sit and feed the baby to sleep. here in my home town again. like black, slimy tendrils wrap me tight in the sweet whisper of what’s familiar. a boomerang zombie town that i keep coming back to. i googled an old acquaintance recently, we once shared hostel bunk beds and drank too much wine in Venice together. she’s a senior associate at a law firm now. i was scrolling instagram and saw another old acquaintance from my parlour days got signed by a gallery. their paintings are really lovely. i think of my thirty years here and all that i have achieved and how it feels like doing nothing at all. i write instagram posts few people read. i wonder if i will ever be as glamorous and well put together as i’ve always dreamed of being. once upon a time i wanted to be a surgeon. really though i’m not sure what i ever wanted. a young woman from my past, who i’ve known since she was born died by suicide recently, i went to her funeral. everyone said how loved and loving she was. in between striving for fame and feeding the baby i wonder what the fuck i’m doing. the chunky soup of post-30 single motherhood.