S said I should be less party-animal, more vulnerable on my blog. And I always do what I'm told.
So the truth: I'm feeling a little down, and I don't know why. I mean, on the surface life is good: I got some freelance work today, which is the result of a week at the networking grindstone, and I've met nice people but I just feel: removed. Watching the world happen to me. I do have an underlying school-playground-wrong-team feeling about the Guardian competition and Tom's response. Which is kinda cool, if I'm not involved. And it is funny. I guess.
See, if I want to be an opinion writer of any repute, I have to have balls or whatever the female equivalent is. People will inevitably like or not like me and my views and I'm theoretically old/big enough to take it. But when Cal wrote about me (in relation to the competition) my initial thought was "shit. Your worst fear is that no-one likes you, and then you go to the internet, and find out it's true." It wore off, after a couple of hours. But it's strange: I alternate between the twin states of confident and locking-myself-in-the-house-shy (which people on both sides will find hard to believe) but I'm sick of trying to do the stuff I want to do. I just want to be discovered. I want a stylish weekend supplement to call me and say they like my stuff. Or even an online site: I want someone to pay me to write a column because I love writing and want to earn real money from it, but I'm worried that I'm just talking shit now.
I know that I used to be good at something, I just can't remember what it is. And I'm sick of coming second for jobs, or being told that I'm overqualified, and I really have to finish my novel and I've been hiding from my writing teacher for months. Oh, and I could lose some weight. Time of the month? Surely not...
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