What to write, what not to write - the editing process is one that creates different decisions each day, different selves each day. When I wrote that this week has been pretty tough did you read between those sparce lines all that I had edited out? Did you read the self-questioing (verging on the self-hating)? Did you read my insecurity and fear? This week has been dead time to fill - full of questions only time can answer. I don't know whether the decision to quit my job was a good one; I don't know whether our decision to marry (and stay here) was the right one. I feel as though I've been parachuted in to adulthood - without my rucksack of life-saving rations and before I'd finished learning those vital survival tricks - my birthday is approaching, the one where mid twenties fade into late twenties and shouldn't I know some of the answers by now? Shouldn't I feel competent?
As they say on the television, 'answers on a postcard to...'