No I’m actually approaching 40, which is in no way related to me quitting my freelance copywriting biz and and embarking on reclaiming my ‘02 LiveJournal voice on this very hip very new platform called LinkedIn but I digress.

Once upon a time I was a little dreamer who accidentally became a writer the minute I fell in love with reading and like any good dreamer I ended up pursuing the ever-lucrative “music” route until the inevitable liberal-arts-major-to-millennial-marketer pipeline — along with a fun divorce and eating-disorder recovery and becoming a first-time mom during a global pandemic — broke my entire will to hit KPIs or do this whole “do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life” pile of shittake mushrooms.

And all I’ve wanted to do since is, like, TALK LIKE MAHSELF. for mahself. as mahself.

And mah higher self is a toucan but despite the title of my probably-award-winning memoir-slash-voice-reclamation-thingamajig Touks is really not that important to my story other than she/he/they squawked high and far that I CANNOT GO ANOTHER FOUR SECONDS WITHOUT WRITIN’ THIS HERE THING IN MAH CHEST SO HERE. GOES. NOTHIN’.

Ah. Anywoo. A few bullet points below.