At the end of the day... (long dramatic pause) I don't know.

All of my friends seem hell-bent on getting their careers on the right track at the moment; I'd probably be the same, if I had any idea where I wanted to be, in terms of that. I'm not entirely sure I want a conventional career though, to be honest, I don't want to be defined by what I do. I just want to figure out, not so much who I am, rather what it is I want. I'm quite certain of who I am; I'm me. I don't need none of that 'finding-yourself' bull, I'm me, I'm here, what more do you need to know? 

For some reason, today I thought of the 'no man is an island' quote, and I understood it properly for the first time. We're all something to someone; friend, lover, sister, brother, parent, teacher, husband, wife, daughter or son, even neighbour. None of us are without our ties, however small they might be. Thinking of that, it makes you wonder how people can die in their homes and not be found 'until [their] bones are clean and the rent overdue', to quote Sarah Kane. It's sad. 

If recent trends are anything to go by, I definitely think that writing is something I need to be more serious about pursuing. I actually started a new play draft yesterday, and have already got about 20 minutes of material drafted, which is rare for me, as life usually distracts me, and it ends up taking several weeks to sort out a scene. But I like this idea, and I can see where it's going. It would be nice to get it down and maybe sent off somewhere before I flee the country. And I've not really got anything else going on right now, apart from trying to make as much cash as is humanly possible, in order to fund my aforementioned country-fleeing. At the end of the day, I have no idea where I might end up, but I quite like the idea of being pleasantly surprised.

Blusher, Wotsits and Bin Liners...

This thing is turning into a sort of diary at the moment... Well, today I started going through EVERYTHING I own (which is depressingly little, but still too much to fit into a 20kg suitcase). I had three piles; throw away, definitely keep, and not sure. Sentimental wotsits (things, not the crisps... I don't tend to grow emotionally attached to cheese flavoured snacks, no matter how moreish they are) went in the definitely keep pile, actual rubbish (bits of paper, bank statements from 1994, the bizarre and vast collection of empty cigarette packets) went straight in the bin, and everything else went into the not sure pile. Literally. I don't wear blusher... yet for some reason, rather than throw away the blusher thing, I put it in the not sure pile, and it was then transfered into the keep pile, as for some reason, I thought that despite my 23 year long blusher drought, I might wear some tomorrow.

This has led me to the interesting conclusion, that I, like most, am far too attached to material posessions. It's a sign of the times, I think; we define who we are by what we own. In reality, I could probably throw away most things, and survive with the bare essentials (some changes of underwear), and my iPod. In my opinion, the iPod (or other MP3 player) is more than a status thing, or a posession, it really is something that defines you as a person. Not because it's expensive, or a fashionable thing to have, but because so much of who we are can be found in our music tastes. The songs that make us cry (Jeff Buckley, Lover, You Should Have Come Over), the songs we HAVE to sing along to (Hotel California, The Eagles), the songs that we HAD to dance to at seventeen (Black Eyed Peas, My Humps) and the songs that just remind us of who we are (everything on it, I think). It's strange, really, we define who we are the most by the things we posess, but the thing that defines me the most is something I don't even own, it's something I borrow from the musicians who choose to share it with me. It's someone else saying 'this is what my life feels like, can you identify with it?', and if you do, you borrow it from time to time, and feel a little more because of it.

This might all be because I am a rather serious music afficionado. I don't know much about Mozart, but give me a Paul Weller album and I'm your friend for life (You Do Something To Me, makes me die a little bit inside, in a good way). I suppose it just made me wonder how others define themselves... and the realisation that I don't need six packets of blusher that I don't wear, to be able to consider myself a fully functioning person, might make tomorrow a more successful 'throw-away-day'.

There Goes The Fear Again... (To Quote the Doves).

A few years ago I had a seizure, and a friend died, and I changed. I never really got back to being the girl I was before, never understood her properly again. I mean, I still like the same songs, and have the same favourite foods, but now, I don’t necessarily like myself very much. I’m selfish, when I wasn’t before, I’m more impulsive than I’ve ever been, I don’t always think things through, and I don’t have any regrets. I don’t believe in them. I’m argumentative and stubborn, and more than anything, I am afraid. Of myself. Of my life. Of letting the next 30 years pass me by in the same way the past 30 days have. Of living a life and feeling nothing. Of allowing apathy to settle in my veins, of waking up, 50 years old and having nothing to show for it. 

I’m scared of the nothingness of life, of how quickly it disappears, and how people can wake up and realise that they wasted it all, working nine to five in a dead end job that they hate, all for minimum wage and a state pension at sixty-five. So when people are asking me if I’m scared of what I’m about to do, I tell them no. I’m not scared of moving, of taking the risk. I’m scared of not doing it. I’m scared to the bones that I’ll chicken out, and next week and the week after and the week after that, and so on, will all be the same week placed on repeat. Because nothing ever changes, nothing ever improves, it just stays the same. And I don’t think I can bear it for much longer. And if I do, I’ll probably end up being one of those women that suddenly break down in Tesco, unsure of how to deal with the choice between tinned and fresh fruit, crying into my bananas in the middle of the tampon aisle. I’ve always been prone to melodrama.

So I’m fed up of simply existing. It gets you nowhere, except a couple of years closer to the grave. I want to start to live, on my terms, in the way I choose, in the place I choose to be.

It's all me, me, me, me, me...

I don't really know why I'm writing a blog...

Well, actually, I sort of do... you see, about a week ago, I decided to leave the UK, and move to Barcelona. It was a decision made on impulse, but it is the only one I've made since graduating that makes any sense. Unlike a lot of people, I haven't just booked a flight out and relied on hopes and prayers and the kindness of friends to get me started, I'm actually being SENSIBLE.

For those of you that know me, I can understand that statement being a difficult one to comprehend, and for those of you that don't, sensible isn't usually my style.

Well, anyway, as part of the sensible plan, I wanted to try and get a job in Barcelona ready for when I moved out there, which apparently is nigh on impossible for an english person who doesn't speak a lot of Spanish. Today I had a telephone interview, for a job in telesales, and I've pretty much got the job. So, Challenge Numero Uno: Complete! Now I just need around £1000, so that I've enough for a deposit... a month's rent... and some cash to actually live for a month. Looks like I'm selling my life on ebay. Or maybe just a kidney...

So, there it is. The BIG MOVE is my reason for starting a blog, and as with most blogs, I think the first post should always be at least a little bit about the blogger. So here's a few of my likes and dislikes:

Likes: The sea. Toast (preferably with butter & jam or butter & nutella if I'm drunk). My dog. Passoa & Lemonade. Barbeques. Rain. The Mighty Boosh. Pop Tarts. My duvet (or any duvet, really). Singing (sometimes in the shower, but most places will suffice). Banana Milkshakes (blatantly the best flavour). Wearing new socks... there's nothing quite like it. Oh, and pickled onion monster munch. I can't forget pickled onion monster munch.

Dislikes: Hangovers. Money (except when I've got it). Bills. Most films with Keira Knightley (except atonement, but that's only because of James McAvoy and the fact that Keira Knightley dies at the end [I can also deal with love actually, as it isn't all about 'shout & pout knightley']). Mills & Boon books; they're tragic. Working for a well known fashion chain (the opposite of previous is...). Monday mornings.