Here we go again...

My husband went on a little excursion this morning to do something boyish and boring so whilst I was lying in bed trying to find the motivation to prise my back off the mattress I had a bit of time for a little think.

“That's it” I thought, I may have even said it out loud – I can never be certain of my actions in my post sleep haze, “you need to start writing another blog.”

“Of course you do,” my psyche replied, “but what could you possibly write about, you're not getting married again and your life experiences add up to mothering people who don't want to be mothered and banking and nobody wants to hear about a overbearing bossy banker.”

At this point I was a little offended by my psyche and decided that I would no longer interact with it if it would continue to be rude about my life choices. So instead of thinking any further I went on my phone and checked Facebook and did the other things I do with my phone when procrastination beckons.

And then I started to get annoyed at myself. I often find that I am my own worst critic and chastise myself at every occasion.

“For God's sake!” I said to myself. I can actually remember saying that bit out loud.

“You can't spend the rest of the day in bed,” me and my psyche scolded simultaneously, “you're 29 this week and you can't think of anything you want to write about. You need to be not so lazy!”

By this point as me and my psyche had joined forces for a full frontal attack I was pretty much backed into a corner. And then it hit me. Square in the face. I'm going to be 29 years old on Wednesday. 29 sodding years old. That's so nearly 30 I can't even tell you. I have essentially spent the last 28 years and 361 days watching life pass me by and I'm not going to do it any longer. And that is something I can write about.

I can remember being nine years old and talking to my twin sister about how amazing it was going to be when we turned 15 in the year 2000. Now we are nearly double that and I just don't feel I've got enough to show for it. I'm not saying that someone in my position shouldn't be perfectly happy with their lot and for the most part I am but I know that I could be happier.

If I went back and asked millennium Kate where she wanted to be in the next 13 years and 361 days I'm sure as hell she wouldn't say lying in bed playing monster busters feeling all excited because they'd given her a gift of unlimited lives for seven days because it's her birthday week. I can't remember what she would have said though. I don't know whether that's a good thing or not.

I often think about millennium Kate. She was awesome. Properly clever and ambitious. Ready to take on the world one arsehole at a time. Couldn't smile properly in photos though but then nobody's perfect. I think she might be a little bit disappointed about where things have taken us but then I hope she'd be proud at how we've managed to come through the other side of some properly bad times.

Anyway enough about old Kate, this is about now Kate. What am I going to do to make those years count for something? I know that I don't want to get to 30 and think that now Kate would be annoyed that I had wasted the last year and three days of my twenties. So I'm not going to let that happen. I'm going to try and make my life better one day at a time.

I'm going to start with my vices. Once I've dealt with them I can move on to the things that I want to improve. I know I drink too much, eat too much and sit down too much so I'm going to start with those first. This week I'm going to have more booze free days in the week and try to control my portion sizes a little bit. I know that it's my birthday on Wednesday so obviously I'm going to have a bit of a blow out on that day but I'm going to try and control myself for the rest of the week.

We'll see how that goes and take it from there. What's the worst that could happen...

Until next time.