Today (I think) was the first time I’ve made big fat American-style pancakes and they actually WORKED (ie. they were big and fat). These were eaten with loganberries & tayberries (that we picked last week), Toblerone from my mum, and icing suger from Tesco. Those eating were Maria, and my flatmate Clare, and myself.
I was making pancakes (mainly) because today was supposed to have seen me starting work (as a note-taker and general support for a disabled student), but the agency phoned yesterday and called it off, so I am still lacking a ‘main thing’. That’s annoying. But (as my Dad helpfully pointed out the other week, when it was all getting too much for me (again)), my Main Thing in Edinburgh is to support Maria – everything else is kind of an addition.
And I have been supporting her – I present this morning’s pancakes as evidence – so that’s alright.
The awkward thing is that every time I take a look at myself – where I’m going, what my niche might be, where my dreams lie – it has always felt pretty hopeless, since every time I have tried to answer any of those questions (since being in Edinburgh), everything has kind of fallen apart, or got stuck, or whatever. I’m 26, and I’d like to think that I’m going SOMEWHERE, that I have some kind of VALUE or whatever (and am not just sitting around, pretending to be an author and wasting my life), but it seems that the process of ‘doing-something-about-that has basically been put on hold for the last year or whatever.
And you can probably see that it all gets a bit frustrating and I say ‘whatever’ a lot …