I was told by Kathryn (who else?) that if I was
thinking of letting this blog quietly end, I should notify my loyal readers.
However, I am not sure that I want to do that quite yet. I’m quite fond of my
little corner of the internet and am not convinced that I want to leave it
behind forever.
The reason I was even considering it is because I
find it increasingly hard to know what to write. I feel like all of the things
that I used to worry about are all things that I’ve sort of dealt with. It’s
weird; I’m kind of older and wiser and, as a result, less convinced of my own
inherent interestingness (totally a word) to others. Romantic comedies always
end when the heroine achieves some sort of resolution. They are rarely just
about her finding romantic resolution; she often has to get out of her crappy
job and solve all the other relationships in her life. That’s why they’re often
derided because it is implied that the woman is unable to sort herself out
without the help of a man. Which is unfortunate really. My opinion is that
these things just happen together sometimes. I know that when I was feeling
fairly flyaway and uncontrolled, I found those books reassuring and
hoped it would happen to me. Funnily enough, it has. Not in a way that would
have provided the same sort of catharsis as a book or a film plot, and I
certainly got up to fewer hijinks and barely fell over at all. My boyfriend is
not the reason it all happened or the reason why I’ve made the big changes but
if I hadn’t made changes, I doubt I would have asked him out.
So if I feel that, to a certain extent, I have
reached the end of the story, should I end the blog? I am certainly feeling all
resolutiony. I’m packing up things at work and getting rid of my worldly
possessions to charity shops, eBay and my Mum’s loft. I’ve finally moved out of
the overweight bit of the BMI scale and into “healthy.” I appreciate that the
BMI is flawed but I am still happy about it. I have quit all Coca Cola products
and now work out almost every day. I am finally going off to do the thing that
I’ve always wanted to do.
I am terrified but really
happy/excited/anxious/practical/prepared/flying-by-the-seat-of-my-pants
depending on which moment of the day it happens to be. In some ways: Totally
prepared. In other ways: Really not sure what I’m preparing for. Is “Naked Day”
merely a terrifying rumour? Will I like anyone I’m living with? Will I ever
finish any of the books on my reading list given that I have not even finished
the one that I’ve started? To what extent will they rip into my breathing (very
likely, I’m a mouth breather), my voice (I have a soft “s”, which is a
corrected lisp from when I was a child), my posture (my head juts forward and
as a result means I have a tense neck, which may strangle vocal cords) and
movement (very, very poor flexibility and balance)? All of those things that
I’ve tried to work on but really struggled with will suddenly be held under a
microscope. Maybe they’ll teach me how
to work on them properly, which is what I hope will happen, or maybe they’ll
shake their heads sadly and tell me I will never make it.
