2023, december 11

inside my novel.

during this time of transition, mia woke up every morning without an alarm and first thing, she would read for either minutes or hours in her ocean-colored bed, sometimes it was five in the morning, sometimes it was twelve noon. then she would get up, and, still in her negligee, she would make her omelette with cottage cheese, onions, and scorchin’ hot chili oil, and she would cut it into little pie slices to eat throughout her working day during breaks from her relentless admin toil, and she would cut avocado into little cubes to go with the omelette, and when her shoulders became sore from all the digital paperwork, mia would do a little workout until her shoulders burned in satisfaction, and in the early evening, when she had toiled all her admin energy out of her and the australian spring sun had lowered, she would head out for a stroll in kirribilli and wendy whiteley's secret garden, and while strolling she'd dictate writing snippets into her phone, and she'd walk the stairs in wendy whiteley's secret garden up and down until she started sweating and panting. and when mia came home after dusk, she’d cook something spicy and collapse on the sofa with a red wine and she’d watch australian shows about slut shaming, and her cat would sprawl on her lap, her purrs vibrating into the night.