A realistic will

Not sure how much of actual worth I'll have to leave behind when I depart this life, but there are some things I just know I'll be passing on.

The cycle of faffing

Woke up with the best intentions this morning, as I always do. I was gonna do some exercise, clean the whole house, make a million pounds, and stumble upon a cure for cancer, all before 8am. But then before I knew it it was 11am and I was boiling the kettle for the umpteenth time and I'd achieved nothing.

It's fine though, because once I've made one more cup of tea I'll be totally ready to crack on and conquer the world. After one final scroll through Instagram.

How many more times?

The other day, as I was eating a not-so-great pizza, I got to thinking about how many more pizzas I would get to eat in my lifetime, assuming I continue to eat them at the current rate and that I live to a ripe old age. I eat about one a month, so if I live another 50 years, that's 600 pizzas. Quite a lot really.

But then I started thinking about how many times I might do other things, like go to the seaside with my mam and dad. And that number was considerably smaller.

It all sounds pretty morbid, and I guess it kind of is, but I find reminders like this incredibly useful for making sure I make the most of my time on Earth with the people I love.

Making a baby: the fantasy vs the reality

We made two! And they're both swimming merrily round my belly as I type. Coming to Earth sometime in January 2018.

Me with music VS me without

The other day I was sat in my studio trying to get some work done and everything just felt so hard. All I could think about was all the work I had to do, all the deadlines I had to meet, and the dust under my desk that desperately needed hoovering. Pretty soon, I found myself spiralling into an existential crisis, questioning all of my life choices, and planning on staying locked up in the house for the next 5 weeks, just to get everything done.

Then I remembered that this thing called music existed, put some on, had a dance around and slapped myself around the chops. Life doesn't need to be so hard after all.  

How my face feels after a facial vs how my face actually looks after a facial

I treated myself to a facial the other day. After my panic at realising there was a foot massage included subsided, it was an incredibly relaxing and enjoyable experience. As I lay there after it was done, I felt like a new woman. My skin felt lighter, brighter and clearer, and I was sure that when I summoned the energy to get up from the massage bed and look in the mirror that I would be blinded by my new-found radiance and beauty. So imagine my surprise when, rather than coming face to face with a woman reborn, I saw what looked suspiciously like my normal self. Only a little redder. And blotchier. As if I'd stood too close to the kettle while being lightly slapped around the cheeks.