So its October and some how I ended up turning 24.
Two hundred and eighty something days, in to horse-some year. Now where are all my favourite ‘NewYear, New Me’ enthussiasts? You know, the January Facebook warriors? The holier-than-thou, motivational preachers, flooding our timelines with there google snatched words of self empowerment. Well isn’t this your year? Your time, to make waves, part oceans?… And whats that? Oh yes, a cricket surfing, tumble weed.
God I hate those cluckers.
Ask yourself, what have you really achieved this year?
Did you hit your target waist line? Or was the LA fitness direct debit, the first thing to hit the scrap heap, when the realisation dawns, that your still a few K deep into your over draft, on January freaking 28th.
Did you kick your crack habit? Or is your bedroom still resembling a knock off instillation, of Tracey Emin’s confessional art.
Did you get commissioned for the 12page spread in Tattler? Or are you simply riddled with distress, because an algorithmic online gallery didn’t accept your murkily lit, down blouse image.
OK, so I sound a little syndical huh? Truth be told, I love a good goal, just as much as the next person. But if your gonna come galloping over the mountians, into January. With the red arrows in tow, imprinting your smoke signal resolutions into the stratosphere; at least follow flipping through!
A new resolution?… No resolutions! Now stop setting your self up, for such socially strung out failure. Just work hard and boast later.
Happy month of pumpkins.
With Love Raphaella x