February 3rd? Are you having a laugh? Really? That was the last time I wrote.
And I was doing so well.
Apparently I can't keep promises.
So it's been a busy couple of weeks. I can't tell you what's been achieved in the time that I haven't been writing - because I don't have anything to show for it.
But that doesn't mean that I was doing nothing.
I think I spent a lot of it sleeping.
Do you ever have those moments where great sheets of tiredness creep up on you and no matter how much sleep you have it never goes away?
Well I think that's what I was doing.
I was also trying to make myself a better person. I shouldn't really say 'was' because I'm pretty sure I'm still doing it. An ongoing project some might say. And yes... I even bought my first 'self help' book. Its quite inspirational, was recommended to me by a friend, but I couldn't bring myself to endure the mocking from standing infront of those shelves in a particular corner of the book store. So I ordered it online.
I've read the first page. But what inspirational words they were.
Then I procrastinated from my helpful book and decided that I knew a better way to help myself.
There was a wardrobe declutter (or perhaps massacre is a fairer term), an enrolment onto a journalism course, a series of events planned (thank you Vogue open day), and a busy social life until mid-march. So I'm packed up with things to do.
Please note that 'gym' was left off here.
And also the beginners ballet lessons which I started on a whimsical New Years resolution and have turned out to be the most dispiriting decision ever made. What good is a ballet dancer, beginner or not, who cannot get both feet off the ground?
I knew I shouldn't have cried on my first trial lesson, where as a small child I begged Mumma not to take me back. I could probably be a world famous ballerina now. But ah, c'est la vie, it was not to be.
After my elephant-in-a-tutu lessons finish, I'm going to give salsa lessons a go. Who knows, maybe this British bird has a little spanish blood in her...And maybe, just maybe I'll be a little better at moving my hips than pointing my toes and holding my tummy in and standing one leg ALL at the same time.
Or it might be another mad impulse decision.
But this exercise (dancing and running on a treadmill like a loon) have been left off because I don't think its making me a better person... just a person with a larger lung capacity and better muscle tone.
Note - these effects are only apparent when I practise or regularly attend the gym, otherwise it's pretty redundant.
I guess to better myself, I need to do something challenging, rewarding - something I've never done before.
I'm all dried up.
I've spent the last couple of weeks in a process of reviewing. It's been two years since I left my little bubble at University. Two years since I shut the door on my lovely little home in Exeter and handed over my key.
And like the weeks that I have been missing from here, I've achieved nothing.
I have little to show for myself other than additional pairs of shoes, a disgusting addiction to prestige fashion magazines and my desk job.
There's a plan of action afoot. I'm a mission to improve this situation.
And step one (in the true essence of 'me') was to visit the shops. In order to better myself, I must reinvent myself. Cut myself loose from the drudgery of my over-familiar wardrobe and the remaining rubbish left in it (I couldn't ditch everything on account of having to be naked 24/7 until such a time I found replacement clothing.).
I visited the shops this evening and paid £3.40 to park (When did that go up? It's not like there's a man specifically guarding my car and making sure that no mothers with pushchairs smash my wing mirrors). I wandered, gingerly touching beautiful fabrics and colours, mentally trawling through the well thumbed glossy pages of Vogue and Elle, to replicate the 'look', that aesthetic I crave.
I blew a vast amount of money (thanks mastercard.) And continued to peruse more shops for additional items.
However, then I realised how much I have planned over the next month. I calculated an estimate (hooray for mental maths - aka phone calculator) for my next month's social agenda and panicked.
I'd gone a little mad.
I returned to the store and chose to ask for a refund on the items I'd purchased less than forty minutes ago. Never in my life have I felt so judged and ashamed.
I knew that the sales assistant thought I was some out-of-control shopaholic with debts coming out of her ears. In a less dramatic form, I am. But it was not for her to judge. (if she did not judge then I am sorry for raising a non-apparent issue)
I miserably walked back to the car. Angry at no one but myself for wishing that clothes made me happy. They don't.
So friends, I beseech you. It seems that I am incapable of purchasing and keeping anything (you have read about many returned items). I need your words of encouragement in assorted changing rooms of many stores. If clothes themselves don't make me happy, the process of buying them with wonderful friends should.
Treat me as a mannequin, dress my in atrocious ensembles. Laugh, joke and drink coffee with me. Shopping is a social affair and as long as I leave with a few new additions to squeeze into limited space, I think I will be one step closer to being a better person.
I'm pretty sure my book doesn't mention 'retail therapy' at all. But what do these guru's know anyway?
N.B I don't always talk about clothes and shoes and other idle things. I promise that I do have a brain, I do use it, and I will be using it to my best advantage. But a very wise woman said that you should never dress for the job you have, but for the job you want.
So I'll use a small portion of my brain first, get super fantastic job and then put my brain into turbo mode and impress everyone with my knowledge. But I'm sure there will still be idiotic things to write about and stupid adventures I take myself on. So if you'd like to stick with me, I'm sure it will be a fun journey to the top.