I Am Not Dead

Well, obviously I might be. I might have a heart attack five minutes from now and then by the time you read this I might be out cold on my sofa. But if that happens, know that there would have been worse places to die. And at least I'm 50% in velour, so you'd know I'd been cosy in my final moments. Of course, you could be reading this blog in sixty years, by which time I will almost certainly be dead, or at least wishing I was from the safety of my padded room, and you will be looking at LLFF as a valuable historical artefact, wondering at us old fuddy-duddies who used to think that typing with fingers was normal and getting married was a sensible idea. Hmmm. If I were bored I'd analyse the fact that, when challenged to think of two things we all do now that will become outdated soon, I came up with typing and monogamy. Don't know what that says about me. But anyway, I'm not bored. Or dead. No. I am alive and semi-busy. And I've just faced up to the fact I should probably write a will at some point.

So anyway. I haven't written since last Friday, and the reason is that I have been having a meltdown. The snake has stayed away, but I have been going a bit mental in other ways. The China/sabbatical/career break thing got me thinking, and then I started thinking about my future, which is obviously never sensible at the best of times, and then I started thinking about writing as a career, and then I worked quite hard at turning the blogs I wrote when I was in Finland into an article of sorts, and then this evening I went to meet a guy I know who works at The Guardian to talk about jobs and ting. It was really helpful, in that it confirmed that I probably shouldn't go back into journalism or writing. I mean, there's writing work there. But I don't want to be freelance (the snake looooves irregular working hours, financial instability and extended periods of time spent home alone) and I don't want to write about shit the whole time.

I think it's time for something new. New new new new new. But not yet. Right now I'll just stay where I am. But one day I'll do something else.

Good. Glad we've got that sorted out then.

What I was thinking was the civil service. But then I have to take scary exams and stuff, and I tried them before and failed miserably. I know one person who passed them and countless people who failed them. Anyway. I was also thinking of property development, but that's just selfish and stupid. Plus it's freelance and financially unstable and involves extended periods of time spent alone. Stupid snake, hampering my property development possibilities.

Meh. I dunno. I'll be fine.

What else is news? On Friday night I went to Sir John Soane's Museum in Holborn, and was ashamed that I'd never been there before in my 32 years, but delighted that London really is the gift that keeps on giving, and glad that I hadn't gone until I was old enough to be truly appreciative. They were open for a special candlelit tour, complete with complimentary sparkling wine, and it was fascinating. The Hogarths were every bit as amazing as I'd hoped, and bloody Nora if that gallery isn't the coolest thing ever. I'd tell you all what I'm talking about in a bit more detail but I don't want to ruin the surprise for my mum. Sunday I went to see Showstopper! at the Udderbelly, a temporary performance space shaped like a gigantic upside-down purple cow near the London Eye. What will they think of next? The venue is great, and the show was excellent - an eighty-minute improvised musical with a fantastically funny cast that made me really annoyed that I'm not quite good enough at singing or being funny to join in. I will return and growl in quiet jealousy on at least one other night before the run ends in June. I've done other fun stuff too, but tonight I'm taking it easy, skiving off my uke class, eating Coco Pops and doing laundry. Mmmm. Coco Pops. Might be time for that second bowl.