The update

I haven't blogged in a while yet again. I'd love to find some excuses but I have none other than a few vows of silence. I can't talk about work due to signed contracts, I can't talk about friendships due to a severe telling off the other day and I can't talk about relationships because it'll make me seem bitter. I'm left with not a large amount to talk about...

I'm exhausted. Mentally and physically exhausted. Teaching is the only profession I find where you are literally thrown into the deep end and watched whilst you sink or swim. None of this work experience/training malarky, you are left with the kids and watched whilst you rock silently in the corner whilst some kid named after an Italian city throws paper aeroplanes at your head (this hasn't happened to me yet). I love it however. Every week I'm realising more and more that I don't dread the mornings as much as I used to... they (dare I say it) excite me? Not that I don't miss journalism. I miss writing, working to deadlines and generally just feeling a bit important.

On that note it's hard to once again admit to myself that I'm also romantically back to stage one. Blogging about ones love life I find rather foolish but then again it also provides a sense of therapy. Honestly? It's getting bad. There comes a point where you start to self analyse and blame yourself. There's only so many times you can make the excuse about it being someone else's fault. For years my friends told me it was the men I chose but the recent past has taught me that that is far from true. I personally think it's me that causes this commitment-phobe growth inside a person. That like a cancer I slowly attack the immune system into defeat. Wow that was a little dark.
In other words my confidence has just been severely dented. I've never been one for clubs for example. I hate the meat market idea and the fact that I immediately revert to my 14 year old self, standing by the side at a school disco whilst I hold handbags of the girls chosen to dance. This to me seems to be a great metaphor for that part of my life. I went out over the weekend to a club for the first time properly in months. I hated every minute of it. It reminded me that the dating game is severe and cruel. It scared me to be back in that place again but also made me realise that I don't want some 25 year old drunkard who's idea of romance is sharing his glass of water in the morning. What's even stranger is that I myself am the biggest commitment phobe ever. I hate sharing my bed, the idea of my family assessing anyone feels me with dread, I don't want to be told off for drinking too much and falling off a bar and I don't have to think about christmas/birthday presents that will put me as the 'cool girlfriend' amongst his friends. It's all just utter bullshit.
I've started to realise it's not the label that I wanted but more the information divulging that I am regretting. The story about my first boyfriend, the time I thought Twilight was real... these are no longer my secrets. They are the secrets of a soon-to-be-stranger.