Seven confessions, from the superficial…
To the woman who did my nails at Stylist Live and said I needed to be using cuticle oil twice a day, never mind once a week: I have NEVER used cuticle oil. So there. Speaking of nails… I last painted my toenails two months ago. This wouldn’t be such a big deal if I’d taken off the old, chipped polish, rather than letting it grow off.
I used to steal my housemate’s chocolate and replace it before she noticed.
I work in publishing, yet I’ve never finished a novel that’s won the Booker Prize.
…to the serious
I used to get so annoyed when friends would centre their lives around their men, yet I understand now how easy it is to do. I definitely don’t organise as much as I used to (but I hosted everyone in the first week of the New Year to get off to a good start). Don’t get me wrong, I can’t complain about the fact that just an evening spent watching TV on the sofa together makes me happy. Nevertheless, it’s important to pay attention to the things you love outside your relationship. I’m taking a holiday with a friend, going back to tap dancing and making a renewed effort with this blog, just for myself.
I’m not very good at my job. This is something you’re never supposed to admit, and I think I can only write it knowing that if my boss saw it she would know it’s not really true. What I mean is that I’m struggling. Again, I can hardly complain, as it was a promotion that led to the increased workload in the first place. However, I hate being the person who’s constantly apologising for the delayed reply; I’m just not used to not being excellent at my job. (Another thing you’re probably not supposed to say, but I was definitely one of the best assistants around!)
Everything was so transient for most of my twenties – five different cities, nine houses/flats, eight jobs, six internships – that having been in the same city, job and flat for eighteen months sometimes feels a bit odd. It’s a good weird, though.
I get scared to admit how much I like things in case I jinx them.