No, this isn’t a “New Year, new me!” intro post (quick side-note: can we stop being dicks towards people who invest in resolutions?) even though everything I’m about to write is dripping with “New Year, new me!” subtext.
I started overhauling life in 2016 and, for the most part, it went really, really well: I lost 3 stone (before regaining 10lbs thanks to unapologetic cheese scoffing over Christmas), got rid of my sociopath flatmate, knuckled down at work, met amazing people and FINALLY watched Gone Girl. Ok I actually only watched it in 2017, but I really wanted to give a shout out to my boy Ben Affleck’s penis because the sight of it was glorious respite from two hours of stress and confusion.
Thing is, despite making all these changes, I realised things were still slipping for me. I’d managed to hit these delightful little monthly targets I’d set myself: Go on holiday in May? Done. Get a new haircut in October? Snip snip, girl! Yet I’d cry when I was watching fuck-sake-this-doesn’t-call-for-tears films or I’d get really drunk and make stupid moves I knew I shouldn’t. And, for the life of me, I couldn’t fathom why I still feel so sad sometimes.
So I sat down with my spiral notepad that’s completely useless to a left-hander like me, an equally useless pen that stains my entire person and started scribbling. Just scribbling total nonsense in the hope I’d tap into some subconscious voice that would be all: “Oh hey, it’s about fucking time, here’s the trick to happiness.”
And here’s what I concluded: Shit me, I’m nearly 30 and I’m nowhere near where I wanted to be. Not that it’s terrible – I love my life and how I’ve lived it the past 28 years. But I want a new chapter now. And in the mess of scribbles I realised that, in order to get there, I need to do something bigger than those cute little monthly goals. I have to tick off some big boxes and it’s now or never. And I want to document it. Because it will be incredible or, at least, hilarious.
So, in the conveniently paraphrased words of Christina Aguilera – I’m gonna get thirty… and it’s about time for my arrival.
She's Tricky, Vicky 