Following on from the last entry, I though it'd be wise to provide a bit of background.
I did what everyone does in my family; GCSE's, A Levels and then off to university. I didn't really stop to think about it, which in hindsight was my first mistake. So I did a BA in History, which was the subject I was good at rather than something I wanted to make a career out of (possible career: history teacher, errr... thats it). I had a good time at uni, met some great people, but in the summer before the start my final year, while I was back at home, I met L. I then spent the entire of my final year bombing up and down the M6 visiting him, and then moved in with him when I graduated. Looking back, the idea of having to be completely self-reliant after university must have sub-consciously terrified me and I needed someone to lean on. L was older than me, had his own business and home, so I guess he provided me with a ready-made life meaning I didn't have to forge out my own. I was offered a job doing administration at a nursing home in the same village, which paid a decent amount and gave me plenty of free time to spend with L. Really, looking back, I just devoted myself to L in a quite ridiculous way, I just completely absorbed myself into his life. None of this means I didn't love him, I really did, and he made me incredibly happy for a good few years, but I suppose gradually the stability that I must have been attracted to became stifiling and I ened up feeling like I'd nailed myself into a life I didn't necessarily want forever. We split up two years ago. Happily we've managed to reach a point now where we can be pretty good friends, so its all good.
Its just my luck to live in a pretty nice area, and couldn't afford to get my own place when I moved out of L's, so didn't really have much choice but to move into my parents, who only lived a mile up the road. Happily, the granny flat they'd built for granny (naturally) was vacant since good old gran had shuffled off the mortal coil the year before, so I do at least have my own space: bedroom, living room, kitchen and bathroom. And my parents are pretty cool, they don't bother me too much, except to collect the (always late) rent.
So to sumise, nearly six years after gaduating, I live in a granny flat, make a living invoicing old ladies (all the men die before they get to the nursing home stage), and do the standard go-out-and-get-drunk at the weekend. Oh, I also do a couple of nights a week as a barmaid at an old duffer's pub in th nearest town. I'm not miserable, I'm generally fairly content, but I just always thought there'd be more than this. That I'd be more than this. Hence the decision that I need t stop lying around and actually take some action, otherwise I'm just a moaner with a computer.
So, what action have I taken so far? Well, today has been as follows; lay in bed 'til 11am, went to the supermarket, laughed at the chavs who'd rolled their Vauxall Nova into a hedge (all unhurt and standing looking sheepish at the side of the road talking to the police), had dinner with the parents and eldest bro, who was visiting with his kids, fell asleep on the sofa, ate tea, did some laundry. Thats it. Not productive in the slightest. And I've smoked four marlboro lights. A roaring start.