Oysters

I'd be hard-pressed to count the number of times I have heard the phrase "The world is your oyster" in the past 2 years.
When I graduated from college, and moved to Toronto for a choice internship at a real, live magazine -one that people actually read!- I felt totally ready to kick some mythical oyster butt. However, as anyone who has tried the delicacy can attest to, oysters are slippery little things. They can be hard to keep a grip on.

Although my internship went quite well and I learned a lot, when it was over, somehow no job magically appeared to take its place. Unfortunately, even the colossally noisy, unbearably hot, mouse-infested closet of an apartment I had been living in required rent. I could see no other viable option but to join the league of twenty-something graduates who were bringing their empty pockets and post-secondary educations back home to mom and dad.

So here I am, doing my darndest to find some kind of job remotely related to journalism and living in this weirdly picturesque little town. Seriously, it's kind of like living on the set of the Gilmore Girls.

Luckily, I'm not alone. One of my best friends (M) moved home soon after me and we've managed to recruit some excellent -or, according to M, adequate- company to keep us entertained while we try to decide how we're supposed to fit into this world we've been handed.