The ‘fear of missing out’ used to apply in my life, to those parties I couldn’t attend because my granny was having her sixty-something birthday (I was a bitch). Or when I wanted to go clubbing and a bald headed 24 year old driving licence didn’t cut the mustard. As I have reached my twenties it has morphed to become something far more philosophical. FOMO now is the fear of missing out by making the wrong choices. It is about future events I will miss because I’ve decided to a) get married at 22 because some girl at school did and maybe that’s what everyone is doing now b) decided to say no to all respected professions in the vain hope I’ll do something slightly edgier c) do nothing because this dilemma fundamentally stunts me (the irony). When you have fabulous relatives who swan around being arty models it is hard to get carried away into thinking you genuinely could be like them and that it’s moreover something you want. I have to convince myself over again that everyone has real-life-FOMO and to get over it. Artsy models have the same dilemma but then perhaps it’s not FOMO at all, perhaps it’s FOMO’s better known bedfellow – the familiar jealously.
– I genuinely got confused between where my life ended and Friends began.
– why would you build the castle so close to the motorway?
– I thought ‘lmnop’ was a letter.
– …. guilty knitting, guilty knitting.
– I was 13 and my breasts were just developing.
– If I took naked pictures one day it would be little old me, then I would be Kim Kardashian.
– Do cows get tired in the summer because it’s light for so long?
– You never realise how warm your urine is until it runs down your leg.
– I don’t want to call him my boyfriend because he’s like 90.
– If you had really long hair, I would brush it for you.
– I know shit about shit.
– You’ve dealt with it this far I’ll deal with it next far.
– I just had a flash forward premonition of me throwing up in a taxi.
– I feel like there gonna be a world event.. I mean not necessarily a bad one… but I’m apprehensive.
– LFTW = No not London Fashion Week with a typo, this is living for the weekends. When you actually have a 9-5 job this struggle is real. But drinking in the week is also totally necessary.
– My dad passed away a month ago from a two and a half year ‘battle’ (as people like to call it) with cancer. A brain tumour to be specific and at age 53. So the second thing I have learnt isthat unfortunately I have one thing in common with Kim Kardashian and that the people you love most are not infallible and you will miss them unbearably.
– If you work in a golf club where the members are 90% rich, bald men, a bar job is not a real job. They are also allowed to remind you of this at every opportunity, whilst standing in front of people for whom the job is a ‘real’ job. But apparently trading in intangible debt is totally worth everyone’s time.
– Book clubs are totally awesome. They involve meeting up with friends, totally rinsing each others choices and drinking. What a brilliant idea.
– This is apparently the best you are ever going to look. This worries me as I can not for the life of me remember when I last saw my hip bones or thought ‘hey – I am definitely going to wear that sequin crop top tonight’. With fellow twenty years olds including Candice (pictured) this is doubly worrying.
To be continued….
Apparently I am supposed to give you an idea of what I intend to blog about. Considering I decided on this pursuit around 3 hours ago in a sauna with my mother (clean thoughts please), I think it may be rather ‘organic’. The title to the blog however indicates a certain strain of thought – my twenties. I am currently 22, an ex law student and pretty much have no idea what to ‘do’ with my life. Ideas
hotly debated in the sauna this morning were – I will invest in the bread shop down the road. Make it look edgy, keep on the baker – win him over with dragons den style pitch. Will think hard over next blog post, perhaps about how Radio 3 nearly made me top myself as I had to listen to ‘Manchester’s improving daily’ by a lady named Jennifer who owes me 3 minutes of my time (she is so wrong). Or perhaps about my obsession with corgetti (my attempt at an LA lifestyle in rainy Birmingham). Bet you can’t wait. Namaste.