I'm Not Dead Yet.

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.

Happily, I have received a number of bits of information to help me prepare for the first week. I am almost registered, I have an IT account, a student number and somewhere to live. It is not in halls. I thought that living in halls would be the absolute worst idea in the world. They would all drive me mad and think I was weird and just no. On so many levels. I can’t really plan for anything else and will just have to take it as it comes. As a control freak who pretends very hard to be cool, I am struggling with this but it really is all I can do. It is an adventure and a new chapter, and I hope that I have time (my schedule will be punishing) to update my blog and, in essence, bring you chaps along with me.