Last night I was stalking people – don’t worry, not for real – on a social networking site. You know, when you are looking at a friend’s profile then you click on a link to the profile of a friend of that friend who you vaguely remember meeting once at a party then you click on a link to someone else’s profile because they look fit in their photograph and next thing you know, you are perusing photos of complete strangers and reading comments exchanged by a group of people unknown to you.
Well, I was doing that and feeling very guilty about it because a) I was supposed to be writing my novel and b) you do feel like you have been caught doing something naughty when you click on a link and a message flashes up on the screen saying “You are not authorised to view this page”, when it dawned on me that I have Wasted My Life. Here were these young people (once again, don’t worry, not complete strangers but my mother’s friend’s kids) who were planning the most exciting things for their futures: going to university abroad, taking gap years, learning languages; and there I was reading about their wonderful lives and wishing I could be 18 again. For a few minutes I was very depressed.
Thank goodness I got my novel word count up to the 10 000 mark today otherwise I would have nothing to feel good about.