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Sloppy is as Sloppy does

I'm pretty sure the only consistent thing about me is how inconsistent I am with documenting and writing down what's going on in my head. I've always had a problem with it. I grew up with so many storybook and TV characters clutching a diary or journal, filling it with stories, witty jokes, the tales of falling in and out of love and sometimes even beautiful drawings. Admittedly, these characters had much more interesting childhoods than mine, but that inspired me to want to do the same, have a diary as my own sanctuary of nonsense, to value it more than my own life, writing down every thought and feeling to one day have it found and revelled over, a lost secret coming to fruition at long last. I have this obsession with immortalising my thoughts, always have. The trouble with that is, I get bored VERY easy. Which has now led to a vast collection of notebooks, diaries, journals and sketchpads littering every room I've ever lived in. Every new notebook reeks with the promise that I will pour my mind into it, destroy it and actually do it some justice.


That never happens. To this day I have never completed a diary, never filled a sketchpad, never fulfilled any of their purposes. Most of the ones I buy are too pretty to use, I just end up staring at the pages, admiring how pristine they are, imagining all the things I could put in them. But sometimes imagining it is enough and they just gather dust and remain untouched. Every writing project I come up with, I feel the need to buy a brand new book, dedicated soley to that idea, in a way it spurs me on to actually develop the project, but after the hype dies down, so does my obsession with the book.


You may be thinking: What the hell does this have to do with anything? WELL I'm actually admitting I'm deeply flawed and fundamentally a sloppy person (clock the title) so let me have this, the internet nowadays begs for people to be accountable for who they actually are, and I'm more than happy to oblige... for I am a sloppy gal.


Being dragged kicking and screaming into my 20's with a pat on the back and very little knowledge on how the world actually works and what you're actually supposed to do, made me very concious of who I actually am... turns out the only thing I know for certain is that I am shit at keeping diaries and writing blogs... the rest just comes and goes like a very temperamental breeze. I'm constantly worried I'm not doing enough to be myself, like my make-up isn't wild enough, I'm not expressing myself enough, I'm not acting like a boss-ass bitch enough, or I'm not dressing jazzy enough. It's all very exhausting trying to navigate. I'm too tired to be a boss-ass bitch at the moment okay? I'm also too tired to keep up the pretence that I'm 'quirky' or 'different' on Instagram.


ANYWAY, I would love this blog (number 4 in my lifetime) to actually live the dream of my younger self, who religiously read Jacqueline Wilson and Karen McCombie dreaming she could be exactly like the characters who kept diaries and told tales of their crazy and entertaining life. But I gotta remember, they are fiction, and my track record up until this point, has been half-arsed at best.

So who knows what will come of this, but I think it's good actually branding myself honestly this time, and that is a sloppy person who lives sloppily and is getting on okay so far. So... stay tuned I guess?


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