Drop everything you’re doing and write a journal entry now

I’ve never called my journal a journal, it’s always been a diary to me – but somehow journal sounds more grown up and less like what a 12-year-old girl uses to doodle hearts and the names of her crushes in. Was that imagery a bit sexist? I definitely used to doodle hearts in my diary…

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Well, this is goodbye

I think zoeego has come to a natural end. I keep writing drafts and not wanting to post them and I think what this means is that deep down I don’t want to write here anymore. Tomorrow is the last day of the decade so in a way it’s fitting to leave it here, preserve…

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Goodbye twenty-seven, I will never see you again

Each and every year, on the final day before my birthday, my internal monologue postpones business as usual and gets stuck in an infuriating loop of: ‘this is the last time I’m going to [insert activity] as an [insert age] year-old’. Today is my last day of being 27 and I just got back from the…

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And at once I knew I was not magnificent

The title of this blog is my all time favourite line from any song, ever (excluding “up to my ass in alligators , let’s get it on with the alligator haters” by the great Anthony Kiedis).  Bon Iver music isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but it is mine. In fact I’d go as far as…

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Supermarkets: the beating heart of America

I recently got back from a brilliant week’s holiday in Massachusetts. My friend had her wedding just outside a little town called Groton by a big, quiet lake surrounded by forest. It was beautiful, all of it. The wedding, the lake, the white wood-clad New England houses with their dolls-house dormer windows and immaculately striped…

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Sugar-free life tastes like freedom

I feel like I’ve had an epiphany. It’s like the time I figured out where we go when we die (our brains are just transmitters picking up signals from a remote life source, and our ‘selves’ aren’t really present in our bodies like we’ve always thought, but powered remotely from one single immense energy source…

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Vegas is hyperreality: I think I passed Elton John in a casino but it might not have been him and it doesn’t matter anyway

That’s the thing about Vegas. It’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s not. 

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Who am I? And other capitalist myths

Sorry. I know it’s a trite title. Or tritle, if you will. It’s just that existential crises are all the rage this AW16 season, like bomber jackets and off-the-shoulder dresses and feminism, and I don’t want to miss out.

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