I’m starting to wonder whether this blog has become counter-productive. Whilst, yes, I am able to vent some of my frustrations and achievements in a healthy way, I spend a lot of my day worrying about uploading. Then I procrastinate by writing here when I have more pressing things to do – you know, like the shit-ton of deadlines approaching.
Regardless, I don’t think it will make me stop. I always feel better when I write. And really, I’m a procrastinator by nature. The last three days I’ve been doing everything but my coursework. On Thursday, I did attempt to work but got so frustrated with the university library that it ended up being a nightmare. Friday I just couldn’t be bothered, and today I basically have spent either asleep or reading Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children (which is fantastic and I will be writing a review for it soon because, once again, I am a procrastinator).
I’ve also been thinking about the summer and what that will mean for the blog. During the week, my days will be pretty much the same. I’ll be working in the office all day and I doubt I will want to write when I get home. But the weekends will be different. I’m hoping to buy a bike at the beginning of summer so I can go for bike rides during the weekend and explore London. It’s actually what I’m most looking forward to. Maybe my blog will document my adventures?
Everything’s so up in the air at the moment. I honestly don’t know if I’m coming or going, I keep losing track of time and, honestly? I’m completely freaking out about next year. I’ll be in my last year of uni. I will have to make the big decisions about what I want to do. And I don’t know what I want to do. I think I would like to get into marketing for publishers but I really don’t have any experience. I also have an idea for a bookshop that I really want to start but have no idea how.
Really, I’m not prepared to become an adult. I’m not prepared to be financially stable, to work 9-5 every day for the next 50 years or so. But this time next year, I’m going to have to be because moving back in with my parents is not an option.
Well, it is. I think my dad would be ecstatic to have me back under his roof although he’ll pretend that it’s the worst thing ever. But this time next year, I will have officially been living away from home for a year and seven months. I don’t think I could go back to having to tell my parents where I’m going every time I leave the house.
God damn, I wish I was 16 again.