Over these past few weeks, I’ve plodded along willingly in a routine. Go to work all week, be tired and get home very late as to avoid feeling I am wasting my last summer with everyone. The weekend arrives, still very tired – so I go out and do something fun which makes me even more tired, and the superlative continues. However, the summer is now over, kids are going back to school and the classic ‘lifestyle revamp’ is destined to be at this time of year, with new notepads and new pens. Therefore, maybe I need to listen to life’s various vicissitude and change my way of living for the benefit of my health.
I would quite like to spend this rare Saturday day/evening off of work, tidying my space, drawing, relaxing. Preferably not trying to catch up on many hours of lost sleep, followed by running around last minute to gather myself to go out.
Last night made me realise this – some odd things have been sneaking up on me in my head recently, like a drop of ink absorbing slowly into a dry paper towel.
It’s time to let this ink drop envelope into my actions, not just my thoughts.
Technology really is extreme. I am able to blog in my bath with bubbles and joy. Although it’s probably not for the best as my phone could drop into the dark depths of the tub any moment and die instantly. However, for now I’ve decided it’s worth it.
Turns out I didn’t get around to tidying my room, and oh look there’s my chipped nail varnish still clinging on. It’s fine though right, I’ve still got another few hours?
I’m off out later with some friends for a few drinks and good conversation. Which will probably develop into an excessive amount of drinks, maybe a solemn girl crying, many lads eating kebabs, and dancing in a club where the beauty isn’t in the eye of the holder, but in the eye of the beer holder.
I do have work for about twelve hours tomorrow, but it’s so totally worth being in a grump for the whole day, to enable me to witness drunken antics of my very own dear friends. (Note, I have said previously they are intelligent, but it doesn’t mean they don’t know how to make a bleddy good night out) then revolving around me on a Friday lunchtime and evening of trying to serve people food when you look like you’ve been hit by a bus.
– Also starting to realise my writing style is like a very bad version of Helen Fielding in her fabulous Bridget Jones novels. Maybe I’m the not the next impressive, witty authoress but just the resemblance of her character Bridget…
I am a very fortunate girl, surrounded by brilliant, ardent and intelligent friends that are all about to spread their wings and fly off to university, leaving their nests and working towards finding theirselves independently. In my response to this change, I’ve decided to motivate myself to start a fulfilling blog, which will not only help me rant through my feelings about these changes, but may also inspire me as I work towards my own goals and become a famous, world renown blogger who has changed troubled lives, won prizes and even inspired a pessimist to laugh when they drop their hot, buttered toast face down on the floor on a rainy morning.
Or it may just make me feel like a pretentious ‘wana be’ writer – because doesn’t everyone have an online blog about feelings, what they eat for breakfast on a Tuesday, or how they are struggling to settle down with a rich man who likes long walks in the rain, within today’s modern climate?
As a very short (In size but not thoughts), optimistic nineteen year old feeling as if she is potentially going through an end-of-teenage-crisis , maybe a blog is the way forward. Maybe this will help fashion myself into a proper, conscious and mature woman.
Or it may again make me realise how I can’t write properly (perfect example: it took autocorrect to help me out with the spelling of ‘properly’) or actually how irritating my thought process’ can be. Anyway, I really need to tidy my room for the first time in months and maybe get enough energy to take off my inadequate chipped blue nail polish, which looked nice.. freshly painted about two weeks ago.
I’ll be back in roughly 25 minutes when I become extremely bored and wish to write an I depth novel on “My Love for Food” or “How to clean a four-bedroom house in seven minutes before mum and dad are home”.