I love bank holiday weekends when I’m not going anywhere, and just chilling in London. I slept for 12 hours on saturday, only waking up at noon on Sunday. I never have that luxury on a normal 2-day weekend because I’m always trying to cram all of my life into a mere 48-hours, always “running from one falling star to another”, in the words of the immortal Jack Kerouac.

The Boy always says I’m all over the place. I lack focus. I want to do many things at the same time. I’m always rushing from one place to another.

I don’t deny his assessment. But I have only one life, and so many things I want to do and try. I’m always in a panic because I’m feel like I’m running out of time to chase my dreams, to try things, to achieve something, even if it’s something small. I want to pursue some interests and be good at it, even if it’s very micro and meaningless in the grand scheme of life. I want to be good at some things just for me.

Starting last year, I’ve decided that my late 20s and 30s will be the era of physical pursuits. I started pole dancing just about a year ago. And a year on, I’m still obsessed about it: on holidays I worry about losing my strength and either exercise on holiday or visualise myself executing the tricks, I obsess about my tricks and how to gain strength to execute them before I sleep and at work, I’ve signed up for pilates in the mornings to strengthen my core, I try to do conditioning exercises whenever I can, and I’ve just started a “splits in 6 weeks” stretching programme.

After a sedentary life, I’ve suddenly discovered a “sport”-like physical activity that I really want to excel at, and I’m beginning to really try to achieve things which I never really bothered with when I was young, even though my body was clearly better-equipped then, things like: trying to achieve splits (front/back and box splits), gain arm and core strength and increase overall flexibility.

I’ve also signed up for belly dancing classes after having talked about if with my old classmate D since I was in secondary school (partially motivated my dismally unsexy body wave on the pole). I’m finding even belly dancing very physically challenging – I find shimmies, the most basic of moves, difficult to do and sustain, and many moves require isolation of different abdominal muscles. I feel among the worst girls in my class, probably because I don’t practice at home, whereas I think most of the girls do. I have the option to perform at the end-of-term showcase and I’m wondering whether I should: on one hand I don’t want to embarrass myself; on the other hand, I don’t know anyone else in the audience, and the Boy knows how crap I am but still has to be supportive ;p – so there’s no real downside right?

I found it both amusing and amazing that I found myself sewing the ends of elastic bands onto my split sole ballet shoes (for belly dancing) this weekend. Amusing and amazing because I barely sew anyway, and who would’ve thought that at this age, I was not only learning something new, but also sewing ballet shoes, which is something I would never have imagined doing at this age, since ballet is usually for younger girls and that boat had sailed (although there is such a thing as adult ballet classes, and even though my ballet shoes was not used for the purposes of ballet).

But anyway, all good things come to an end, even this lovely bank holiday weekend. So i need to head to bed for some shut eye, and an annoying work week ahead.