Now I am 30

Called in sick today owing to evil period pains and just generally feeling completely exhausted. This weekend was my 30th birthday party, organised by the lovely Lucy. It was so nice of her but I admit I actually found it really, really stressful, partly cos I could see she was stressed and partly cos I always find birthdays hard. She hired a rowing boat to take me to  a picnic! It was amazing, so sweet, but I felt a bit embarrassed - when we organised things for her it was because she was getting married. I'm just turning 30, which is slightly less exciting all round, if we're being honest. It ended at a supperclub, which was hilarious - the most disorganised chef I've ever met, but lovely food. However the star of the evening was certainly the hostess - wildly, wildly inappropriate, groped everyone (including my brother), stole the cream obscenely from my dessert (hrrrghh), invited some people back to her house, invited someone else to a tranvestite party, gave my poor, very reserved friend a 'beard massage' (at least as creepy as it sounds) and offered me cocaine. It was quite spectacular for a single evening's work. 

Now I'm 30 and need to make some decisions about the following:

1) What  do I want to do? Not happy in my current job. VOLUNTEER and have a think about where you can go next

2) Dating. Do it. Join Guardian soulmates tomorrow. 

3) Find a challenge: creative writing course or choir (trying choir on Thursday)

4) Save up for a place of your own

Took myself to dinner this evening as reward for getting through the day of period pains. It was a bit expensive but amazing, amazing food. L'Entranger, with this menu: http://www.etranger.co.uk/royal-albert-hall-prepost-theatre-menu/. The  steak tartare... god. It was amazing. Slow cooked yolk on top, this unbelievable, truffley, cheesy 'caesar dressing' (was more like puree), crispy, soft polenta chips, a pickle sorbet/cream thing, all the pickles and onions in gorgeous rows next to the steak... god it was good.  Oh, and the mandarin and coffee creme brulee with white chocolate ice-cream was to die for. I don't mean that metaphorically, I actually think I'd die for it. Or at least kill someone I didn't like very much for it. Sharp, creamy, bitter, sweet...I moaned a bit when I first ate it and had to reign it in as I was already the crazy lady on her own in the corner of the restaurant with the black stain on her top (still don't know where that was from, but I had been wandering round London attempting to accomplish several chores without success).

Now I'm going to watch the next episode of the superb Orange is the New Black (the main lesbian couple just FINALLY  got together, which was pretty exciting, though only plotwise, which shows me again how completely and unfortunately straight I am. I think I'd be much better at picking up women, so it's a shame.  

NYC

New York is exhausting, but incredible. I have no money left, but finding it hard to care. It's been about 10 days now. Spent the first week in hefty agent/editor meetings, which were extremely useful for the most part,, and terrifying occasionally. Sometimes I manage to forget how much publishing is about knowing the right people and (probably the reason why I forget this) how few of the right people I know. Worse than that even, sometimes I know the right people but don't know they're the right people. My favourite editor, the wonderful CZ, turns out to be horribly senior. I know that's sort of good, but then I become aware that it's good and it somehow turns our friendship a bit sour. I will sum up the meetings but now I am very tired, in my amazing tree/time themed room at the Carlton Arms Hotel (google it immediately, anyone reading, then book a flight to NY and come and ogle all the artwork. Until about five minutes ago, a cat was also sharing my bedroom with me. I love this place. Today I have...

 - Gone for brunch in Park Slope, Brooklyn - I had pastrami salmon (I know - weird in conception and if I'm honest, underwhelming in execution - there's probably a reason pastrami seasoning is used on beef not fish) and some excellent filter coffee.
 - Taken a load of books to the salon where I had my nails done a couple of days ago (I know, how Legally Blonde am I? Still fail to bend and snap though). Turned out my nail lady was a psychology student, and I was reading one of the books various agents had given me. Finished it while I was there and offered it around - I couldn't carry it home and it's quite a good book (SE Phillips being moving and funny as usual). The first lady was visibly confused, but the student got incredibly, gloriously excited - books are apparently very expensive in NY and she was overwhelmed to have an HB for free. I said I had lots of others (more agent submissions that I've now read) and that I'd bring them to her if she'd like - it was very nice to see somebody get so incredibly happy over books again - it's sometimes very easy to forget that books can still do that to people.
 - Bought a beautiful vintage scarf and got M&M a boardgame as thanks
 - Got the subway to Carlton Arms and claimed my room (they let you pick from whatever they've got so you can choose your favourite artwork)
 - Went to the MoMath (I know! It was a MATHS MUSEUM!!) So cool, very sadly only got there for the last half an hour so missed loads, but basically loads of really cool exhibits and games. Did rather miss the ex as he'd have loved it so, so much and been able to actually do the games, but it was still really fun.
 - Went to a scary bar, was about to pay 16 dollars for a cocktail in a place that charged 15 for 'carrot tartare' and called salt 'saline' when thankfully Maisie texted and I left the bar of overly-priced-shit for an abortive attempt to get to yoga
 - Ended up (somehow) in the Museum of Sex instead. Very enlightening. Not sexy, sadly. Did you know there's a slug that has a penis larger than its own body? After sex, the female eats the penis of the male. Sometime the male eats its own penis, just for fun. The penis does not grow back. I didn't know that until now either, and I was ok with my ignorance. There was, however, a rather fascinating, if grimily titillating exhibit on Linda Lovelace. Rather infuriating to watch the smug male pornstar glowing with life and satisfaction (short of wearing a massive billboard announcing 'I have hit the male jackpot!!  I get paid for sex! Yes! You understand me, my massive 70's moustache and my shouty billboard correctly! We actually get PAID for people to touch our penis' there was nothing he could have done to make the matter clearer) talking gleefully about Linda's difficulties and watching her downfall and general victimisation. Why must women (generally) feel so soiled and men so triumphant after having sex with many people? Bees indeed, hush The King and I.
 - Decided to go on a mini-Japanese trek - tried three different restaurants - highlights were white tuna (no idea, didn't think it existed), some amazing salmon roe, some tuna sashimi, and the crispy bits of a grilled squid. Nothing completely brilliant, though which was a shame. Lowlights were the tuna I'm sure had been frozen then defrosted and Tom, the rather-too-hands-on 57yr old drunk Italian man, who apparently is 'haunted' by Jewish women and who asked my age and length of holiday time twice, with different reactions each time.

Had intended jazz or comedy, but after probably a bit too much sake, realised I basically wanted to come back, lie on my bed and watch the third episode of Broadchurch. If anyone asks, I'm enjoying the awesome jazz quartet I'd looked up at Smalls jazz club. The thing is, going to things on your own in the evening is oddly tiring - think you have to really be in the mood. Everything's loud and the attention you most easily get isn't usually the kind you want.

RWA, romance, work trip, rant, will not win this one

So, after the delightful outpouring of a few weeks ago, I'm now in the US (no, I didn't run away). I had a meet up with the ex as he had insisted, which was dangerously nice, only to go to a wedding on Saturday and watch him meet somebody new. Things rather devolved after that, with much drunken crying on my side and an unfortunate bit of pointy-fingered 'you shat on me from a great height' and 'what was wrong with me' which is still, along with the image of the other girl's beautiful voice and black halterneck dress, waking me up occasionally at nights with a shudder. Anyway, it's done, dignity is unfortunately lost, and I remember, once again and hopefully for the last time, that I need to not see him. There is no good end to this, he doesn't know why he stopped trying but he does want to talk about how sad that is, I don't know why I changed what I wanted from him or why I put up with being treated nastily or why I keep being tempted back there in spite of EVERY BIT OF EVIDENCE showing that it doesn't work - being with him makes me miserable. The problem is dealing with that and understanding that it doesn't mean I'm worthless, or even not as good/cool/complete as him. I am a good person. Kind, intelligent, occasionally thoughtless and rude but basically well-intentioned and I can read very fast indeed. I'm just terribly frightened that I'll not get over him in time, that I'll just keep wondering why, if he's so sad (or was so sad) he didn't try to get me back. Even though I honestly believe that we aren't right for each other and if he had asked me I would have said no. Probably. I don't know because I can't actually imagine it happening, but I just really, really wanted the bit where he humbled himself at my feet and said what a total dick he was and could we start again and I said no. We've come close, but mostly he's just angry and resentful 'you told me I was a dick for two years' (he has a point) and then worse, on Saturday, being kind to me, 'yes, I did get her number. I'm sorry'. Oh Anna. Please stop this now. You weren't happy with him. I can't win this one and I have to let it go.

Huh. Just took a break from the rant and did something else and do immediately feel better. It's so strange but I think a good sign. Just keep remembering: you are better without him and you are a good, strong person. I think a week in San Antonio, a place where people use the term 'self-actualisation' without irony and with a z might be getting to me. Speaking of...

I'm on a work trip, my first ever, and have just finished a Texas conference.  My last night tonight, so I've had most of the day off, apart from an author lunch, and have explored a bit more (well, at all, as previous expeditions have been limited to finding restaurants for  authors). I went to see the Alamo, which was rather underwhelming as it's basically a garden and several stone walls, but they did show us an adorably earnest 1990s Historical Channel film, all 'there is no documented evidence for this event, but wasn't it awesome!!'), then went to Mexico market, which was fun, had a margherita at a famous bar, bought a street taco and watched a small boy fall off a rodeo bull, cheered on by his whole family.

San Antonio is a strange place - I wasn't keen at first as it seemed like it had taken all of its very interesting history and turned it into Disneyland (most of the conference is around a very strange area involving three different malls and a fake, bright blue river with terrible, shouting restaurants everywhere and pan flutes). Everything is scarily clean and they have 'tourist police' everywhere, who accost you the moment you might look even slightly unsure, 'Do you all need assistance ma'am?' Plus, the combo of the stifling, unbelievably humid heat and the freezing air conditioning is odd, and the food is incredibly Southern - a lot of cheese on everything, even/especially the salads. But the people are lovely, very warm indeed and after a while their friendliness, the heat and the immense portion sizes make sense - San Antonio is a generous, gracious, genuinely warm place and they're determined to keep it that way. I think that's something to be respected, particularly when it's compared to London's 'prove your commitment to us by staying here and paying obscene rent while we all ignore you, until one day you too want to stab people who stand on the wrong side of the escalator.' I'm pretty reluctant to go to New York actually, feels like stepping back into all the stress!
 
I promised myself I'd at least note down what I've  done as otherwise my  horrible memory will blank it out and replace it with vague wisps of emotion within a week. It's been exciting, though occasionally lonely (mostly people are there with others from their publishers) however being on my own has, I think, been extremely good for me. I always feel most myself when travelling and wondering around is just fantastic, when not late/too lost!

Tuesday eve - got in around 7.30 and went straight out to meet JQ, who is as effervescent and delightful and intelligent as her books indicate. She's tough though, in the way of authors who are famous and have had to get used to being courted. Ate an excellent steak in a strange place called Hotel Havana. Two mojitos down I stopped making any sense when the jet lag hit, but overall think it went well.

Wednesday - hmm. Finding this worryingly hard to recall. Ah yes, this was my weirdest day I think - fewest meetings and no idea really where to go! First entrance into the Rivercentre, a fairly vile conference centre hotel. Sudden transferral from sauna to fridge was a little off-putting, but met lovely blonde and pregnant agent who has some thoroughly good books and is just quite a generally cheery person to kick off the morning with (unlike Thursday's meeting, which was more like a gauntlet with excellent eggs at the end). Then took lovely author to lunch in a cafe, delightful and new and sweet and GMW's first acquisition. Lovely and long chat about the magnificent Tiffany Reisz and my first discovery of rubber  cheese on salads. Then met a conference legend, let's call her the conference godmother. She knows everyone and meeting with her was like being allowed into an exclusive (and reassuringly jewish) hall of fame. Then came back, bit dead, visited Havana again for food and tried to order light (crab salad and tomato soup). The salad was covered in vinegar and cheese to a quite incredible extent but the soup was extraordinary - so thick with cream that when I turned the spoon upside down it stayed put... Not my most successful of meals, tbh. Came back to an oddly large and quiet room that I'm now totally used to and never want to leave (what, live without a balcony and a river? Are you mad?)

Thursday - morning gauntlet. Very rewarding and not just because of the yummy breakfast but because the NY agent in question knows Everything. She was fascinating, terrifying and exhilarating. I felt like we ended up by getting on, but the jury's out as to how much this was helped by my walking over an air vent on the way back to the hotel in a short dress and having my very own Marilyn Monroe moment. Unfortunately I didn't react with the requisite 'oh dear me' and modest holding down of skirt but panicked, raised my arms and showed the world my assets. It was spectacular and I don't think the agent stopped laughing for the next three blocks, except for the bit when she complemented me on my underwear. JAK for lunch, which was awesome - she's thin and powerful. Amazon are picking her brains. Skipped out of an agent party and went to meet the lovely Laura - a San Antonio local who had offered help in finding my way around. Had far too many cocktails at an amazing bar, and started to slightly fall  in love with San Antonio. Ate a solitary steak while being flirted with at the bar (in Texas my attractiveness appears to have been magically increased - an English accent and being less than a size 20 are powerful weapons, it appears). Jo and Bryony in the evening, mourned Kiss but excellent to see them.

Friday (god this is boring, this is why I'm a rubbish diary writer) - the Pitches of Doom. They'd double booked me 15 times (system fail) so had authors pitch stories at me for hours. I don't understand pitching. It doesn't matter how nice (or otherwise) they are - until I've read what they've written it's basically all just noise. I also had the worst pitch of my life - phallus-phobia lady. Intense eyes, total commitment to her own insanity and a healthy dose of paranoia. She was special. Missed drinks with an agent who still hasn't replied to my grovels (oops) and then took KC out for dinner - another lovely author and the best food of all (any visitors to San Antonio - go to Bella on the River, it's fab). Watermelon, feta and cucumber salad with truffle oil and some gorgeous halibut. Very sexy author, oddly, I found myself with a faint crush, I think owing to the piles of strawberry blonde hair - I suspect i just never got over Nancy Drew.

Sat - an awkward breakfast with Forever, then EJ and the nicest chat of all. What a wonderfully intelligent, lovely lady, who then gave an amazing speech at the prize giving. Completely in love. Also, she sort of looks like Helen Hunt. Mediocre hotel dinner (gah, breadcrumbs on chickenwings gah) and then awkward prize giving. Very, very weird not having a publisher to sit with! my lovely editor friend did invite me, to be fair, but it was strange not having edited any of these authors - I miss so much being the primary editor - feel like I have given up the heart of my job. Though I suppose it does mean that I get to hold the fun lunches rather than the

Today - Alamo (as said)  and STUPENDOUS art gallery that I forgot to mention. Latino art, absolutely spectacular.

Right. I am exhausted and have to get up in five(ish) hours for the very early flight, and haven't packed or paid the hotel bill. Tis time to go. Till next time, internet.

swirting, myfeinn, wiprack, krartorian, sapien, glorgumant, gruckeskt are all words that are not words to describe this revolting feeling. Futureschmertzen? It's no good. Definitely used to be able to write about it but I'm so grindled tonight. Feels like nothing would ever be enough to fill the great big black hole of needinesss that is me. Pushing away friends so they don't reject me first. Like I'm made of jelly. Like I'm back in school and not quite cool or interesting enough. Looking over my friends' shoulders at school - clearly they're not cool enough if they're talking to me. Stupid, pretentious, not-quite-as-clever-as-she-seems-at-first basically unoriginal and, when one comes down to it, a bit shallow. Not capable of building a real relationship, at best sort of a worshipping audience of someone who eventually wanted more than admiration. Unable to write this without feeling embarrassed by it. Editing it (I mean, grindled? That's stupid. Why not just use a real word?). Spending my life in stories instead of actually working anything out in the real world. Now completely lost. Too many qualifiers. Definitely borderline alcoholic (or just Londoner). How about this for a Soulmates profile? Also, I like yoga. #everything. Going to Byron Burger (which I don't like, it's silly and the burgers are rubbish and everyone's loud in Farringdon) because I don't want to be alone. Missing my friends although they are here. Endlessly comparing my life to books. Not sure how to cope with the next few months because he has someone new and I don't. Totally over it though. Totally fine. Fucking fucking arse.

Oh dear. I don't know what to do. I don't think I don't know if I can cope with seeing him with beautiful dark-haired girl and happy. Not on holidays, not being on emails he sends about gigs. I feel so stupid for not being more over this. It's been almost TWO YEARS. TWO YEARS. And I've been trying to do so many things. But essentially, it comes down to the fact that it's clearly easier for him to find someone. I'm exhausted. Everything is hard. Work, family, friends, him. Even home. Rented home with one housemate who appears to no longer want to talk to me (not that I'm exactly a nice easy barrel of laughs at present. Actually a barrel of laughs sounds scary). I feel like getting older means increasing distance from everyone and everything and the more I try to grab at things, the further away they are.

Breaking Bad, sexy books, The Lemon Grove, wizened

I read a very sexy book yesterday: The Lemon Grove. I read so many sexy books for work that it's quite odd to find one that really gets to me, but this was shockingly hot and a little bit wrong. Amazing combo of beautiful, evocative and literary writing with sexual excess and loss of control - just gorgeous and rather a shame they've packaged it so innocently! I do hope I find someone to have amazing sex with before I grow wizened, it would be a shame not to take advantage. Just got back from a holiday in Turkey, which was difficult, but very nice in places. I hate that my dad's ill. I hate Parkinsons. I know I should be mature and supportive and good but I don't feel like that. I feel like an angry child. In other news, Mum went on her skydive on Sunday. I missed the actual jump thanks to poor planning, a terrible hangover and the apparent two and a half hour lunch break that train drivers in Peterborough like to take. Still, seeing her afterwards was nice - she was glowing and seemed way more relaxed, which was wonderful. Currently watching Breaking Bad. It depresses me as a show, but think I just need to power through to the end, it's the only way to get through of poor Jessie (*sigh) and his doomed faith in Malcolm in the Middle's dad. Here goes again, episode six of the final season - Walter is no doubt about to be a douche.

publishing woes, lack of sleep

Failing rather seriously to sleep tonight. I think I'm tired, but just can't seem to switch my brain off. It scares me  very much how much of my time and energy is spent on work or worrying about the future. I'm sure the world used to have more richness to it. I definitely used to think more about things outside of myself. Maybe work does count on that front, but somehow, lying here and worrying whether the Samantha Young is going to sell the required 9,600 ebooks in order too break even (because no matter what sales said at the time I DEFINITELY overpaid - 22000 pounds was insane for that book) doesn't have quite the gravitas of attempting to understand Kant's Ethics (though to be fair, I never did manage that). The most depressing thing about it (work, I mean) is that I feel so helpless. Lacking marketing, publicity or significant sales support (ie, Budget - an elusive, mythical creature who I've heard rumours occasionally blesses JK Rowling and the literary division with its presence), I'm basically just putting books up on Amazon and surfing off the author's pre-existing popularity. It's not good enough, and it's certainly not good enough to justify taking 75% of ebook royalties. It's also horrible, and immensely frustrating, to watch a book you actually care about and think is good (admittedly,  they are in the minority of what I publish, but they do exist) and know that in spite of all your hopes and promises to the contrary, you have almost no power to help it reach new readers. Again, it's not right and it's not sustainable. And I'm so incredibly sick of it, I have to either leave or figure out a way that we can add more than we currently do.

Sam's book is here at present:

• Amazon Bestsellers Rank: #245 Paid in Kindle Store (See Top 100 Paid in Kindle Store)
• #3 in Kindle Store > Books > Literature & Fiction > Erotica > Romantic Erotica
• #6 in Kindle Store > Books > Literature & Fiction > Women's Fiction > Sagas
• #6 in Books > Fiction > Erotica
• 
  
• Not bad. Not great, but not bad. 

Maybe freelance editing is the only way to go? But the thing is, I do feel like there are publishing jobs out there where you get to make a difference, where you actually put a campaign together that people have time to focus on and that they are excited about. Where we aren't publishing ridiculous numbers of books at once and competing, or having to operate within guidelines that are set up millions of miles away. Maybe even somewhere where I get to work with the authors again. It's just that trying to get those jobs feels impossible - most of the independents are literary, whereas I like commercial books. I do feel that after this job, managing fewer than 12-20 books a month will just feel AMAZING. Anything where I have time to be creative would feel amazing. Equally, somewhere where I care about the books would be pretty special as well. 

Ok. I shall send my cv to independent publishers. There are still some around, after all, and working outside of London wouldn't be the end of the world. I do think that maybe I'm coming back to life a little. 

• 
  
•  

some sadness and some happy things

So, on  Wednesday night I got horribly, horribly drunk, ended up in a pub with Fish, blurted out that I missed him and said maybe we could... Luckily, I suddenly realised that I didn't really have an ending to that suggestion. He might miss me, and I him, but we've still sorted nothing - what would we do, start dating again? As I foundered, so did he. A week ago, apparently, he would have leapt at the chance (!) but now, over the past week he's started seeing someone else. It's 'complicated' but he still loves me. However, it was a horrible, painful relief and I feel like a bit of an idiot, but at least it's over now. Even more than that, I think I blurted it out because I could tell something was different. Think there's a reason I haven't said anything over the past few months when I could tell he was feeling the same - I knew it wasn't the right thing, so I waited until it was safe, if humiliating. Also, he's getting help and getting himself sorted, which is wonderful, no matter what else. Anyway. Enough is enough is enough of this. This is the last post containing his name for the next six months. I'm not going to see him, and I'm going to do my best not to think of him. I'd better buy a new laptop, get my desk back and stop wearing the clothes he bought me - going to try and build a life without him. But, just for the record, men suck.

Good things this bank holiday:
 - Laughing with Allie on the South Bank and eating at a lovely restaurant
 - Watching Breaking Bad in bed for lots of today
 - Talking to Maisie on Skype
 - Seeing Lucy's new flat and drinking strawberry vodka
 - Holding another Game of Thrones evening (Daenerys-themed - lamb with Ras el hanout spices on skewers - it was delicious)
 - Not going to Cambridge
 - The sun
 - Talking to Mum on Thursday
 - Hopefully not dying alone, even though I'm two months away from 30 and very scared indeed
 - Seeing Hannah's baby (though, unfortunately, it does look a little like a troll)
 - Writing this list
 - Rereading one of my travelling diaries

Tomorrow I'm volunteering for the second time with a school in West Norwood. We have about four children to look after each, and tomorrow they're going to be interviewing us to learn some presentation and communication skills. My lot (Charlene, Michelle, Amchaya (or something like that) and Tyrone) seem like a nice bunch. I was terrified, but they are nowhere near as frightening as the Camp America girls. I don't think any children anywhere will ever be as frightening as the Camp America ones, which I suppose is good practice.

Just joining Guardian Soulmates officially. Dating, here I come.  

missing and separation

It's Sunday night and I'm a bit drunk and also maudlin. Lovely lunch/dinner thing at Adam's but god I miss Fish. So badly that it's ridiculous at the moment. I know we sorted nothing and that nothing would be different if we got together but all the same I ache for him. It literally hurts my stomach, missing him.  Adam met a girl on Tinder to will try doing the same. For a boy, obviously. Unless she's a really pretty girl. Me? Desperate? No, not at all.

Ramble and news and Reaper

Rather depressing outburst on Friday - I'd apologise but luckily no one I know reads this! Apologies instead to my future self. Barring the world self-destructing I will probably read this back and be a bit ashamed. Just got back from my Dad's 71st birthday, which was actually really nice. Adam and I had taken a night each as Mum was on holiday, so we had a very relaxed weekend until my mum came back, at which point suddenly everything became extremely stressful. I can't decide whether she was always just difficult, or whether she's become more miserable and so harder to be around. She currently has a constant air of need and passive aggressive anger at the situation she's in. It must be unimaginably horrible to have to shift in your marriage from partner to carer, so I do understand the rage, but I don't know how to help other than being there a lot. She's doing incredibly well, actually, and after a few hours she calms down, however from the moment of her entrance everybody tensed up, including Dad. Within a few moments she'd mentioned that perhaps I could stay in Chorleywood till Tuesday, told Adam off for not buying a paper, passively-aggressively suggested he mow the lawn ('I was hoping Adam would do it...'), unloaded the dishwasher, asked me lots about Fish and started questioning why Adam and I felt it necessary to be 'pissed out of our minds' before we could enjoy ourselves on nights out (fair point for most of England but not ideal fodder for 11am on a sunny Sunday morning straight after 'hello and how was the holiday'). It's exhausting, and felt much clearer than usual after such a relaxing couple of days. Adam's going to suggest she find some support groups, with the hope that now we've both suggested it (and I've sent links) she might try doing it.

In other news, I've just finished The Saga of the Exiles again, which wasn't quite as good as I remembered - actually think Fish might be right in saying they are slightly less strong than the Mileu trilogy. It just drags a little bit and things work out a little too easily at the end. I also went to see Under The Skin, a terrifying, weird, slow and exhausting film that I think I really, really like. However, it's taken me a few days to come to that conclusion. It was a little like 2001, though with sex; a similarly eerie, fantastic portrayal of alien consciousness. Unlike the film of Enders Game, which is a pile of total crap. Can't work out if the book is worse than I remember, or if it just doesn't lend itself to film. Harrison Ford was the only good thing in it - the poor grumpy man pulled his scenes off beautifully and seemed to do his utmost to distance himself from the rest of the car crash. I'm still worryingly obsessed with  Reaper, a phone game that continues to be cute, addictive and which I'm annoyingly bad at. Also, in the story version they killed everyone that poor Reaper loved and left him wandering alone in the darkness (and that was the reward for winning :( ).

I have a potential Tinder date on Wednesday, so we'll see. I'm aware I'm still basically in love with Fish (like Voldemort, it's important to say his name often to banish the demons), but since there doesn't appear to be a solution to this (he keeps saying how much he misses me but is not exactly throwing himself in front of me and asking what he can do to make us work, and even if he did I don't know what I'd say, or how I could be reassured enough that he wouldn't just vanish again), I am desperately hunting for distraction. Sadly, desperation in any form isn't that attractive, so slightly worried I'm coming across as quite odd, rather than cool, mysterious and flirty. Ah well.

Ooh, just found a new sword on Reaper - how exciting!

Ahem.

Right, this has been a rather boring post, I suspect, but trying my best to keep writing as much as I can (which apparently isn't much, because I suffer from extreme laziness).

Hi Fish

I’m missing you rather horribly at the moment and it’s messing me up. I want to talk to you about things I’m worried about – without you I just keep going over them in my head. The silly thing is, I know that if we were still together, the way we were by the end, you wouldn’t be interested in hearing what I was thinking about. So it’s even more annoying that I know you might be more interested now and that I miss your advice and voice in my head so much.

I feel as though everything around me is changing and I’m just stuck. I know there are lots of things I should be able to do to kick me out of this, but I can’t seem to make myself do them. I should join a squash club. I should try and audition in a choir. I should spend some time writing. I should try dating with more commitment. Instead I’m very afraid that I’m just waiting for us to start again.

Meanwhile, as a 29yr old woman, I know that my chances to have a family are shrinking. That people look down on me for not having a partner. That I want children and to be needed and to have a rich, full life full of people I love but instead feel like my deep need for those things is instead going to drive everyone away. I’m basically a mess. I also feel like London is quite unfair in that you will get more desirable as all those 24yr old concubine types realise how awesome and rich you are, while I’ll get more and more desperate and end up in a corner somewhere buried under a pile of books. It makes me feel like I need to do something straight away if we are to get back together, before you realise this inequality. However, I’m also aware that this is quite mad, and that to get back with someone ‘before they realise they can do better’ probably isn’t the way to lasting bliss, especially since I know from bitter experience that you are not somebody who is good at reassuring me or building up my self-esteem when it feels wobbly. With you, I need to be in the position of strength – you only ever seem to really want me when you feel like you can’t have me.

Currently, I appear to be fighting tears at my desk, which isn’t ideal, tbh. Particularly since I’m meant to be writing cover copy about a paranormal historical romance set in Victorian London.