I’m lucky in this time of quarantine that my hobbies are so well suited to isolation.
Besides writing obviously, my current interests are visiting property websites to view houses I can’t afford, checking out cars I can’t afford, and researching fertility treatments I many never be able to afford.
If you’d asked me years ago where I saw myself at thirty-eight years old, this wasn’t it. This wasn’t even close. I thought I’d be a super-successful writer, married with kids and living in a house of my own.
Reality looks a little different. Not that there aren’t good things about being thirty-eight, single and living with my parents, but you know, it wasn’t exactly the dream.
The thing about being locked down at home, it gives a person time to think about what they want from life. A lot of time to think.
In my day job I’m classed as an essential worker, so I still go out to work, but all the other things have been removed, which like I said, is where my interests come in handy. I still know what I want out of life, and now all I do is think about it.
I have dreams of sitting on Butler’s Wharf, eating nice food, drinking wine and overlooking Tower Bridge, but mostly what I want is to be a writer and to have a family.
I guess when you concentrate a person’s thoughts, true desires burst forward. But mine are still at their core, what they have always been.
I want to write, I want a baby and a trip to London would be nice.
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