Stone cold sober

I'm concerned.

No, scrap that, 'concerned' is too flimsy a word, I'm looking for a word that encompasses absolute panic.

I'm freaking out, that's probably a better phrase.

Why?

Vodka doesn't work.

When vodka doesn't work, you know you've got problems.

I suppose I should explain. 

My friend visited this weekend from Norway. It was great to catch up with her, and it was strange because it felt like she'd never been away, we seemed to slot back into our old roles like nothing had changed. That in itself was worrying. That sounds horrible I know, but it's not meant like that, what I mean is, it's been two and a half years, and nothing has changed. Now do you see why it's worrying?!

My friend has travelled and lived in Australia for a year, I haven't done much other than get my heart broken and decide I want to live in Turkey. I suppose you could say that's progress, at least I made a decision, and getting your heart broken is life experience, right?

So anyway, not much had changed. We went out for a drink, one drink turned into three pitchers, and before you know it, Nicky was a tad bit drunk. Yes, I know, it's easily done. However, this was a kind of drunk I hadn't experienced before, and to be honest, I didn't like it one tiny little iota.

I sloped off around 10pm (shameful, I know) feeling like someone had deflated all the helium out of my little balloon. It was like the world's biggest downer. I got the bus home, there I sat, all sorry for myself, bundled up in my coat and scarf, tears in my eyes, and an old man took pity on me and asked if I was okay.

What did I say?

'Fine, thank you'?

Nooooo.

'I don't knoooooowwwwww' was my wailing reply. 

The poor man looked like he'd wished he'd never asked and went back to reading his newspaper.

I have never felt more like I didn't belong, like I wasn't where I was meant to be, and like I was missing something.

It was horrible.

The worrying thing about all this is that I figured I feel so bad when I leave Marmaris/Turkey because I don't have much of a social life here, other than going to zumba and talking to my friends on the phone all night. If we're talking about going out on Saturday nights, well I just don't do it, because a) it's too cold, b) it's too expensive, and c) it's crap.

But anyway, I thought maybe a social life was the answer to my prayers. Turns out, it's not. Vodka is not my friend, going out makes me feel worse, and spending money means I have less to go to Turkey with. I've just got to make peace with the fact that I'm pulled to this place for a reason.

So what am I supposed to do? Be miserable for 46 weeks out of 52?

So I have been proactive, and developed a plan. Every girl should have a plan.

Give me a year, a healthy dose of luck (fingers crossed), and things will be looking much, much better, and I'll be situated in a much more easternly direction.

In the meantime, I'll be giving vodka a very wide berth indeed, because I was this close to grabbing an empty bottle, sitting in my PJs, and singing 'Allllll byyyyy myyyysellllllfff' a-la Bridget Jones, and that, dear readers, is never a good look, even for Renee Zellweger.

Smile like you mean it ...

Warning - depression-laden post ahead. Read at your own risk.

 

Marmaris has done a number on me again.

I'm not sure how it manages it; I mean, this is a sunshine drenched holiday place, it's meant to make people happy. I leave the airport a generally undepressed person, with a decent job, friends (albeit ones that never want to go out) and a fair few hobbies to keep me occupied, and I return a borderline depressed, post-alcoholic, no hope for the future, would-rather-be-somewhere-else shell of a person.

This surely is not healthy.

This is why I have decided to put the grand plan into action, for the sake of my health, sanity, and the sanity of those around me too.

Why do I go if it makes me feel this way? I hear you ask. Well basically, when I'm at home, I'm on countdown to go back, so I don't do anything, and I settle - and when I get out there, I live. Go figure.

I've realised that settling is not for me.

I've been going to Marmaris, and Turkey in general, for the past 5/6 years and during that time I've made lots of friends, lost a few, had more arguments than I can remember, laughed more than I ever thought possible, had a relationship that nearly broke me in half but came out stronger, lived and generally smiled quite a lot. Every single time I leave I cry, every single time I leave I swear blind next time won't be as bad, but every single time it's always worse and I come back more and more down. This time is the worst of the lot, and I thought last October would take some beating.

Oh you lucky, lucky readers!

There is no man involved, not really, before anyone asks, because last year's antics taught me that Turkish men are a species like no other, and if you want to keep your brain and heart intact, you're best having your fun and leaving it behind, as much as possible anyway. I'll admit I find this difficult, but it's a work in progress. No, my heart breaks every time I leave Marmaris because, as dramatic as this sounds, I feel like I leave part of me behind.

I'm slowly building up a support network and a life over there, and the damn frustrating thing is that I can't live it yet, because I was stupid when I was young, and I signed a piece of paper that meant I owe the bank a decent amount of money. The other frustrating thing is that I seem to have fallen in love with a country that doesn't pay wages as high as here. If it did, believe me, I'd have been gone years ago. So unfortunately I'm left with no option but to stick it out, well unless I do a moonlight flit but I seriously wouldn't be able to handle the guilt. Therefore plan A is in full swing, well it's trying to be in full swing, it's more of a shuffle at the moment, but I'm hoping it gathers momentum.

I'm looking for an evening and weekend job.

I've decided that I can cut my waiting time down to a year, rather than two, if I can just earn enough money to make two repayments every month, rather than one. Why didn't I think of this sooner?

Of course, I'd love nothing more than to be saving up to get myself out for the summer next year, but life is a bitch and that is one hugely unrealistic option. So, save like a bitch I will, and I'll just get myself out on as many holidays next year as possible, and suck up the coming home depression. It'll all be worth it though, right?

Now, the downside of this great idea is that Britain seems to have turned into a place where jobs are like gold-dust and nobody wants you to make money. And people wonder why I want to leave. I'll do anything, seriously, I'll clean nighclubs if I have to, anything to get this dream off the ground because there's no way I can carry on like this. Aside from the fact, I'm not getting any younger ...

I can see you all rolling your eyes and thinking I'm 'doing a Nicky' - let's pat her on the head - but wait there, this is the first time I've been deadly serious.

I love my home, truly I do, my family and friends are there and I love them to pieces, but my future doesn't feel like it lies in my home town, or even this country, and I know the one place that pulls me back time and time again, and the one place I feel alive, the one place I've lived more than anywhere else, despite being in England for the past 30 years .... when you get a pull that strong, sometimes you just have to listen to it.

Maybe I'll fail, maybe those doubters (of which are are many) will be right, but at least I'll have tried, and at least I won't have a 'what if' hanging over me.

So first things first, I need a job. Or a lottery win. Whichever comes first. And then I need to work my arse off like never before. If I had a social life I might be bothered, but I don't, so really it shouldn't make much difference. It seems these days that any night out with friends needs to be planned around three or four weeks in advance, after checking multiple diaries, boyfriend/husband's commitments, kids' parties etc etc. Being the only single one amongst your group of friends is no fun, let me tell you - they think you have a party party social life, well if I managed to get out of the house once in a while, yeah I might have. Alas, I do not, as a girl sitting alone in a bar is never a good look, it screams 'loner'.

So please, if anyone out of the three people that actually read this blog have any ideas, they're very greatly appreciated - but please make them serious ones, I don't think I'd make much money selling my body, I'd probably end up owing them money.

Are you suitably depressed?! Welcome to my world ....

Socially phobic

I'm going home at the weekend. Well, my second home.

I'm quite proud of myself, I've managed just two trips this year, and that for me is quite the record. Actually, scrap that, I went to Istanbul didn't I? Maybe not so good then, I've been Turkey-bound three times again. Can't keep away from the place, I tell you.

Now if you believe the general consensus at the moment, the reason I can't keep away is nothing to do with me quite liking the place and going to see my friends, no it's clearly because I'm addicted to the male population of the country. I say this with my voice, and words, dripping with sarcasm. But hey, let's not get into that - it's a can of worms I really can't be arsed to open again.

This is partly the reason why I haven't been blogging lately, because I figured that once I started down that road, I'd rant and rave for weeks on end and nobody wants to read that.

So other than fretting about my suitcase weight, causing me to buy a new one - one of those ultra-light ones, just so I can fit an extra pair of shoes in, I've been mostly avoiding dates I quite fancied going on.

Yes, I am date-phobic.

I don't quite understand my problem; I can talk, I can jabber away for hours on end quite happily, so why do I clam up and find it utterly terrifying when faced with a male I don't know that well, and am forced to make small talk for an indefinable length of time?

It's because you can only talk about the weather for so long. I'm English, this is what we do, we bitch about the weather. This is all well and good, but how do you spin out precipitation and broken clouds for a couple of hours? I find it hard enough filling five minutes.

So I'll 'fess up. I've been asked out a few times lately, I don't know why this has happened, maybe it's because I gave up looking, but anyway, I've bailed on two dates, with two different dudes, and I'm considering bailing on another because the thought just brings me out in a cold sweat. I'd actually rather sit in my PJs, watching Eastenders, than go through the gut-wrenching terror of small talk. I don't like going to the hairdressers for this exact reason.

I think I need help.

My friend suggested alcohol, but from past experience this does not help matters, in fact it hinders it considerably, as me falling over and getting high pitched doesn't really help paint a positive picture.

This is why I'm eternally single, and will remain so if this little problem continues.

I'd be quite happy to fast forward the first few weeks and head straight to the more comfortable time where everyone knows where they stand and text/conversation analysis has gone out of the window. See, I'm not cut out for this, I'm far too paranoid to be questioning things at the best of times, without hearts and emotions getting in the way. I'm not the best at going with the flow either.

I might join a convent, what do you reckon?

Or failing that, emigrate to Turkey - you don't have any of this getting to know each other business out there, if you believe everything you hear.

Anyway, I'm hoping that my jaunt over the length of Europe re-ignites my love for blogging, because if I'm honest, I've been finding it rather difficult. I've had a crisis of confidence as far as my writing's concerned, to the point where I've asked several different people to read what I've done on my book so far, to give me a honest opinion on whether to carry on, or scrap it. I love writing, I just wonder whether anyone likes reading it, because as much as it's fun to do, it's always nice that someone enjoys the fruits of your labour.

Oh woe is me.

So the next time I write something, I will be sipping, sorry, gulping an Efes, scoffing a chicken kebab, looking out to sea from (hopefully) my sea-view hotel room and chilling the hell out. I wonder what drama will unfold this time, let's face it, it always does, and it's a full moon during the first few days .....

I can guarantee however that whatever goes down will remain in Marmaris.

Watch this space!

Down with the violins ... hello tissues

Cue the violins.

I am miserable. I am borderline depressed. I am full of cold. I need to go back home.

There, that's got it all out in the open.

Now let's get onto something more hopeful ... oh, wait, there is nothing.

I made the mortal mistake of looking through old photographs last weekend; anyone who is friends with me on Facebook will see that it triggered a week long sulk and depressed everyone within a five mile radius. I then decided that I hadn't tormented myself enough, so I dug out my old holiday blog from last October, and that really sunk me into the depths of despair.

Why, oh why, do I do this to myself?!

And I've been listening to Adele.

I might even have made a couple of ill-advised phone calls in an easternly direction ... which got me absolutely nowhere as per usual.

Someone slap me now.

I'm feeling the need for copious amounts of vodka, but I fear that'll just send me into a Bridget Jones-style 'All By Myself' singalong, but without the dodgy PJs. I don't even like vodka that much.

So whilst trying, and failing, to distract myself from my unfixed heart, I've decided I want to explore the country that I've decided my future lies in.

I love Marmaris, I really enjoyed Istanbul, but I want to see more. I want to see the real Turkey, I want to experience the real culture when the tourism element's taken out. I want to see a willage, sorry, village, and experience that. Forgive me and my western girl sensibilities, and yes I'm very grateful for all I've got, but I think there's something beautiful and stripped-back about the way of life in a south-eastern village, and I want to really see it for myself.

Problem with all this is, how the bloody hell am I going to manage it?!

I don't know anyone in a south-eastern willage, well I do, but he doesn't want me, so it's going to be a difficult one to sort out. I've found some places that do home-stay tours, but I don't really want to do a guided tour thing, I want to wing it. Might take some thought. The other places though, they're much easier to visit, so maybe I'll start with those and hope I make it back in one piece before I get too ahead of myself.

Anyway, anyone with any ideas, feel free to throw them my way ...

I'm still on countdown, as I always seem to be, and I'm starting to feel progressively more guilty for feeling this way. I have a good job, I have friends, I have a wonderful family, yet for some reason my heart screams for me to be somewhere else completely. It's got to be wrong, surely.

So yeah, as well as feeling heartbroken, lost, lonely and like I'm not where I should be, I now feel guilty.

Happy, happy days.

And here's me thinking my 30s were going to be fun ...

Flirty Thirties!

Not sure who Micky is, but happy birthday to them!

I am 30.

How the bloody hell did that happen?

I main thing is, I survived. And let's face it, that's always a positive. The other positive is that I feel alright, in fact I don't feel any different. Age is just a number, right? I thought that was something old people said to avoid talking about their age - oh wait, I am old.

Okay, I'm not old, but not being in my 20s anymore has caused me a bit of grief over the last year or so, I have to admit. Now the painful day has gone, I'm not so bothered, because as long as I don't think about it, nothing's any different. Ignorance is bliss and all that.

It probably sounds weird, being so bothered about entering another decade, and I wouldn't mind had things gone to plan but, well, they haven't really. Whatever the plan was.

See, I was meant to be sorted by the time I was 30.

I'm not sure what I mean by sorted, and it was probably a totally unrealistic plan, but something along the lines of not single probably. Instead I'm permanently so, but I've decided that if it means being single and still looking for someone amazing, and not having been stuck with one of the undesirables I've tried in the past, well I'm probably in the winning position.

I was also meant to have figured it all out, y'know what I actually want to do with my life. Instead, I still haven't got a clue. Well I do, I've figured out the location of what I want, I just have to work towards getting there. As for what I'll do when I actually get there, that's still up for discussion. But I have ideas, so y'know progress.

Seriously though, I'm fine with it, it really is just a number, because I'm still the same and if anything, I still feel about 18. Which is a good excuse when I do really stupid things, because I can just blame it on my mental age. Or alcohol. Whichever is more appropriate at the time.

I'm taking a positive outlook on this, because to be honest that's how I've felt over the last few days. This is my decade. This is the decade where I pay off my debts, for definite because of the end date, where I can make the move I want, and where if it all goes spectacularly wrong, i.e. I bottle it, the only person I can blame is myself. There's something scarily exciting in that. So I'm looking forward to my future, I just have to wait a couple of years to be able to live it completely. That's the frustrating thing, but that's what happens when you stupidly sign a piece of paper from a bank, who stupidly offer to lend you stupid amounts of money, because you stupidly used your credit card for stupid reasons.

I was stupid.

No more.

Let this be a lesson people - loans are evil.

So anyway, to celebrate my day of birth a few years ago, I've pretty much had a week of festivities and spent quality time with my friends and family, which ended in a day at Alton Towers - which explains why today I feel my age, and as though I've done ten rounds with Mike Tyson - I'm bruised to hell and ache like ... well, hell. It was fun though, turns out I like screaming my head off, and I do indeed scream like a girl. It's very therapeutic, I should scream more often. Chance would be a fine thing, mind you.

Today has been spent looking for flights to take me back to where I should be. Turns out that's easier said than done. The cost of flying these days is not fun, and the flight times aren't either, but it's a small price to pay I guess. The next time I write a blog, I should be booked up - exciting! I can't wait to get myself back, I feel like I've been gone too long already and it's only been a fortnight. The countdown has begun ...

I'm now going to bid you goodbye, as I'm very much hooked on the third installment of the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy. I'm sure you've all heard of it, and Mr Grey is calling my name as we speak. That's my aim for my 30s, I'm going to find Mr Grey - oh what a chore!

For the love of Marmaris

It's taken me well over a week to write this, because had I done it before now, you'd all have got the violins out, been borderline suicidal and would never have read anything I wrote ever again.

That is not the way to keep readers, and the guilt of lost lives would have consumed me forever.

So I thought it wise to wait.

I've been back from Marmaris for a week now; the urge to jump on a plane and go straight back is not abating any, in fact if anything it's getting worse by the hour. If I wait until the end of September, as per plan, it will be a miracle on the scale of Phil Mitchell staying off vodka. I've got to try though, thanks to the cost of flying being horrendous at the moment. There's a good argument for befriending a pilot here, but unfortunately I don't have any pilots on my Facebook list.

I love Marmaris.

I'll shout it out from the rooftops if I have to. I thought I'd fallen out of love with it, I wasn't even that fussed about going in the end - but a day or so into the holiday and I remembered it all, in glorious technicolour. And now I'm stuck with the memory and I'm not there anymore.

Sniffle, sniffle.

Cue violin time.

I will be there for longer soon, give it a while to get myself sorted and I'm there. At least this trip has taught me what I want all over again, and reminded me of the perils of settling - which is exactly what I was starting to do. Heaven forbid. I had visions of a rocking chair, golf-course and cats. Shudder at the thought.

Marmaris is the best and worst of humanity all rolled into one, yet for some reason I forgive it's bad bits and fall head over heels with the good bits every time. That's true love for you, right there. Who needs a man?! Five years and still going strong.

Speaking of men, this was the first trip back to the scene of the crime since it all went pear-shaped. It was weird, I'll admit, and I refused to go into the ex's bar (thankfully he was in Alanya, and not lurking behind a palm tree waiting to ambush me and drag me back to the darkness, with his questionable eyebrows), completely out of protest, which is just as well because it's been taken over and it looked, quite frankly, pants. So instead I found a new one, bar that is, before everyone jumps to the completely wrong conclusion.

Is that a tan?!

I had a ball. I had fun, I partied, I did everything the ex didn't allow me to do. I met some new friends, who I miss now I'm back, but will see again really soon. I actually had a proper holiday without rules. I missed him, and I shed a few tears, but I found closure and that chapter is complete.

Time to write some new ones.

Speaking of writing, I seriously regretting not taking my netbook, as inspiration hit in the biggest way whilst sat on a sun-lounger with a strawberry dacquiri in my hand. It could have been the alcohol but I took it upon myself to find paper and pen. Chaos insued. Turns out it's not easy to buy paper and a pen in high-season Marmaris. In the end I managed to convince a bemused-looking shop-keeper to give me some of his printer paper in return for me buying a pen for twice the price. I sat on the balcony, full of Efes, and wrote my little heart out. I wrote a letter to the universe, let's hope it listened. Time will tell.

My summer romance - Mr Efes

See, Marmaris might be bad for me in many, many ways, but in terms of inspiration, it's highly beneficial - in fact, I think it should be on prescription, I'd have a bestseller in months. If only. Writing is my future though, it helps me empty my head of crap and make sense of it, it distracts me from reality, and who knows where it might lead. If I can combine the place I love and the thing I love, I'll be a happy bunny, albeit a slightly borderline alcoholic bunny, thanks to the influence of Efes.

I'm deliberately not giving you a blow by blow account of the whole 16 days because it literally involved a lot of madness and, again, Efes, which is never a bad thing, but makes for really boring reading. There was the usual Marmaris politics, fights, drama and confusion - it wouldn't be Marmaris without it, but it all came good in the end. As per the way it always goes when I'm in that part of the world, the full moon had blood on it, and that night was, predictably, fight night. Turns out lightening does indeed strike twice. Or even three times in this case. They say Cancerians are ruled by the moon, I think I'm a complete case study to prove that correct.

The sun sets on Marmaris part 1 ...

I didn't have any commandments to protect me from the madness this time, because anyone who read them last time will know that I broke every single one of them in about four days. It was, quite frankly, a shameful effort, so I didn't bother this time. It's for the best, because I'd probably have broken them within two. I blame the Efes.

I always blame the Efes.

And the moon.

So first installment over, successfully survived - just. Only question is, how long will it be until part 2? Bets are on ...

Two weeks in a suitcase ...

I've decided it was a man who deemed it necessary to give holidaymakers a limit on luggage. It has to be, no sane woman would ever think it sensible to plan day and night outfits for 16 whole days. What about variation and choice? It's a woman's perogative to change her mind after all! Unfortunately 20kg and a smaller suitcase does not leave Nicky much room for changing her mind.

So it's in the midst of this packing hell you find me, surrounded by maxi dresses, playsuits and the occasional pair of leggings ... oh and a ridiculously tiny pair of black denim shorts - what the hell was I thinking?! Even Barbie wouldn't rock those bad boys.

I don't do packing at all well, mainly because my OCD kicks in and I convince myself I've forgotten something hugely important, like my make up or, heaven forbid, my GHDs. Two weeks in humidity without a pair of straighteners would be a disaster close to the great debacle of 2008, when I was forced to go cold turkey (literally) for two weeks from Wispa bars, thanks to me forgetting to buy a job lot at the airport. It wasn't pretty, trust me.

This whole palava isn't helped by my coach company, who shall remain nameless, deciding that my normal sized suitcase (in my opinion anyway), is too big to take on board, so I've had to borrow a smaller one. Now I can imagine you rolling your eyes, thinking I've gone and got a suitcase that's half a metre too wide or something - no, it's 2cm too long. Yes, you heard me right, 2cm.

Again, I'm convinced this is all down to a man.

Other than packing hell, I'm looking forward to my two weeks (and a bit) in the sun. I've actually forgotten what that bright light in the sky looks like, seeing as summer doesn't seem to have bothered coming to England this year. I fear my first day on the beach is going to be painful for all involved, when I blind everyone with my milk bottle skin in a bikini. Cover your eyes people, for your own safety.

It got me thinking back to last year though. Last week (yes, I've remembered the date) was a year to the day I met he-who-shall-remain-nameless. My god how things change. Funny what a year can bring. I'm not kidding myself that it's not going to be weird this year, a lot of people that were so linked in with my summer last year aren't there now, and from what I've heard, the resort has changed a fair bit. I've decided this is a positive though, because let's face it, the faces from last year haven't really served me well, unless you're into self-torture, which I'm not - so out with the old can only be a good thing. And now I've had time to think about it and the dust has settled, I'm glad the dodgy-eyebrowed-one is in a resort a few hundred miles away from where I'll be - or at least he'd better bloody well be.

A good few years visiting Marmaris has hardened me up - I might have lost my senses completely last year thanks to a few heavily-accented, charming words and a wiggle of an over-plucked eyebrow, but my last visit opened my eyes to the dark side of this beautiful town. The idea of falling for it all again makes me want to scratch my own eyes out, so no worries on that score.

What I have done instead, is buy a shed-load of Dairy Milk (very large bars!) to take with me, and the only action I'm intending on getting is with Mr Cadbury, and I can guarantee it will be a hell of a lot more pleasurable too.

I'm going to be quiet for about 3 weeks now, whilst I soak up some rays and turn into a giant freckle with a red nose, but I shall report with my findings on my return, unless my suitcase is too red/bulky/heavy/unstylish for the bus driver and I don't even make it to the airport, that is.

I tell you, it's all down to a man.

Ciao for now! xx

Decisions!

I think I might be floundering somewhat. In fact, there's no 'think' about it, I am. Opinions and suggestions very greatly received.

I don't know what the hell I'm doing, or what I'm going to do, and it's driving me insane. See, I've never been one of those annoying people that find it easy to fly by the seat of their pants, just take it as it comes and go with the flow. I wish I could be, it seems that opportunities and good things seem to come more easily tothose people. No, I'm one of those sad, listing-making people, that like to know what they're doing, when, with who and what's going on. I don't cope well with 'maybe this, maybe that', I like to know what's what.

This is probably painting me as some obsessive control freak, but I'm not quite that bad, honest. I just like to have a rough idea of things. And right now, I have too many decisions to make, I'm scared I'm going to make the wrong one. I just don't know what to do about any of it. I don't think the impending third decade coming up in July is helping, I know it's not over the hill, but it feels like when you're in your 20's, you've got all the time in the world, I just don't know if I've really got the time to keep chopping and changing, delaying what I want and making mistakes.

Surely I should be settled by now? Everyone else seems to be. Or maybe they're not, maybe they're floundering just as much as me, but hide it better. Thing is, I'm not sure I want to settle, I want to live.

I think this is why I focus so much of my time on going away on holiday, it's like it's something to think about, something to plan, somewhere different and a break from not knowing what I want to do with my life.

I suppose that's a lie really, because I do know what I want to do with my life, I just don't think it's the right time to do it. This is where opinions would come in handy.

Ideally what do I want to do? I want to move to Turkey, specifically Marmaris. I want to live in the sun, drench myself in a different culture and change everything. I don't know if this would be a long-term thing, or whether it would be just for summer, but I want to do it, and I want to do it so very badly, it's quite hard to focus and settle on anything else.

Don't get me wrong, I want to do it now, if I could, I'd be on the next plane and I'd be getting seriously involved with setting myself up in a new direction, but I'm stuck because I owe and the sensible (boo!) thing is to sort that out and then go afterwards. It's not that long really, I mean it's three years. I have three years left on my loan and then I'm debt free, and free in more ways than one. If I go now, then yeah I can work out there to meet my monthly payments but I'll struggle with little for anything else and I'll have given up my secure, I suppose, fairly well paid, job, and come October, I'll be scrambling around for anything to get me through winter before the bank knocks on the door. All for six months in the sun. I might want it so very badly, but is it really sensible right now?

I'll do it, don't get me wrong, I AM going to do it, just as much as I want to go now and change everything, get myself out of this hidieously deep rut I've got myself into, will I just get myself into a deeper one, one that will set me back a hell of a lot longer than three years? Just for the sake of waiting for a while.

I suppose there's two ways to look at it - wait and do it properly, because I'm going to go anyway, or take the quite right view that life is far too short to put your life on hold and you should just live it. Whilst I agree with that view very whole-heartedly, I think you do have to be practical to a certain degree, don't you? It's easy to be all romantic about it, trust in life and know that someone will catch you, but the bank won't look at it that way, and they won't take pity on me when I'm desperately trying to find a job in October, that will probably be half as much as I'm earning now.

I just can't bear the thought of another year like the last one. I loved my holidays, I had three, and every second was fantastic, because I was somewhere else, and for some unknown reason, when I'm over there, I'm more confident, I'm more settled and I feel, weirdly, very much at home. I'm not sure anyone really understands, but I have a pull there that for the last four years, I haven't been able to shift, and nowhere else comes close. I've tried as well, I even went as far as Florida and Las Vegas, and yeah, I really, really enjoyed it, but I couldn't see myself there, not like Turkey. In fact, towards the end of our stay in Vegas, I found myself talking about suncream needs for the following June in Marmaris! I know, I'm weird.

It's not even about the boy. Not that it could be, because that's just a mess that a move isn't going to come close to sorting out. I was in love with the place long before I fell in love with him. No, this is about me, and my life, my future.

So if I wait, I'll be 32 when I can go and either move, or work for the summer. But that's alright isn't it?! I mean, Marmaris is full of all age groups, not like my town on a Saturday night, where if you're over 21 then you're seriously over the hill and very much feel it.

And if I wait, I'll go to Marmaris a few times this year, no doubt, so it won't be like I won't be going at all, just not for six months all at once. The thing is, I have interviews and I have assessment days lined up, that could quite easily come off and give me a serious decision to make, one that's even bigger than this one, because it won't be a 'what if', it'll be a 'do I, or don't I'. I've passed so many up in the past, because I've been impatient and put things in motion, but then realised that I had my head stuck in the clouds and I had to wait.

I'm so incredibly bored and so unfulfilled it's pathetic. Do you ever get the feeling that everyone else is happier or more fulfilled than you? I'm sure they're not, but I look around me and everyone else seems so sussed and sorted, and I'm the one they pat on the head and go 'awwww you just don't know what you want, do you?'. Well no, I don't.

So that's my rant for the day, I feel slightly better for getting it off my chest, but no nearer to deciding and setting on a plan. Flying by the seat of your pants must be so much easier .....