely able to support

the weight of her own neck
or can't open her eyes.

A tiny, tiny woman!

Or I could be
something different!

I could do something
like I could be sassy.

I could be, like, a sassy
woman for you if you want that!

I could say stuff like,
well, you think that?

Well, how about this?

I will do anything!

Anything!
Just tell me what

you want me to do,
and I'll do it.

And apparently you should say
none of that on a first date,

especially at a bowling alley

from across the lanes.

And I respect that.

And I respect the staff
at Rowans for enforcing that.

So...

Uh...

It was just--it was just
so much easier, right?

It was so much easier to date
in your 20s, right?

Everything gets a little harder.

I think, like, I think
it's because, as you get older,

right, the way in which
you kind of conceive love

or think of love changes.

The ways you want to express
love very subtly change

once you hit 30.

It starts to be stuff like,

I want to fucking
make you a chutney!

You know what I mean?

Like, that's how
you want to show it!

Right, or the things you're
looking for change as well.

Now, I'm looking for someone
who gives me the feeling

that I get when I see
my fucking suitcase

come around the baggage claim
at an airport,

where I'm like,
that's my fucking suitcase!

And everyone's like, it looks
like every other suitcase.

And you're like, no,
but that's my suitcase!

I put my stuff in it!

That's what I want
to feel, right?

And it just gets so much
harder to find those people

in the ways that we meet people
these days.

Like, I was on apps for a very
brief spell in my early 30s.

That was not fun at all.

To be honest, it was mainly me
just explaining to 21-year-old

men in the conversations
what a Concorde plane was,

which was, to be fair,
quite a lot of fun,

and you should try it
yourselves.

You get to be like
a very, very long time ago,

in the year 2000,

there was a plane
that went very, very fast.

It was too noisy.

They're like,
oh, my God, tell me more.

And it just gets harder.

Everything is--
and I know--look,

I know I can hear myself
say that out loud.

And I'm like, oh, I'm so old.

I know I'm not old yet.

I'm 32. I'm not old yet, right.

I know I'm aging, though.

I know I'm aging
in many very subtle ways.

I've started saying
"safe travels" a lot.

Do you know what I mean?

I don't know what happened.

It just started--safe travels.

Good flight.
Safe travels. Yeah?

If you've ever seen a teenager

say "safe travels,"

that is an undercover cop,
and...

you're going to jail

for some reason.

But everything is harder.
I think, uh--

getting dumped in your 30s
is so much harder

than getting dumped in your 20s, right.

Because, as I said before,
when you're in your 20s,

you're still building
your personality.

You're still figuring out
who you are.

So you don't have to take it
as personally,

that rejection, right.

Just be like, it's fine.
It's all good.

Yeah, I'm gonna
be a different person

in like a year or two years.

All good, yeah?

You do you.

What if our life is long.

We'll be friends still.
Of course.

When you're dumped in your 30s,

you are being dumped

for who you truly are.

And I'm so sorry

if that is the first time
some of you are hearing this

in the room.

But that is a scientific fact.

Do we know this?
Yeah.

Our personalities
fucking lock in at 30!

Yeah?
This is me forever now.

I'm fucking gutted.
I am gutted!

I am gutted!
Do you know what if feels like?

It feels like--you know when
you're playing "Mario Kart,"

and you're trying to figure out
which character to play with,

and you're dilly-dallying
for way too long,

and the fucking timer runs out,
and you end up on the last box

that you just happened to be on.

So you have to be like,
I'm fucking Waluigi

for the rest of my life.
Is that it?

Great!

Ideal.

Now, I think
I should have changed

the character in that joke.

Because I've noticed it doesn't
get as much of a reaction,

because I feel, as a society,

the temperature is changing
on Waluigi.

I'll say that. Yeah!

He's just a bit misunderstood

in the shadow of his brother, right?

I think he's kind of hot.

I don't know.

Tall. he's got that mustache.
It's crazy.

Waluigi looks like
every man in East London.

Right?

You'll fucking see him on
a Lime Bike later on.

That's fucking Waluigi
on a Lime Bike.

That's crazy.

So it's very hard to come
to terms with the fact that

this is you for the rest
of your life, right,

when you hit 30.

And, look, I don't want to sound
self-deprecating in a way.

Like, oh,
this is me forever now.

I really wish--I really wish
that self-deprecation

hadn't become so much a big part
of my USP

or my brand, right, as a person.

But it has.

And really, I honestly
thought self-deprecation

was something I would
eventually mature out of.

I'd grow out of it.
But that is not the case.

I have found this,
that is not the case.

What actually happens, right,
with self-deprecation

is that the older you get,

the more accurate
the self-deprecation becomes.

Right, because you know
yourself better.

Your friends know you better.

So in my teen years,
I could be like--

I could get away with
being like, oh, I'm such-

I'm never gonna find
a boyfriend.

I'm such a spinster.

We loved calling
ourself spinsters

when we were teenagers.
I'm such a spinster.

I'm never gonna find someone.

And your friends are like,
what are you talking about?

They've got your back.

They're like, what are
you talking about, girl?

You're crazy.

You can't do yourself
down like that.

Of course,
you'll find love someday.

Shut the fuck up.

Stop talking about yourself.

Now, at 32,

if I say something like,

I don't know
if I'll ever get married.

My friends are like, well,
marriage isn't for everyone.

And I'm like--

I see. No.

I see.

The game is on.

The game is afoot.

I know I said just before
that I know

that I'm aging
in many very subtle ways.

And another way
in which I know I'm aging

is that I have done that joke
quite a few times now,

to the point where
I have had to start

wearing fucking knee pads.

So yeah, thanks!

Yeah. Yeah, no.

I'm unsure as to what
you're clapping there.

Like, the concept of safety,
I guess?

That's crazy.

That is the problem
with having close friends.

No, yeah, that sounded worse
than I intended it to.

What happens is when
you have close friends

and you go through a breakup,
it is quite tough.

Because--and now, be honest
with yourself right now.

When a close friend
goes through a breakup,

obviously
you're very sad for them.

But it's also fucking
compelling, isn't it?

Do you know what I mean?

It's hard to look away.

Be honest.

It's like, you know when
a firework accidentally

falls on its side on Guy Fawkes

and it starts shooting
into the crowd and stuff.

And everyone's
a little bit scared,

but they also want
to stick around

to see what happens, right?

That's what it's like
when a close friend

goes through
a fucking heartbreak.

And it's tough.

It's so tough,
because the problem is that

your close friends,
they know who you are.

They know who you
are deep down inside.

They know the fucking
real you, right?

They've known you for years
and years and years.

By the same token,
your close friends

know exactly how
you compromised your personality

in order to be
with this particular person.

But this relationship
has now ended, right.

And so,
the shame with which

one must return
to those friendships

is fucking humbling.

The only equivalent
I've come up with is that

it's as if you shat yourself

at a work Christmas party
on a Friday night.

Yeah? You with me?

It's the feeling
of having to come back to work

on the Monday,

just having to be like,

that was crazy!

Who was she?

No, she seems deeply unwell
and deserves our love.

That's how I felt.
That's how I felt.

I felt too embarrassed to turn
to my closest friends

at such a tough time.

It was crazy.

So I just, honestly,
I started, in this breakup--

I started turning
to very, very random people.

Anyone who was
close to me, right?

My 80-year-old grandmother
was living with me at the time.

Quite a weird,
sassy best friend character

to have in one's life
going through a modern breakup.

And she did her best.
She did fine.

She was fantastic.
She was very helpful.

I will say,
it's very hard to explain

to a woman who was born
during World War II

what attachment theory is.

They don't really get it.

She'd be like,
yeah, I think you're anxious

attachment is because
of rationing, I guess, right?

So that was unhelpful.

I just turned to
random strangers sometimes--

complete strangers.

A man had started cleaning
my flat at the time.

Uh, I paid him to do it.

That's an important
detail for that.

I did pay him to do it.

His name was Lindsay.

And Lindsay, oh my God,
he was fucking incredible.

He was an incredible guy.

Incredible guy,
terrible cleaner.

Could not recommend him
with a good conscience.

Yeah?

He had a real jazz vibe
when it came to cleaning,

where he just sort of went
where the spirit took him

and sort of ignored
large appliances.

He would light incense and
leave it burning in my home

a number of times
while I was out.

And the weirdest one,
I think, for me,

is that he would change
his WhatsApp profile photo

every week.

Something not right
about that, right?

But he was fucking
incredible, right?

He was--Lindsay was like,
OK, I just opened my--

I just completely told him
every single thing

about this breakup immediately,
the first time I ever met him.

And the first question
he asked me, he said,

bird or geezer?

Bird or geezer?

And I was like, Lindsay,
you are on the right side

of history, my friend.

And then the shame
that went through my body,

having to stand,
as an adult woman,

quite seriously
and emotionally,

having to say to him,
in my own flat,

geezer.

It was a geezer.

Not that I'm embarrassed!

Not that I'm embarrassed

that it was a man
that broke my heart!

I'm not. I've decided I'm not--

I'm not embarrassed
to be straight anymore.

I've come to terms with it.

I've come to--
it is what it is, yeah?

All right? I've come to--

And if anything, it feels like
a little bit of a throwback

as a dating preference.

It's a little retro.

We've kind of moved
past it as a society.

And yet, I'm in there just
clinging on for dear life.

I feel like--

Still dating men,
I feel like I go through

a lot of the same emotions

as I imagine people who collect
vinyl records must feel,

in the sense that
both groups are really

truly flying the flag
for what is,

let's be honest, a dying medium.

Yeah?

Both of us, just find
ourselves saying stuff like,

well, actually, the fact that
it's largely inaccessible

and of a low quality overall
is what we find charming

about the format.

So I was in my flat,
and I was like, geezer.

And, um...

Lindsay was like, how long?

How long was the relationship?

And I was like,
eight months, man.

Eight months.

And Lindsay was like...

What are you
crying about, girl?

What are you fucking
crying about?

Lindsay bollocked me
in my own home, yes?

This man told me
what the fuck was what.

I met him that day,
and he took me through

every past relationship
he's been with,

all that he's loved and lost.

And he said something to me

that I will never forget, right?

Before he left, he turned
to me in the doorway,

and he said this to me.

He said, what you got
to understand is, yeah,

we were put on this Earth
to suffer.

So all you can do

is you got to grab your giggles
where you can.

I don't know if I had just
been touched by an angel

or Lindsay had once
killed a man for fun.

right?

I choose to believe the former.

It's much more charming.

So I was running out of options, right.

I couldn't turn
to my closest friends.

I was too, too embarrassed.

My Nan went back to New Zealand.

Lindsay only came once a week, right.

So I--

I did what any person of my
sort of general vibe

and background would do is that

I turned to the internet.

Incognito mode, of course,
right, for answers.

And that's my problem is that
I don't see heartbreak as--

I see heartbreak
as a problem to solve,

rather than just fucking
an experience to go through.

So I will tell you,
when you search a term like

"can you be broken up with
for being too cool,"

what you will get is you will
open up an entire corner

of the internet,
and that is the world

of online relationship coaching.

Now, I don't know
if anyone's familiar with this.

If you're not,
I will explain briefly.

It is--it's a largely
American industry.

It's kind of adjacent
to life coaching a bit.

And it's mainly sort of run
by these kind of weird men.

They're always called, like,
Declan or Gavin or something,

and they've got suits,
and they're looking like that.

And their URLs are quite
intense, quite hectic.

They'll be like, stuff like
HowToGetYourExBack.com.

Like, YourExWasABitch
ButMaybeTheLove

OfYourLife.org.edu.

And these men
were just sinister,

because this whole industry
was kind of sinister.

'Cause what they're doing
is they're preying upon people

at their most heartbroken,
right,

their lowest ebb of their lives,

and they're trying to get money
out of you, essentially, right.

They lured you in with these
sort of free online articles,

and checklists,
and all that that build up to--

like, weekly podcasts
that you listen to every week.

Then, eventually,
maybe a workbook or two.

20 US dollars a workbook.
Why not?

Eventually, what they're
really trying to get you to

is ultimately they're trying
to get you to

one-on-one Zoom coaching
sessions with them, right,

that can cost like fucking $500,
600 US dollars a pop.

Right, it's horrible.

Also, these men,
their advice is fucking shit.

Yeah?

Do not take any of the advice.

One of the tips on one of
these articles genuinely was

dress every day as if you're
going to bump into your ex.

Dress every day.

I'm gonna let that sit
with you for a moment, right.

Do you know what that me--

like, this is how I dress
every day.

This. I don't want to bump
into an ex-lover

dressed like this, yeah?

32 years of effort
went into this look.

Can you believe?

Which, sartorially, I can
only accurately describe as

I somehow managed to, every day,

dress like, simultaneously,

a missing child from the 1980s,

as well as the mother

searching for
that missing child!

And I hear a few claps.

That does hurt my feelings
a little bit, right?

Because that's the applause
of recognition.

So I knew I couldn't take
the advice from these men.

They're fucking awful.
I didn't respect them.

So I moved on to
a female relationship coach.

I thought that would
work for me better.

I found her
in the form of Jillian.

Jillian.

Uh, didn't love her vibe either,

because her tips
were just as bad.

One of them was genuinely,
drink more water.

Drink more water.

Get a bit dehydrated
when you go through a breakup.

Drink more water.
Fuck you, Jillian.

I'm fucking heartbroken.
You fucking drink more water.

What the fuck are you
talking about, girl?

Shut up.

One of them was, she said,
oh, join a club.

You need to join a club.
Be more social. Join a club.

I'm not fucking
eight years old, Jillian.

What the hell? Join a damn club?

Worst one was, she said,

don't wear AirPods in public,

because you cut yourself off

from having conversations
with strangers.

Over my fucking dead body,
Jillian.

You're gonna have to rip the
AirPods out of my dead, cold--

I want to be fucking buried
in my AirPods--

just in case I get buried alive,

so I can rock out in the coffin.
Yeah?

Jillian--another thing
Jillian was obsessed with

was childhood.

I think this is a real big
obsession in therapy

in general at the moment,
like inner child work

and stuff like that.

I don't buy it.

I don't give a shit.

I don't care about childhood, right.

My inner child,
she's on her own.

OK?

Do you know what I mean?

Because, for me,
that's such an unhelpful thing

to try and, I guess,
dwell on or unpack.

Because childhood
is a historical event.

It's happened.

I can't change anything
about my childhood, right?

It's fucking Stonehenge.

It's the 2000 Sydney Olympics.

It's happened. It's done.

And quite crucially,
as well, I can't remember

much of my childhood,

which I think is the first sign
that nothing bad ever happened.

Yeah?

I think if something
traumatic happened,

I would have remembered it.

I did try mining my past
for moments of trauma,

the little nuggets of trauma,
to sort of explain flaws I have

in my adult personality.

I tried that.

My dad nearly drowned once.
That was fun.

That was good for trauma,
I guess.

Obviously--
but it actually kind of wasn't,

though, as well,
in that I wasn't that sad.

I'll be honest.

And I love my dad, obviously.

Let me explain myself.

But I'll say this--what happens
when someone nearly drowns

is that they're nearly drowned.

But what contextually
that also means

is that it was probably summer.

Do you see what I'm saying?

Like, oh, your dad nearly died.

But I'm not gonna lie to you,

the vibes are
fucking immaculate.

They were.

It was a good year.

2004, man.

So I don't have trauma.

Uh...

Trauma, not for me.

Trauma, I hardly knew her.

I will say this, though,
for the whole thing about

going back into one's childhood
that I do find interesting,

and I think a lot of people my
age are probably experiencing

themselves, is that I realize
I'm finally getting to the age

in which I am meeting my parents

at the age that they had me, right.

We didn't know our parents

before they were our age, right?

A-and finally meeting them,
you know,

adult to adult, face to face.

And so much more
of my childhood

is making sense to me now.

Do you know what I mean?

The fact that my dad would come
home from work every night,

not talk to any of us,
go straight to the back steps,

smoke cigarettes,
and drink coffee till bedtime.

Now, I'm in my early 30s,

I'm like,
brother, you do you, man.

Fucking drinking that Nescafé
as dark as night

with 14 sugars just to feel
something anymore, Dad!

'Cause our daddies
didn't have ASMR.

Think about that for a second.

Our daddies didn't have
ASMR in the '90s.

They didn't have
a hydraulic press crushing

a fucking can of Pringles, yeah?

How did they wind down?

All they had was untaxed
cigarettes and the void, right?

It was hard.

Also, like, my mom as well.
Fuck me.

My mom, she had three kids
by the time she was 28.

Three kids!
That's obscene to me.

Child bride. Child bride.

What is going on?

Three kids at 28!

I find that insane,

to the point that if I
met my own mother at this age,

I would have been
that fucking friend

who was convincing her
not to have me.

Do you know what I mean?

And I don't think
any of us in this room

could call ourselves feminists

if you wouldn't be willing
to do the same.

Yeah?

If you wouldn't be willing
to go back in time

and convince your own mother
not to have you

so she could chuck it about
for a few more years,

right?

Everyone freaks out
about that whole, like,

would you go back in time
and kill baby Hitler?

Bitch, I would go back in time

and kill myself

so my mom could go to Bali.

And that's feminism, I think.

I think it is.

So, uh, Jillian didn't
work out for me.

I knew I couldn't work
with Jillian any longer,

so I moved on.

And I found the Holy Grail,
the one.

And her name was Margaret.

I want to tell you
about Margaret.

Margaret was an American lady.

She was deep into her 80s,
an elderly woman.

She talked like this--

right, sounded so crusty
like that.

And she did these
podcasts I would listen to

every night before bed.

And Margaret was
fucking incredible.

She had a
tendency to sometimes talk

in sort of--
kind of bumper sticker slogans

when it came to breakups
and all that--

stuff that everyone's heard
during breakups.

Stuff like,
the only way out is through.

The only way out is through.
We've all heard that.

I don't--I fucking hate
that saying, right?

And also,
I don't understand it, yeah?

How is it 2024, hmm,

and we have not yet
found a way around yet?

Yeah?

We have vibrating anal beads

powered by Bluetooth technology,
huh,

and we have not yet found a way

to circumvent the devastation
of a fucking breakup.

What are these scientists doing?

Have they never
felt love before, right?

Other ones is that what
you've got to do at this age,

particularly, is you've got to
figure out what your values are

and whether or not they align
with the person

you want to be with, right.

If they don't, move on.

If they do, go ahead. Yeah?

Biggest one was children.

You've got to figure out
whether or not

you want children or not.

And if that doesn't match up,

it's gonna be too much of
an obstacle going forward.

And I'm embarrassed to say
it was, genuinely,

the first time in my life

where I asked myself
not should I have children,

but if I wanted children.

And it turned out
the answer was no.

And it turns out
that is the wrong answer.

OK?

I wouldn't recommend it.
Do not share--

if that is your feeling,
do not share that with anyone.

I found that the socially
acceptable answer

to that question is
"maybe one day."

Tee-hee.

A girl never tells.

People love that, right?

They don't like a flat no.

They do not like
a flat no, right?

And even when--

You know,
I think people accept it.

I think sometimes people
see my stance

of not wanting children
as something, like, radical

or political, like a statement.

There is no statement behind it.

There is nothing
radical about it.

I'm just fucking lazy,
and I don't like bending over.

All right?

And that is enough
of a motivation

not to have children.

God did not make me to get up
before 9:00 AM, yeah?

And that's OK.

I think people's motivations
to have children

are even more fucked up
than that.

I think some people
have children because

they don't want to die alone.
They don't want to die alone.

I don't understand
the logic of that,

in the sense
that the day you die

is already gonna be

a bad day.

Do you know what I mean?

So you're going to invest
decades of your life

to ensuring there
are good numbers

on that one fucking day.

Fuck that.
Just pop on a DVD.

I'll be as happy as Larry.
Let me die alone.

Let me die alone

with a box set.

But I know that about myself,
right,

and it was amazing
to figure that out.

But it does not stop,

I guess, this assumption, right?

There's still an assumption
that if you're born into a body

that is capable
of having children,

that that is something that you
will want to fulfill one day.

Right, I was at the children's
birthday party recently,

and I was playing with the kids.

I love children.

I get on with them so well.

And this older gentleman,
he noticed this,

and he said--
he said to me,

does it bring out
the mother in you?

I was like, oh, fuck me,
there's something so sinister

about that, isn't there?
Because it's not "a" mother.

It's "the" mother, yeah?

'Cause it's this kind of idea.

It speaks to this idea that
within every little girl

there's a little mother
just waiting to burst out

of one's chest

and sort of eat the host body
to become

the mother!

Like, I'm not a fucking
Kinder surprise, dude.

Like, there's nothing in there.

It's the same kind of guy
who wants to hit you with those,

like, biological facts
you always hear as a young girl

from a young age,
which is so fucking creepy.

Shit like--
you always hear this,

I don't know why
I know this fact.

People are like,
you're born with all the eggs

you'll ever need your life.

They're born into your body
as a little baby.

And you little baby's babies got
all the eggs that they need.

Like little salmon roe.

All the eggs
they'll ever need to make.

It's like, sir, I'm gonna have
to ask you to back the fuck up

and stop telling me
I'm full of eggs.

All right?

Get on the ground.

I just question,
constantly question, right--

we're pitted against each other,
people who want kids,

people who don't want kids.

It's still quite--
my motivations, I'll admit,

they oscillate!
They oscillate

about not having kids
between two positions

depending on my level
of self-esteem

at that moment in time, right?

Like, if I'm feeling
good about myself,

the reasoning is that,
well, my grandparents,

my parents, they perfected
the recipe, over and out, right.

It's either that, or,
if I'm feeling bad about myself,

it is, whatever this is
has to end.

And you need to be the
one who does it, girl.

But it's crazy, like,

it was an amazing thing
to realize about myself,

and I had Margaret
to thank for that.

Because that's genuinely
gonna have an effect

on all of the relationships

I embark on going ahead.

And I have Margaret
to thank for that,

a woman--a fucking America,
elderly woman

who would make these podcasts
I'd listen to

every night before bed.

And beyond that, right, I think
Margaret taught me that--

it's so cheesy to say,
but she taught me that--

you can't really give up.

I was at a fucking low,
low spot, right,

when I was listening to her,
and she told me

that you have to keep the faith,
I think.

Because sometimes, I think,

this is the necessary thing.

This is necessary.

To go through
all of this fucking--

all the shitty little things,
all 16,000 words of it.

And it's all delivering you,
hopefully, to that person--

that person who is gonna say,
in whatever form,

I'll be with you till the end.

And it's never
the fucking first suitcase

around the baggage claim,
is it?

It takes a few goes round--
unless your business class,

to be fair.

And, uh, yeah.

So yeah, I have her
to thank for that.

And I believed her.
And I'm glad I did.

'Cause a year on, now, later,
from this note,

I am actually engaged,
which is very exciting.

Of course I'm not engaged.

I--

what?

Sorry.

Have any of you been listening

to a single thing

I have been saying?

Of course I'm not engaged!

Why would I be--also,
why would I tell you?

I don't know any of you.

Uh, no, yeah.

That is a dirty trick.

But that was on you, I think.

Uh, I will tell you
what actually happened.

Yeah?

I'm not engaged.

I'll tell you what
actually happened,

and that is that I was
very, very sad.

I was very sad.

And I didn't know why.

I didn't have the
answers to this,

because it wasn't
a particularly,

you know,
important relationship, right.

But I feel like that's what
happens with breakups, yeah?

You don't know which one
is gonna take you out.

It's like having a bad oyster.

It's just one of them just

fucking knocks you on your ass,
right,

And this is the case
with this one.

So I was desperate,

and I found myself, uh,

deciding I was gonna do it.

I was going to book Margaret

for a one-on-one

Zoom coaching session.

600 US dollars!

Yeah.
Oh, you're right to gasp.

Yeah. Whoa.

No offense,
I can afford that.

Because I'm a very dangerous
mix of financially stable

and mentally unwell.

So I am ripe
for swindling, right?

I'm like Shelley Winters in
every film she's ever been in.

It's a niche joke.

So I went to the website,
and I--

I went to what I assume
would be like a booking form,

like a contact form to put
in my details and all that.

And, uh, there was none.

There was just
a YouTube thumbnail

that had this little title
on the thumbnail.

And it just said,

"A very difficult announcement."

Yeah.

So, yeah,

Margaret died.

Oh!

Amazing reaction
from people who found out

she existed five minutes ago.

Come on off it.

But fair enough.

No, that's true.
I know. It's crazy, right?

It's crazy. But--

Sorry.

Not only had she died,

sorry, it turns out

she had been dead

the entire time

I had been listening
to her podcast

and reading her work.

But I don't know if anyone's
ever been Sixth-Sensed before,

but doesn't feel good.

Doesn't feel good.

Sorry, is that not insane
to anyone?

Guys, for months, I had been
taking the advice from a woman

who no longer existed.

What the fuck is that?

It's terrifying.

I find that
so fucking terrifying,

the idea that there was
a version of ourselves

out there forever.

There's a version of Margaret
out there in the ether,

fucking living on forever
and ever, never to be deleted.

That's petrifying to me.
What happens to me?

What happens to me?

What happens to--
what happens to my--

what's my legacy to the next
generation, if that's the case?

Is it this note?

This note!

This fucking note!

Cucumbersome, is that it?

It can't be.

And that's--you know what?

That is the weird thing about
even doing this show, right?

Because it's the same
as Margaret,

in the sense that Margaret
doesn't exist anymore,

but the person
who wrote this note

doesn't exist either, right?

I barely recognize the woman
behind these words.

And yet, I know,

the next time
my heart gets broken,

I'll fucking meet her again, right?

Because that's how it works.

People don't actually change, right.

This is locked in forever.

I'm gonna make the same mistakes

over and over and over again

on an endless loop.

And the only thing
I can do right now

is pull together
whatever scraps of wisdom I have

in this moment--

yeah--pass it to the
next version of myself,

and hope, fucking pray,

that she does a better job.

So that's it, really.

But to be absolutely fair,

I did warn you at the start.

I am very bad at endings.