Weight ascending like an out of control Boeing 747, fitness level that of a middle-aged Rhinoceros recently diagnosed with type 2 diabetes and rheumatoid arthritis and the emotional stability of a Kardashian with uneven contouring.
Life is getting a bit out of hand…
So, I spent most of Saturday huddled up on my bed watching BBC food programs like Masterchef and The Chef’s Protegé, crying and eating anything in sight. I watched a Netflix film about a man with schizophrenia and his Scottish cat which only added to my depression (mainly because I don’t have a Scottish cat. She’s Bristolian.) and continued to mourn my failures and confusion for the rest of the day. I think Saturday was what some might call “a complete waste of your already pointless time”.
But, I have woken this morning in a much better frame of mind… I know roughly what I’m wanting to get out of today, what I need to do this week at work AND I even think I’ve realized (already knew but have been kicked up the arse nicely by best friend who knows me well) what I actually want to do with my life. And I am rather excited.
I mentioned this career option to my parents back in GCSE days, just when I was leaving school and had the opportunity to go to college. It was not, however, met with encouraging words of enthusiasm, so I never went for it. Since then, I have run 3 blogs, written tons of Fanfiction and have been told by many that I should “write a book”. Writing is one of my greatest passions. Give me a pen and notepad, cup of black coffee and a donut and I’m happy for hours (provided the donuts keep coming).
Is it bad that I see my future as a chic city girl on her morning commute with an over-sized handbag, handful of papers in one hand, Starbucks Autumn cup in the other, with big tortoiseshell glasses on, a touch of red lipstick and a pair of pointy snake print flats on? I don’t think so.
You see, it’s like this; Just hearing/reading the words newspaper, magazine, print, publish, gazette, reporter and editor, kind of sets off a passion in me. A fire in my belly, a drive in my heart, inspiration in my mind. It’s all what I want to be doing in my life and where I want to be. It’s also the only job I have visions of where I want to be in 30 years time. Standing in my New York office with panoramic views of Manhattan, a baby poodle at my feet, espresso machine on a side table and editing the work for my very own magazine.
Yes, I may have unhealthy visions of being Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada, but I’ll probs be a bit nicer.
So that my dear reader, is the plan. Pursue the one thing which gives me a clear vision, passion and hope that I can actually become the woman I have seen myself being since I was 17 years old.
Wish me luck…