So I should probably stop promising to blog more, as I clearly am not up to it.
I wonder if maybe, during my three years in Paris, I was just a stunted teenager and so was still wrapped up in my own teenage self-involvement, and so that's how I was able to blog about my nights out and nights babysitting and thoughts on world events and such, whereas now I am a Mature Lady (28 and counting) I'm cripplingly self-conscious when it comes to my own writing.
Even if I try and write stuff for myself, that I know will never go on the internet, it just seems pointless. Everything's already been written, or people are writing it now. Every subject has already been talked about, or people are discussing it now.
I think about my ideas for short stories and novels constantly, but I've stopped writing them down. I work longer hours now, and have so much to do at the weekends. I guess this is the point where determined writers break free from the millions and millions of people who say 'I've got this idea for a novel' and actually make it as writers.
My cousin has self-published her children's book, it's beautiful. She's one of those people who will make things happen, whereas I say I will all the time and then never get round to it.
I'm not feeling sorry for myself, I'm just writing by the way. I was about to qualify that but if I have to explain the purpose of each blog post I start then I really will never get back into blogging. I mean I don't know if I do want to get back in blogging. I had the idea to maybe record some of my posts as a podcast, but I probably won't.
Maybe I'm just so negative because I'm a bit ill at the moment. I haven't had a cold for literally years, so it's taken me by surprise. I've also had tinnitus and vertigo, which is shit. That's loud buzzing, roaring and pitches in your ears and getting dizzy and losing your balance, if you don't know.
Whenever I've been ill in the past it's just gone away eventually, but I had this a few years ago and it went away and now it's back so should probably sort it out.
I don't know why I'm so miserable. I read a book about Paris during the war recently, it is a truly horrific but essential read - Les Parisiennes: How the Women of Paris Lived, Loved and Died in the 1940s by Anne Sebba. (Review here - but I disagree with the last sentence of the review which, incidentally, is about the last sentence of the book. The reviewer says the author should have passed judgement on those who collaborated. As you read the book it becomes very clear that the author dislikes most of the collaborators... by which we're talking about people who actively helped the Nazis rather than young women who slept with young German soldiers, either for love or food, and after the war, had their heads shaved and were stripped in the streets by angry mobs who in the large part and done nothing to resist the occupation and yet, once France was liberated, took all their rage out on young women. I was also shocked by what happened to camp survivors when they returned to France. We all need to read books like this so that as a collective we never forget and we are alway ready to stop it from happening again.)
For a few days afterwards I felt glad just to be alive and safe.
My new job is going well. I really wasn't sure at first. The first two weeks, the run-up to Christmas, were so quiet that I panicked I'd made the wrong decision. I was getting to work on bigger projects at my old job and now I'm doing random internal communications for tobacco companies.
But then I realised there was nothing better about writing fashion-focused copy for a designer outlet brand, or chocolate brands which is what I was doing just before I left. It's all just meaningless shit that I get paid to do, and now I get paid a lot more so I can go to the theatre more and maybe more of the places I've always wanted to visit.
God this is miserable. I'm not even going to add a song to end on, my left ear sounds like a speaker plugged into a laptop, volume turned up but no track selected, so just wavering static blasting out.
Please buy my cousin's book though if you'd like a children's story about the outdoors. It's about a little girl who lives in the Lake District, and goes off exploring in the wilds...
Take a look on Amazon here.
(Someone has written a negative review about the grammar in the blurb, my cousin is dyslexic and she must have written it in a rush, ignore that because it is a lovely story! EDIT Looked at that reviewer's other reviews and they are just a miserable moany Amazon reviewer, who hates everything!)