Just keep swimming… or

I blame Claire, you can too if you like, after all it is her fault. Swimming around in the miasma of my brain, 1001 possibilities to answer the question that seems to be on all of my 40+ friends lips/……. What the hell am I going to do for the other half of my life? Only this isn’t some sea change life-defining decision. Its simply about being on the cusp of something.. Although don’t ask me what because I cant even answer that question. I’m stuck, warding off the desire to go back to hiding under the bedclothes, the allure of warmth, comfort, and silence. Knowing that I don’t have to think about “what to do next” because I am just being… all be it in bed. The other slightly more judgy bossy voice is telling me to take the dog out, go for a walk on the beach “you know you will feel better”, but somewhere deep inside my sloth is in the drivers seat and feels exhausted at this contemplation.

Yesterday I read  an article, no doubt written by some lovely young hipster dude trying to pay his way through a psych degree. Who advised that I should just stop worrying about “what I am ment to do” and just do something… (er, Yep, but, that’s part of the issue here people!) So in order to become a writer, I just write.  You see, I am now a writer! There isn’t a quota of readers required that makes you a “writer”. No, 100 people have read you today therefore you get your “beginners writers badge” no, just writing is indeed being a writer… Look at that I’ve achieved something and the relief is immense.

Now I can go on and become a baker by baking some cakes and a food critic when I eat them. A nutritionist when I remember that eating 12 cakes so as to destroy the evidence that you ever baked them in the first place is bad. Knowing your family will know all to well there is no way on earth you would actually only have baked 8 cakes. Which probably makes me some kind of “ologist” as I have examined the relationships within myself and my family. This is handy because I will definitely be needing some kind of “ology” to help counsel me through the guilt and depression I feel after eating so much cake…and to help me figure out whether my “sick feeling” is actual stomach fit to busting of sugar should have stopped at 2 feeling. Or if it’s a more primal response to the feeling that I have no f*ck*n idea what am going to do with the next half of my life.

And so, my mind wonders about the possibilities or lack therein. Im aware that I am being watched intently. I’m never quite sure when the dog starts to stare me down if its her efforts to mind control me “lets go walk to the beach” (she says this is a slightly zombiefied dog voice) or she is just judging me “get of the fuckin computer and stop eating crisps , they are not a breakfast food” which clearly she does with slightly raised eyebrows.

Either way it seems she wins, she’s right I write.

Sorry for the swearing Mom, I know at 43 I should have a wider vocabulary in order to express myself, but you did once use the word c*nt in scrabble, even if you do lay the blame with Aunty Gillian.

Sorry – a bit more swearing. But Ive noticed the jellyfish in the picture looks like some kind of two legged orange cock and now I can’t un-see it.

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