I went to London on Tuesday. I'm convinced I want to live there when I'm older. The Megabus drove through the streets of Chelsea and Kensington; my face pressed to the window in awe. One day I'll be living in one of those houses, traditional and white, or cream, the inside will be furnished with bare wood and pale coloured rugs, and there will be at least one mirror encased in a wicker frame. Crowded with various things from quirky shops, hand-decorated photo frames, macrame plant pot holders...
Dream big, think bigger, do even better. Push yourself to the limits and you might end up where you want to be. That's what they say isn't it? We want to push for success and money, material gains. What's wrong with making mediocre plans nowadays? Wishing for the basics, a good family, a place to live, and a job you like. I could settle for that. It's nice to have lots of pretty things, but I guess it's not essential. I like showing off, but what is there to show off if you're not happy? It's always nice to dream as well. I did it when I was younger, I'd draw and draw, crafting my ideal family in pencil, or sometimes pen. It'd be modelled on my family, that's where I drew my inspiration from. I'd be the Mum, I had a husband, 2D figure in the style of Nick Sharratt's illustrations for Jacqueline Wilson's books. Sideways noses, thin necks, hardly supporting the head of the disproportional bodies I drew. Three children, one girl, two boys, one of them still a baby. All with mildly popular names. Nuclear family. I wanted all this by a certain age. It's strange how plans change, I would be horrified if I'd completed all these things within the timescale I set up in my eleven year old self. I'm not entirely sure what I want now, which is good. I'm only young, I have the rest of my life ahead of me.
I'll write something about London properly in my next post, maybe?
Big love, xo
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