Friday, January 21, 2011

I am turning into a fifty-year old woman.

Seriously.

I complain about social networking sites, I want to stay at home, or go to the gym, and I actually get excited about healthy eating. Oh, and I no longer enjoy going out drinking (instead I enjoy a nice cup of lemon and ginger tea with a double bill of Coronation Street and Silent Witness, and that's just Monday) and I get hangovers that last for over one day.

The final straw came yesterday when my mother called me a hermit. I need to get out more.

The first items on my schedule include going for a takeaway at a friend's tonight and giving blood tomorrow. Well, I've got to start somewhere.

It's not as if I would be leading this sanctimonious lifestyle if I lived in somewhere that wasn't well, shit, and I wasn't trying to save so that I might be able to live somewhere exciting (ANYWHERE ELSE), but I do recognise that my life has reached a critical condition of sadness.

Still, it's not the end of January yet, that's not too late to change, right? Cardiff for a soap-inspired party (yes, my life is dominated by soaps) at the end of the month, and to my dear old university, Keele, for a week, where I will (attempt to) drink heavily. And die. Probably.

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