Monday, 12 February 2018

A Letter To My Future Self

This weekend marked Steven's 29th birthday. It was spent with copious amounts of alcohol and sweets which we ate until we felt sick. We were essentially regressing. There was a Colin the Caterpillar cake and everything.

I got an email as well - an email from myself which I sent on his birthday two years ago. I didn't open it because I was scared that all the things inside it which I would have hoped for myself two years ago are absolutely not going to have come true. I'm going to write another one today for five years time, because if I'm any worse off in five years than I am today then something has gone seriously wrong.

I think I need to tackle my fears of failure so I'm going to read the letter. 
*deep breathe.*

Well, it actually wasn't that bad at all! In fact, it was a little funny. When I wrote it I was at Miss Selfridge, and was hoping I was a 'lady of leisure' now. Not far off, though perhaps not by choice! I had hoped to have finished my book, which although I am far off from, I have made good progress in the last few moths. (All this extra time being unemployed comes in handy.)

I hoped to have a ring on my finger, which I don't, but Steven and I are in the best place since we started dating following a rocky patch and the end of last year, and we're stronger than ever. We're both so happy, and that's the most important thing.

I'm at the salary bracket that I hoped to be at, which is great, and I even have holidays booked which I reminded myself to organise. 

The big sign off read, 'Also hope you're still going to the gym a lot. If not, get off your lazy ass and get exercising, I can't be dealing with having to be fat as well as miserable in the future.'

Well, I'm not, but I'm going to get off my ass and work out today because it's what I wanted for myself two years ago and the only person I'm letting down is me. Ya fuckin' hippo.

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