The Definition of Insanity ...

... is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.

I had an absolute cracking couple of hours in which I went through my old blog and relieved the days of Derek, Nate, Burke, the American, Guy #1, Guy #2 and so on. I honestly do not know how I had the energy for so much drama! Unfortunately, I can see myself following the same pattern and I don't like it. Two examples:

1. Towards the end of my relationship with Derek, I suggested we have a separation rather than completely break up. This went on for a couple of months until I eventually just broke up with him. Round 2 has me going on a "break" with James for a fixed 6 month period. The similarities are glaringly obvious but I just don't know if once again I am too scared of change and heartbreak or, if this time, there is something worth fighting for.

2. As soon as I was up shit creek with Derek, I transferred all my affections to the ridiculously, unsuitable Nate. The second time round, James and I have agreed we can see other people while we are on a break so of course I immediately went on a date with a guy called Marc who I was 99.9% certain was trouble and, lo and behold, turned out to be trouble. The similarities are glaringly obvious and absolutely nothing sets this time and the last time apart. Thankfully I am older and (touch wood) wiser. I have shut this non-thing with Marc down because I can see it for exactly what it is: a distraction from a difficult situation that I'm finding hard to face; fleeing at the first (well, 15th) sign of trouble; jumping ship before checking you can plug the leak; pessimism that a chipped vase can't be restored. You get my drift.

This time I'm not running away from my problems and I will face them head on.

A Change Is Coming

Change can be really difficult even when we know that it's for the best. While familiarity and routine can bring us comfort, they do not necessarily encourage us to live our lives to the fullest.

I am 26 and I have this huge fear that I am not living my life to the fullest. That I'm letting my best years pass me by in a dull routine of work work work. That I'm staying in a relationship that no longer makes me happy because I'm scared of heartbreak. That I should be young and carefree with not a worry in the world but in truth I'm carrying 10 lifetimes' worth of worries. That I'm too young to feel this old. Being in your twenties is fucking hard people!

All of these feelings (and some other stuff I won't cover just yet) came to a head 3 weeks ago. Neil and I decided to move out of our flat and take a step back from our relationship. We're on a break and can see other people. I moved out this weekend with the help of some amazing friends and my sisters and I'm slowly adjusting to life in some kind of strange limbo land. On the upside, at least I'm back in south London.

Who am I?

I feel like I'm losing my sense of self. Lately I've been reading novel after novel (and I'm sure I don't need to tell you that I'm talking about the girl meets boy and lives happily ever after kind) that I'm losing focus of what will actually make me happy in the real world. I become so emotionally invested in fictional characters and find myself daydreaming about how my life could be a fairytale to the point where I'm close to banning myself from reading fiction. I mean, is this even normal? I swear, books have ruined me for life and have almost made it impossible for me to accept any kind of romantic love that doesn't involve grand gestures, drama and the obsessive kind of love that would make most women run for the hills. I ask again, is this fucking normal? I just wish I didn't want so much.

I'm Not Gonna Lie

I only write when I can't sort through my thoughts. When shit goes round and round in my head and when having the same conversation a million times over doesn't get me any closer to an answer. When I've bored myself to death with indecision. I'll say sorry now to get it out of the way*. James. It's been 4 years and 6 months now. Fcuk me time flies. I love him. He loves me. But I'm bored of what we have become. There's no passion. We both agree that this is the case. We both agree that we don't want to break up because we love each other but we are both worried that actually there might be better out there for both us. We are both worried that if we "take a break" or just break up completely, meet someone else, think we did the right thing because the new relationship is exciting, new and full of passion but then 4 years down the line we find that actually it's no longer exciting, new and full of passion because this happens to all relationships but oh shucks we broke up with each other 4 years ago and what we had was actually pretty good but now it's too late. On the other hand, if we stay together we are worried that we would be settling. On the third hand, I'm worried that (like my friends think) there is no man on the planet who can live up to my expectations, I read way too many novels and I'm an idiot to even think about walking away from a guy like James. That is it in a nutshell. We've talked about taking a step back and moving out into our own places but that kind of just seems a halfway point to breaking up. Suggestions as to what to do on a postcard please. I said sorry right at the beginning. My entire thoughts are taken up by a boy and I have nothing better to do with myself. Guilty as charged.

The Uniform Project

I am having a major style and cashless crisis and The Uniform Project sounds like the perfect solution. Now I am not suggesting that I should wear the same dress for 365 days but I think the key lies in buying or even making simple clothes that can be dressed up or down with accessories. I adore the UP dress but it doesn't look as though you can buy it anywhere. I should know, I spent most of my day today googling it!

Today was 30C - God help us all because 30C in June is NOT normal. I had lunch in the park and my dear friend took me out for a Thai dinner to distract me from being poor. How I love Thai, mussaman lamb curry has to be favourite meal but unfortunately it does not do anything for my waist line. I have two pool parties this summer so I figured it could be my "last supper" before I begin starving myself into my bikini.

I write this at five past midnight on Sunday morning. My eyes keep shifting from the inexplicably shiny floor (I polished it not long ago and I can actually see my reflection in it), to the corner sofa (James is sleeping, he might wake and find me blogging, which would be an issue as he doesn't know I have a blog, although I'm not quite sure I can still say "I have a blog" when I haven't written a post since June 2009) to the screen. Try as I might, I cannot continue to write as though everything is okay, when the fact that I am writing is clear evidence to the contrary: we all know that I only write when I am unhappy. I feel like the church goer who only attends church when they need a favour from God. So why am I unhappy? It's nothing exotic so I will not bore you with a full breakdown of the reasons why I spent Saturday night polishing floors. If you were minded to know, you would probably find from a simple process of deduction from a list of the most common reasons for unhappiness in women (which, according to Google, are 1) financial 2) negative body image and 3) men) that my problems were most likely in the financial/negative body image realm as a few sentences ago I mentioned that James was asleep on the sofa. Did I also mention that it was our sofa and that he was asleep in our living room and that it was my own polished floor? In the 11 months since I last posted, I have made major progress on the commitment front. I now live with a boy in a two bedroom house with a garden in East London. To be honest, I am not sure if my self from 11 months ago would have taken greater issue with the "live with a boy" part or the "East London" part. I was always a "south east 'til I die" kinda gal and I don't know what changed and when, all I know is that on a Saturday night I am now more likely to be found on Brick Lane with the too cool for school crowd drinking a punchbowl cocktail whilst sat on the kerb. Anyway, I digress. I was talking about my unhappiness. Now I know that I am prone to being a tad bit dramatic, but I sometimes wonder if I am capable of being happy. I say "sometimes" because I am almost positive I would be forever ecstatic if I won the £87 million Euro jackpot. I have a boyfriend who is usually amazing, I have a job I want (note I said "want" and not "like"), I am young (still 23) and I am living in one of the most amazing cities in the world. What more could a girl want? Well, skinny hips and some cash to occasionally enjoy living in one of the most amazing cities in the world are just two things. A multi-region dvd player so I can watch season 5 of Grey's Anatomy is another. Don't worry, I have already been told that "if those are your biggest worries Ella, you have an amazing life" but I should remind you that this is my blog (can I still claim ownership of a blog that I have neglected for almost a year?)and I can write what I want. Maybe "unhappy" is the wrong word. Dissatisfied or discontent would be more appropriate. *sigh* My mood has not improved in the 55 minutes it has taken me to write this post, I have just lost track of what I was complaining about in the first place because, let's face it, I only ever write to complain. No worries, I am sure I would have remembered what it was I wanted to complain about by the time I write my next post on say 22 April 2011...

I'm in Africa!

And one thing I don't miss is tube strikes!

I'm in Tanzania to be precise. I flew into Nairobi with Emirates and was met my James' Kenyan friend at the airport. He was under strict instructions (from James) to book me a coach to cross the border into Tanzania, check me into my hotel, take me out to dinner, show me a bit of Niarobi and take me back to my hotel. I hadn't realised how worried James was about me travelling until the Kenyan friend told me he had received email after email from James telling him how to look after him. One of the emails even stipulated that I was only to be taken around in taxis driven by women - there are no female taxi drivers in Nairobi! I had such a brilliant night though, I went to a bar with live music and tried Kenyan beer, all cool stuff. The drive over the border to Tanzania was not so cool, there were near misses with cows and trucks, a dalliance with the police (our driver was speeding) and roads so dreadful I couldn't even begin to describe them. When I finally arrived in Tanzania, my hotel was so gross I checked out after 20 minutes and moved to the hostel linked to the voluntary project im working on. The hostel is amazing! I have an outdoor room and spend my afternoons in the gardens, lying on a hammock trying to teach myself swahili. The hostel also has a treehouse and the most beautiful grounds. I know it's not really how ordinary Tanzanians live but it is amazing.

I went to the school today and taught 3 classes English, Maths and Spelling. The kids are so sweet and adorable and keep calling me 'teacher' which makes me giggle. The only downside to the school is that its an hour walk each way everyday in African heat. I know most of the kids have to do the same walk but blimey, it's tough. I just know that by the end of week I'll be resigned to take a taxi everyday (there's no public transport that goes there).