the past week hasn't been particularly good for me. i didn't get into king's, my results were relatively disastrous, and try as i might i seem to be stuck on 135 pounds. which is bad, because that's a bad weight for me. it's not like it's 135 pounds of muscle, either. i'm trying to build up my abdominal strength as well as lose fat, so i'm combining a bucketload of cardio with an ab workout from findingthinagain. i know that sounds incredibly dodgy but it's not a ED site. and i'm doing the two hundred squats challenge which is rather nice, actually. i've done about 80 in total today, with reps of around 20 each time. i'll pay for it tomorrow though.
my docs arrived but they are curiously big for me, which is baffling as nadia's fit me perfectly. regardless, i'm going to kensington on wednesday to try on the size 4 pair they have in the shop, and then i'll exchange them. i was so very excited for them and now i'm a little sad because they're not right. like so much in my life. as always, i understand that i don't have it as bad as a lot of people. i'm not abused or neglected, i have a roof over my head, clothes and food, i have family and friends who love me, i'm not being subjected to the reign of an evil tyrant, nor is my country being destroyed by a tsunami. i get that. but it doesn't mean i'm happy. my discontent is not really with my life at all, because that, by itself, is rather nice. i have a macbook and nice clothes and i go on holiday every summer. i have friends and i go to a nice college and live in a relatively nice area. it's not this at all. it's me. i am deeply, deeply unhappy with myself. i am discontent with how i've turned out as a human being. and that is not due to my environment. it is a product of my own mind, i suppose. and i suppose with all the good about my life comes all the bad. i've had a lot of shit thrown my way. and YES, for the last time, it's not the worst kind of shit. but shit is still shit. and perhaps if i was a stronger person i would learn from the shittiness, but i'm not, and i haven't. perhaps if i wasn't so angry then i would be able to see the good side. but i am, and i can't.
i keep imagining myself ten years from now in several delightful ways. the first, of course, is where everything never happens, my world wasn't torn apart, and i didn't have my capacity for emotion ripped out of me. i got married and i had kids and i had my career as a writer and everything was just fucking dandy. and i would be a grandmother some day. and that my husband and i would go for strolls on the beach - because we'd live in hong kong - and every night we would walk the same way home, loving each other until the end of time.
number two is a little less dreamy and a little less unbelievable. i have a few boyfriends, some serious, some not. i earn £22,000 a year doing something that i don't love, but i stay because i won't get a job anywhere else with a 2:2. i go home every night and watch shitty television and occasionally, if i can afford it, get drunk on a bottle of whisky in my living room/bedroom/shitty accomodation.
number three, is that i'll be dead.