If there were ever a reason, even more than their birthday cheese cards, to spend a ridiculous amount of money in Paperchase, it will be for the cost of the yearly pledge one tries to make in starting a diary. And when choosing a diary is somewhat the epitome of starting out, you really can’t settle for anything less than Paperchase‘s gold-plated diary selection. Not that it’s even difficult to drain your pockets in that store anyway, seeing as even their wrapping paper probably costs just as much as the present in the paper, that you’ve endeavoured to keep as far under the £20 spending limit as possible. But there you are, 30 minutes later (these diary decisions take a surprisingly large amount of time), already feeling the extortionate spending blow, because you just wanted the diary that had the fucking pigeons on.
Not that a standard wad of lined A5 paper, bound together with standard ‘Dad-diary’ casing, doesn’t do equally as good a job… We all know we need those colourful, motivating, pretty pigeons on them for that diary-writing, creative flare.
Odds are, you’re probably one of the 99.9% of people that go full out *puts on posh urban voice* Hard As A Mofo, or HAM, in those initial, positive diary-intention stages. The writing motivation is there (thanks to those pigeons on the cover edging you on) and you’re finding it somewhat imperative to ensure you include an hour-by-hour account of your day and thus filling up almost an entire page per entry… Even bowel movements apparently become a somewhat essential and relevant requirement in said daily account.
Scrambling through old drawers in my bid for a productive Sunday yesterday, I stumbled across my diary that fits the bill of this entire introduction to this post – minus one or two pigeons and perhaps only briefly touching of the week’s bowel movements. (I was mid-celiac testing at the time of writing.) The diary stretched for all of 15 entries over the course of 17 days, thus slotting me perfectly within the 99.9% of trash-ridden diaries that never fulfilled its destiny. What a waste of £14.99.
Glaring back at me in between the lines of July 2016 was a pitiful, eating-disorder-ridden, shell of a human, gushing out the guilt of the 1 calorie fly accidentally swallowed, on yet another casual 12 mile run. I’d grumble that I had to go out with friends and sidestep routine, whimper that I had no energy to do anything and moan that I’d only run 60km that week. There was no expression to my entries but instead just a sorry account of someone who was seriously unhappy and seriously unwell.
It was incredibly eye-opening to read over who, what and where I was at this time last year and reiterating to myself (when times get a little tougher), of how far I really have come from then to now.
For everyone that knew me last year, apologies that it was me back then you had to get to know and deal with. I’d probably not even noticed I’d gotten to know you anyway (soz) because I was genuinely only interested in the scales, my weight and how best to get rid of all of it.
For everyone that knows me now, let’s just say I could equally send apologies, but I’m not even close to that person I was last year, so if you can’t stand me now… then well, we’ve got no hope anyway. #HaterzGonnaHate.
And shout out for everyone that’s known me before, during and after; aren’t you just a lucky bunch for having me in your life for such a long time.*
I’m sure I’ll be joining in with many more of you in the ambitious bid to start a diary again at some point soon.
*(Thank you for dealing with me.)