I have to admit, I have started and abruptly forgotten about more blogs than I can count. I have collectively written enough mumbo jumbo on my iPhone notes to be sufficient for a very badly constructive novel and I am alike most other self-entitled members of my generations and think that somebody might actually be interested in reading about my life.
I’m going to remain anonymous to ensure I don’t curb the truth of any of what I am planning to overshare on here. As I sat here, finishing off the huge bar of chocolate that I have been opening the fridge door and staring at for weeks, my friend has just left the house to go to the gym. In truth, I was waiting for them to leave so I could eat it guilt free and then I will probably complain upon their return that my cellulite is not reaching my calves and that life is so unfair.
I am edging closer to 30 and I am finally ready to start opening up. I am going to start from the beginning of what I think might be a remotely interesting story.