However, as life has gone on and my fascination with Facebook remains unwaivered, a veil of sceptism has settled over my laptop and I no longer read with awe at my lovely Facebook friends lives. Whilst I know they are happy, I am sure, without a doubt, that Rebecca, although loving her husband to death, also wants to gauge his eyes out with a blunt pencil sometimes, and that Felicity, some Saturdays, probably sits on the sofa looking like an absolute dog and praying that she can feign illness rather than go out again. Even Laura probably questions the meaning of her existence every now and again.... then again, maybe not.
So, it’s now come to a time where I have a crossroads in my life and choosing which path to take is proving a lot harder than I had first envisaged. I have a life that I am happy with. Certainly as happy as Rebecca, Felicity and Laura. I have a husband who I love and who loves me, some good friends and a wonderful family. However, it’s my work that needs attention. We are moving from our beloved farm which makes me soon to be unemployed and there is a hole to be filled. A couple of people have told me I should write, and whilst I would love to while away my days bashing out a blog or a best selling novel, I do feel the need to have something specific to write about rather than just a diatribe of thoughts in my head (a little like this!). Maybe I could be an antidote to Facebook. Instead of the glossy, lovely life that I would love everyone to think I had, maybe I should write a true, balanced perspective of life as a 45 year old woman. In our soft fluffy, first world lives, I could write about the things that affect us. How bloody tiring it is to maintain a Facebook life, how that when I go to a party I have to strut into the room feeling a size 10 when I know that in the changing room I felt, looked and actually was a size 14/16. How, when my beautiful husband sits on a bit of chocolate on our duck egg blue sofa and then blames me for not putting it in a bowl for him that I want to ram the chocolate down his throat! And how I struggle to put fresh greens and fruit into my Nutribullet when I really hanker after a Pot Noddle washed down with Haribo. How to not worry if your donation pile to the Calais Refugee Crisis is not as big as your neighbours. And, most importantly, how to remain sane, centred and satisfied with our lives without feeling the need to compete with those around us. However fun it would be to write about all of this stuff, I don’t really feel there is a forceful market need for it. I cannot see that it will be filling a social networking void that would otherwise leave women like me feeling insecure and permanently inadequate.... or maybe it would. What do you think?
Tell you what... email me a subject to write about and I’ll give you a 45 year old, middle class, woman’s perspective on it. It can be on anything and I promise it will be my honest and bare point of view. email@example.com.
If I don’t get any emails I’ll take it as a sign not to go into a career in writing!!