I've started to wonder (well, always, but I'm am one to dwell on these things) what the heck I'm doing.
Do I want to sell my tiny hovel and put myself in enormous debt with a house, or the thought has occurred to me, set up a business of my own with a bit of refinancing?
Go get some small business training/experience, apply for a ABN, name my non existent business something terribly witty, attend a dazzling round of trade fairs and see if I can find a bit of meaning and a bit of cash to see off the bailiffs?
No kids, no husband, only me - so what now?
Do I continue to read pompus food columns, stare at recipes I'll never make? Is this all a substitute for being creative in other fields, plotting grand plots Walter Mitty style in my head constantly (I would be Wanda Mitty then....)?
I will continue to reshape my non-model worthy bod into something stronger - a vehicle to allow me to stay fit and capable of whatever as the decline (oo, ominous) begins.
I don't want to feel older - I have felt this way for years, hence all my friends are 7+ older than me. Not that it's intentional, I just don't seem to gel with 'my' peers. Well, not yet - I am a late bloomer. Beats peaking young!
So, fix the bod, fix the occupation, unleash _________?
What now, Miss Fi?
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| Right on, Veronica. |
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