(Metaphorical title, please don't panic on my behalf)
I've shot myself in the foot again. All that time I was 'bored', there were plenty of things I wanted to be doing, but kept saying 'it can wait'. Now, I forget to do everything. I forget to go to the gym, and I don't know how long its been since I last went, so my loose diet challenge is somewhat pointless and ineffective. My weekends are busy, from now until forever, and I hope to plan a nice reunion for all us uni pals at the end of summer, but I have no idea when I will ever have a weekend free to do so. Just know I'm mulling it over. Slowly.
So sorry Nathan, my boredom didn't last long, I'm back into the highly laborious summer job I've had since I was 13, with a pub job thrown in over the top, and I don't quite know how I will keep this up, because my muscles are hurting. I'm not exercising, so standing up all day is making my legs and back really ache. I need to sort it out. I need to sort my life out, because this cannot continue in such a haphazard, thoughtless way. Plans must be made. A timetable will be drawn up within the week. God I love being organised.
I was considering taking time off from the pill. No guy cares about this, but its something girls think about a lot. Every morning I pop this little sugar-coated anti-Christian God-like-powered pill which tricks my body into thinking it is currently harbouring a child, so I cannot get pregnant. This is aces, as I don't want a child. But equally, I don't like having to take a pill every morning for 21 mornings, then have the dreaded week off, then do it again, and again, and again, and again. If I'm not in a serious relationship, and frankly, don't think I will be again for a little while, surely I should come off the pill? But the added bonuses of the little God-like thing is that I control my body. And that one control is really nice right now. Even if being on the pill does mean you're a few pounds heavier than you should be. I need the control. So I'm staying on it, despite it being mainly wasted on me.
On that note, I'm realising the strange differences between living here at 22 and living here as a school girl, teenager and slight rebel. Life has its mirrors, but in the strangest ways, and the differences can be astonishing too. Every time I wake up late, Mum makes some comment about 'teens' or 'laziness', forgetting that sleeping pattern has nothing to do with either of those things.
The weirdest thing about living at home though - coming home after staying out somewhere. Admittedly, my parents have never been prying into my life anyway, but now that I'm old enough to go where I want, do as I please, see who I please and... so on and so forth - the nervousness in their eyes as they see me come in the house, oblivious to where I've been, is amazing. I stayed at new-bestie-Jasmine's house a few days ago. Woke up with three voicemails, all saying things like 'you really SHOULD come home soon Laura', but none with any actual reason for me to do so.
My parents are bizarre. I would say 'but that's a blog for another day', but its not. Its too long, complex and boring to be written in a blog. You have to meet them to understand.
I don't know when I'll get the time / think of something worth saying / be bothered to write another blog, so for now, that's all folks!