I can’t believe that after all my spouting about new pencil cases back in September, it’s taken the new year to bring me back here. I wonder how many people have dreams of writing as I do and then are too uncertain to begin. It’s all about putting something, anything down, but if you’ve got self-critical, perfectionist tendencies, then there’s still more to contend with.
I joined Facebook yesterday, after about 2 years of fighting it. What has struck me is how lonely people must be – and does listing that you have 30 long-forgotten, nothing-in-common friends make that go away? I feel a little sick about it actually – my email is laden with messages, and people that I was quite happy to keep as fond or not so fond memories are now scarily present. How good are we at rose-tinting the past. It’s just the rest of the time spectrum that gives us so much reason to feel unhappy. Unfulfilled? Don’t go out and make present friends or do new things, just scurry backwards into the olden days, wander around in fake memories, and you’ll be able to live in a luxurious, burstable bubble of self-delusion.