Look, I don’t make the rules – unfortunately. I know I act like I do, but there’s a lot of things that fall into that category, so honestly, it’s on you if you keep believing everything I say. Anyway, it’s inexplicable and inexcusable, but I come bearing more great news. I feel like somewhere out in the world, a man’s about to swing a golf ball off of skyscraper and it’s gonna hit me straight in the face, because I can’t be getting this lucky. Yeah, you read that right, alright.

It’s been a week since I wrote that at least I wasn’t meeting people or having sex, because then I’d be in no position anymore to write this blog. It’s one thing to move in with your best friends, or get a dream job, but as the Belgian, better and less-guy-meeting version of Carrie, I can’t just be going around being happy and not complaining about everything. Imagine. I feel like I’m one success away from being offered to write a self-help book, and I’d probably rather just get hit by that piano now, thanks.

I swear I didn’t do it on purpose. It’s like the universe is actively trying to make me into this elated, joyful person just to get back at me for being an ungrateful twat. Fair enough, but also a tad rude. On the other hand, I do really love irony, but then that would mean the universe is on my side again. I honestly don’t know what’s happening. Suddenly, on top of everything, I’m also hooking up with the personification of Ariana Grande’s God Is a Woman, and life is just so fucking beautiful? It’s too stressful. I don’t actually want to die.

Anyway, because you love hearing about the details and I love gushing about how great I am, and because it would really suck to rub into your face how amazing my life is without any further information, I am going to tell you absolutely nothing, because life sucks and you should probably get used to it now. Although not for me, apparently. I’m winning.

With this, I will leave you to go and get hit by a bus, have an air con fall on my head, or get crushed by a stampede of elephants. I want six men in costume to carry my coffin and I want my girlfriends dressed like Beyoncé in Formation (you know which outfit) to walk in front of it. I want a symphonic orchestra, Meryl Streep to do the eulogy, and for the love of God, I want to see tears. You are worse off without me, you know that.