Taking Stock (of the non-chicken variety)

So today's been one of those contemplative days - you know the ones, where you've made a concerted effort to step off the social merry-go-round and then so many thoughts and emotions flood through your consciousness you kind of wonder why you stepped off in the first place? Thinking is, in my opinion, one of the most exhausting - and, dare I say, futile? - pursuits of man. Unless, that is, you end up making important and life changing decisions at the end of it, which, in my experience, rarely happens. I'm the epitome of the Futile Thinker - idle daydreaming always seems to turn into poring over every aspect, thought and emotion of my life, and before I know it hours have passed and only one thought remains: why can't I do better? Better at work, better in my choice of men, better in my supposed desire to get back into writing, better at saying no to people when I don't want to do things, better at realising when I should say no even though I don't want to.

Now I've no desire to lapse into the 'poor me' mentality, I'll make that perfectly clear from the outset. What I DO have a desire to do is start taking more control of my life. It's true to say The Break Up has, if you'll excuse the French, fucked me up a treat, and it's also true to say a lot of my recent 'partying' has been nothing short of diversion tactics to stop me analysing everything, thinking about the Ex (and his hideous Australian Dwarf Bitch girlfriend) and generally getting down about the fact I had something I thought would last forever and it turned around and, quite literally, bit me on the arse and spat me back into the real world. Yes, I am bitter, and yes, I am sad. I make no apologies for either of those things. Hell, I make no apologies for any of my post Break Up behaviour at all. But, whilst socialising and having fun is a hugely important part of my life right now, so is doing things that make me feel emotionally fulfilled in other ways. Writing, for one. I've been talking about finishing my novel for so long now I feel like a stuck record, even my parents have given up asking about it because I never find the time to get back into it. I love it, and yet I don't make time for it. Does that mean I don't love it as much as I thought I did? That's what my Mum thinks. But I don't agree. Modern life (hark at me, the 26 year old Granny-in-waiting!) is littered with distractions, it's easy to get swept along by them and watch as your interests slowly but surely take a back seat. It's up to every one of us to not let that happen.

And if you think for one minute the only reason I want to get back into writing is to get a book deal and use it as a metaphorical two fingers to the Ex.............then you'd be wrong! Though it certainly wouldn't hurt :-)