I'm going to apologise right now for what may be a post full of unnecessary rambling, but sometimes it's just far easier to write it down than try to compartmentalise in my head.
That's what blogs are for, right?
First things first, I have mentioned several times about the novel I wrote. I usually just refer to it as 'the story' but I suppose at 80,000+ words, it really counts as more than that. I mean, there's a plot and everything. Anyway, the other day my Mum called me up to say that she'd been speaking to her English professor about me and explaining about the story I had written. Her English professor had asked to have a look at it and now the first 3 chapters are being proof-read and having notes made on them.
It seems to have only just hit me. I know it's not as if it's been sent off to an editor or a publishing house.. but just that someone is reading it from a professional point of view. The only other person to have read it is my Mum, and obviously she's biased, so I'm excited to get the notes back. Whether they're good or bad, I enjoy writing and will continue to do so. However, with criticisms or encouragement from someone who knows what they're doing in the professional sense, it can only be a good thing.
Every now and then it seems to smack me in the face. I have done something incredible, maybe I should actually do something about it?
Maybe one day.
I applied for a job today. If I'm being honest, my heart isn't in it. I can't even remember the name of the job. It was in an office and had something to do with answering phones. I hope. It's part time and it sounds like something I could do which is all that matters.
I don't even know if I'm mentally ready to return to work. As selfish as it sounds, I want to stay at home with Princess until she goes to school and I don't need to be there all day. In reality, I know it can't happen this way. After a completely unsuccessful grievance at Ross's work, he's been forced to hand his notice in. Right now we're just keeping our heads above water and it's driving me insane. I hate having to watch where every penny goes, wondering if we can afford this or that. We're probably better off now than we were before when he was working, but that isn't something to be proud of, and I don't want that to be the case.
I applied for a job over a month ago at a care home but after weeks of attempting to get me a CRB without a birth certificate, I finally gave up. It was only for 7 hours a week, not worth the trip to town to get myself a birth cert printed off if I'm honest. Most definitely not worth the anxiety attack that would no doubt rear it's ugly head the moment I stepped on the bus alone. Shame though, it was just up the road.
I applied for Next too. I was a bit worried that if I did actually get the job I'd probably have to work Christmas Day night ready for the sale on Boxing Day. Then I realised I'd be there anyway and the panic disappeared.
I do wonder about my blog sometimes. Whether I'm really writing it for me, or other people. I wonder whether I should give it up and let it go, or carry it on and just go with it. I wonder whether people really read my posts, if anyone thinks "oh I can't wait for the next post" or if they think "oh great, another one.."
Either way I suppose it's easy. I write for myself. I write because I enjoy writing. And if you don't like it, you can jolly well fuck off.
I've been chatting to some lovely people on Twitter recently as well, who without my blog I probably wouldn't have met.It's nice to be able to converse with people who share the same concepts and ideals as you, but also people that make you piss yourself with laughter. Painting a picture here aren't I?
Oh and you know, just casually having a brief conversation with one of your favourite authors helps too.
Along with all of this nonsense, I'm questioning my parenting skills. We've lived in our new house since April so *counts on fingers* 6 months. It is only this past week that Princess has been going to sleep in her own bed, before she's fallen to sleep downstairs first. We've been waiting for her to fall to sleep and then having to carry her to bed because she would point blank refuse to stay up in her room alone. Made even worse by the fact we binned her cot the moment we moved in (if it hadn't have broke, it would've gone straight back up!).
I have fixed this behavior.. with a television. I know, I know, I'm digging a hole for myself. However, every night since she discovered she can watch her favourite Curious George DVD upstairs in bed, she loves it. She will ask to go to bed, she will take her milk and she will lie and watch her film and eventually fall to sleep.
Am I a terrible parent?
Probably. But I get a few hours in the evening to myself so it's worth it. I'll probably be kicking myself when my electricity bill sky-rockets and she refuses to sleep without it, but until that day comes I will just enjoy it whilst it lasts. And when that day arrives.. I won't take any responsibility.
Once again, apologies for the incessant rambling. After many attempts at a half decent blog post, I gave up and instead this is what happened.
Sometimes, just sometimes, the least thought out posts are the best.
And sometimes, nobody reads them.