Once more into the breech, dear friends!

Ah, Wuccans! How to build a bridge across the vast butt-crack of time; to create a proverbial g-string so that we may traverse what has passed and is past with words, wucs and euphemisms? To appropriately update you on what the fuck I’ve been up to while my blog grew hair and mould in the most shady of places? I know not where to begin.

When last ye loyal folk virtually saw me I had jesuit jettisoned my cynical self from a life I loathed and was set to embark upon a new journey. Not unlike that of plucky Bullock in Gravity – ‘twas a journey of unknowns, rabid fear, hallucinations and eventually … hope.

Translation: I decided to pursue THE DREAM.

Well, dear friends. I did. And I do. Pursue.

In the time I’ve been away – I wrote and directed my first short film and entered it into competition where, much like James Franco’s dulcet dignity, it sunk quickly from view and was never seen again. I worked on a plethora of short films as an assistant director. I moved from my beloved flat into a hovel de freedom and decorated said sows ear with craftiness and cheer. I started my new job on the goatee’s chin of the film industry and proceeded to meet all manner of fantastical humans who have worked with the likes of Jackie Chan, Billy Zane and Brad Pitt. (Sure. It would’ve been better to have actually met Jackie Chan, Billy Zane and Brad Pitt but THIS IS REALITY, PEOPLE!) Said humans would systematically lose their shit and visit vomited emotions upon my head in a tangy technicolor rainbow where the only gold to be found at fairytale’s end was metaphorical chunks of upchuck corn. But, hey!

Progress.

To be said with some irony.

Imperative to note while sketching said vomit for you to technicolor in is this: the first year in pursuit of contentment was the most confronting, blunt, traumatic and rewarding I can ever remember. Each growth spurt and subsequent proverbial stretch mark ran deep in discomfort, and yet. I became the happiest version of myself I’ve ever known.

I was a misanthrope no more and instead found a well of peace within while my exterior life continued to swirl around me in shades of ambition, growth and disquiet (for each inspires the next when living in actuality over the fantastical). I became a sunshine Sally who annoyingly argues for heroes and humanity with staggering sincerity. I made friends at the rate of an affluent and effluent Bieber and spotted nary a gunslinger among them.

Life was good.

If that all sounds a little too Disney to be true, I recently discovered t’indeed it was. Or. That is to say: the peace I found was not a resting place so much as a transient barge regularly encumbered by unwanted callers … one of which recently tossed me overboard.

So! If we could map my traverse through said universe via gift of movie metaphor (of course): what remains is a mix of Private Benjamin mired in boot camp, broken to the core but set to rebuild into a stronger, sinewy self; followed by a Dead Poets Society drama of tears and triumph; and ending with the Karate Kid where I’m surrounded by loveable characters who lift me high as the music swells, heralding of hope and happiness ever after.

But, no.

Happiness ever after requires constant maintenance, dear Wuccans. Villains who refuse to be written out. Sad days. Dead days. Wucked days. In truth, as we circle back to this chump two years on, I am but a phucken phoenix one more.

Yep! This pretty much sums up my life right about now:

About the wuc

I'm a chick living in Australia, working for the man. I hate office work with a passion usually reserved for James Cameron, but somehow I ended up with a career behind a desk, stapling my forehead at random intervals.

24 Responses to “Once more into the breech, dear friends!”

  1. Welcome back to… well… whatever this all is. (Bummer about the unexpected swim.)

    “I became the happiest version of myself I’ve ever known.” Way to go! Too many people never get to experience that. Even if the road never pans out, how would you rather go out? Knowing you gave it your all? Or giving it up for less? It’s a choice; not always an easy one… but I think Sinatra was right.

    Besides: if just the chance to try is the point, then any success along the way is gravy!

    • Thanks Smitty! Of course, you’re 100% correctamundo. I’d rather go out as someone who acted upon my dreams, rather than merely waxed lyrical about them. Talk can weigh you down after a while, if it’s not sautéed with forward motion. Down but not out!

  2. Sweet chubby baby Jesús on a cracker we’re glad you’re back.

  3. So… I admit that I’m out of touch with many of the films of what — the last thirty years? Great scene, but what movie was that scene from?

    • Ah, came at you from left field on this one – it’s a tv show called Togetherness. So glad you like the clip, it cracks me up every time!

  4. Hahaha, yes! That’s an awesome back-after-an-absence post. It’s better to reach the pearly gates in the middle of whatever is left of The Dream than sitting on a plushy chair in a flat. Viva The Wuc.

  5. So happy to see you are back. Welcome to the hole. Glorious in here, isn’t it?

  6. my life is complete.

    welcome back.

  7. Oh, thank GOD you’ve resurfaced… I was beginning to lose hope in the general wuc-iness which is… well, not moi, cause that would be me… how do you say ‘you’ in French…? Vous…?
    Okay, yeah, let’s go with that…
    Welcome back!

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