When did I become the girl in pink?

I look down at the outfit I am wearing and I see I am in top-to-toe pink, all the way down to the skin. Not baby pink, I do hasten to point out. Rather, a vibrant pink, an ironic pink, but still. Pink. And I wonder; where did the tomboy goth go? How did I become so comfortable in three inch heels? It’s happened so gradually over the recent years, I couldn’t pin my finger on the point it started, but I have become the girl in pink, perfectly happy in 3 and 4 inch heels. Certainly a few years ago, this wasn’t the case.

I have got to the point that people comment when I wear mostly black, let alone all black. To be fair, I never made a very good goth – I’m far too bubbly, and I am cursed with an English Rose complection, so I just can’t pull off pale-and-interesting – but… well, I look around at the people I spent time with at the weekend, and I am far and away the most colourful of them. Where did she come from, this girl in her mid-twenties who can pull off a creditable Miss MoneyPenny impression at the office. I like her, this person. She’s beautiful. But sometimes she scares me too.

Because on the inside I’m still not sure she real. Parents complain that children grow up too fast – hell! I’m looking round wondering how I got to be mid/late twenties all of a sudden! It’s like I sleepwalked through that transistion from child/teenager to grown-up, and I feel like a fraud in my adult clothing.

A damn cute fraud in gorgeous shoes though.

You know that it is time to start blogging again when you have dreams where you are feeling guilty for not blogging in a while… Yes, I dream about my blog. I think that my life is now officially inextricably linked with the internet.

It really has been an age since I wrote anything, hasn’t it? I’m almost not sure how to start back in. I do know that the old-style Bright Meadow where I waffle on for 2000 words at a time about something possibly isn’t sustainable much longer. The joy has been gone from the Sunday Roasts for a while, and I always said I would stop doing them when they were no longer fun…

*hides behind the sofa whilst people throw things*

I know, I know, you all like the Sunday Roasts! And I’m not saying they will never return, it is just that – for now – I need to think through how best they can be made to work. The problem with moving to a new city to get the dream job and get a life is that, well, you run risk of actually getting a life! Lots of stuff to blog about, not so much time to actually do so.

Also, I have to admit right now that I am writing this post, in part, because my father told me to. It’s like I have to do my homework before I get a cookie, which really isn’t helping the whole “fun” vibe

(Love you Dad)

Shall I catalogue my reasons/excuses for not blogging? Two instantly spring to mind: Twitter and writing. My twitter stream has taken over a lot of the things that might, once upon a time, have become blog posts. I know I am not alone in being seduced more and more by the speed, ease, and community on Twitter. I find it hard to fit in an hour to craft a blog post, but I can easily spare thirty seconds to tweet something. As for the writing… Oh, the writing. Well, we’re at 10,186 words, six chapters, and growing on a daily basis by between 300-500 words. It will be a finished manuscript, I promise you. I have totally committed to it, even going so far as to show what I have to date to a tame(ish) editor-friend and my brother. I kid you not, of the two, I was more scared about my brothers feedback! (For the record, he liked it and wanted more *sigh of relief*) What it will become once it is a finished manuscript is another matter entirely, but I will help these characters tell their story. I will.

And that’s it for my reasons. Other than that I am still, at heart, a lazy cow. And going on lots of dates does tend to take up the evenings as well. I don’t know – have three dates with three different guys in one week, and they start to think you’re a hussy at work!

Life, frankly, rocks right now. There was a small wibble back in February, but it really was a minor wibble compared to what went before. Minor wibbles are to be expected and are, perversely, a good thing. Everyone wibbles and the fact I can wibble now without falling apart is a good sign

Wow, think there’s a limit on the number of times you should use the word ‘wibble’ in a paragraph?

So what for the future of Bright Meadow? Well, if my dad has anything to say in the matter, I won’t let it die. I don’t want to let it die for the truth of it, I love it too much! I am totally split on whether a strict schedule is a good thing or a bad thing. Let’s face it though, I’ve tried the whole “blog when I feel like it” modus operandi, and it’s not been doing too hot lately. So perhaps it’s time to try a different approach? Maybe shorter daily posts?

Hang on, I’ve got to go and open the door. It’s the Blogger Police. They want a word about over-use of the word “wibble”. Assuming they don’t decide to lock me up for crimes against the Internet, I promise to be back in a few days

Cxxx