by the age of twenty-four...

“I was really going to be something by the age of twenty-three,” said Lelaina, from the movie Reality Bites. I find myself similarly at a loss when looking at my life which is obviously not yet amounting to a whole lot, and myself, as yet so unformed. Except that I’m not twenty-three anymore – I’m twenty-four. My situation, dear readers, is even more dire than that of Lelaina.

It is raining heavily outside – if the wind was just a little stronger I’d say we were having a storm. As it is, it’s just heavy rain. And I am sitting in front of my computer, at the office, with absolutely nothing to do. I have googled every single thing I can think to google. I have made all possible lists – grocery list, clothing wish-list, plan for my life list, plans for the weekend list, number of boys/men I have kissed/slept with list (there is a secret system of colour-coding for the two distinctions), countries I have visited list and countries to be visited list. I have eaten both my morning snack and my afternoon snack, and it’s still an hour till lunchtime. I could possibly drink more coffee but then I will develop the shakes and will not even be able to type up my own random ramblings for lack of anything else to do.

I realize that there are other office workers doing random shitty work who would love for it to let up a little so that their days wouldn’t be filled with so much random shittiness. I was once one of those office workers, in the not so distant past – a month ago, to be exact. Right now, though, I would give my right eye for a little random shitty work to do. I never thought boredom could be so soul-destroying.

But what I object to more than the boredom itself is the result, which is over-thinking, over-analyzing, obsessing and finally doom and gloom. I could handle being bored if I could empty my mind, Buddha-like, and be filled with peace and tranquility. Or maybe I would be able to handle the boredom if I could at least fill my mind with great thoughts, all ready to take the world by storm and make it a better place. Instead, I mentally whinge and whine about my life – shitty job, shitty/complicated/non-existent (depending on the week) love life, shitty apartment, shitty finances, and so on and so forth. These days, most things about my life are shitty, to my mind.

Eight years ago I assumed that, by the age of twenty-four, I would be happily married. I also assumed that I would be doing something relatively worthy work-wise, although the actual work I’d be doing always remained nebulous. I would be living in a nice house, in a nice area, driving a nice car to my nice job and generally all would be niceness. Vague, but – well, nice.

But I find myself in an ugly cramped office, alternately doing nothing or slaving away at petty and meaningless little tasks. My apartment, although in a beautiful area, is undergoing slow and not-so-elegant decay – it is the best my flat mate and I can afford. Yes, I am at my age still sharing with a flat mate, not a boyfriend or a husband, as the purported love of my life has left. But, fear not, no need to look for anyone else, as the love of my life, despite deserting me, still calls and e-mails, full of love, and generally keeps my hope alive while I know there is in reality no hope. So sometimes I crack and go on a date or dates, only to find that all of the men I’ve dated are a) strange, b) assholes, c) massively egotistical or d) all of the above. Generally, all of the above.

None of which is so awful, really. And it would be amusing, at least in anticipation, if this were the start of some chick lit novel. The depressed, angry, disappointed-in-love office girl, life filled to the brim with drudgery, who with caustic and bitter humour recounts the more embarrassing, dire situations of her current work life, social life and attempts at a love life; only to find, in the process, the amazing job that is her Purpose in Life and along with it, The One for Her. Forever.

However, this is not a chick lit novel, it is not fiction – it is my sad truth. But I am determined to change it, whether or not my actual circumstances change. So, contrary to expectations the start of this post may have created, I will not be writing caustic, bitterly humorous accounts of my failings in life and love. Rather, I am going to use this blog as a conscience to make me change my life and make it more joyful. There is a lot for me to be joyful about as it is, and so much more joy to be found.