Last year, I made two resolutions:
1) Find my first proper job in magazines. Well, I can safely say I’ve failed spectacularly on that front. Two near misses and a couple of freelance never-got-published articles ranks as neither glittering nor fabulous really, does it? It’s both depressing and scary that I’m still working at the hotel; I can see how easy it is for people to get stuck in a rut and let go of their dreams. But I’m not giving up, not yet.
2) Find the boy from the bus stop. Technically, I guess I can tick this one off. I’ve learned to my peril that you need to be super-specific when you make New Year’s Resolutions – but how was I supposed to know I needed to specify that my best friend in the world must not find my soulmate first and fall in love with him too? Thanks for nothing, Universe. You suck big donkey balls.
So my only resolution this year?
To work out how to fall out of love.