I'm not a bad person, I just make bad decisions

Before we get off on the wrong foot, I'd like to point out that when I say bad decisions, I'm not talking about cheating on anyone or stabbing random civilians, or you know, throwing up on a police man or anything. My life is not quite as eventful as Grand Theft Auto, sadly.

Statistically speaking (because you know how I like to ensure I have my facts straight before yelling my views across the internet), a good 98.7 per cent of my life choices are abysmal. I mean, it's shocking. Only, I never realise until it's a little too late. Take that time in year ten when I allowed my hairdresser to cut my hair shorter than shoulder length and I ended up refusing to go back to school the next day because I was unable to stop my hysterical tears over how awful it looked. My friends told me it looked "really nice", but everyone knows that it's written into the friendship bible that they tell me it looks good; but truthfully, I'm unsure whether their words were sincere even now. Or that time in December 2011 when I decided to mix up my skincare routine and tried out some new Neutrogena face wipes and then woke up the next day with a melted face. Nope, I'm not even exaggerating. My face was literally melting. And huge. And kind of weird and warpy. Allergic reactions are surprisingly unenjoyable, but it provided my sister with hours of entertainment so at least someone had fun.

They say that the greatest mistake you'll ever make is being too afraid to make one. Which frankly, I find to be total crap. I'm terrified of making mistakes, yet I still seem to make them anyway. Don't even get me started on the summer evening I was in the shower completely unaware that a) the tune I was blissfully belting out was a Will Young classic or b) that the bathroom window was wide open and all the neighbourhood kids heard every single (off-key) word. I haven't mustered the courage to look any of them in the eye since.

I mean, we all know about my candle debacle, and I constantly grimace about how rarely I shave my legs (who has the energy to be sexy all the time?), but mostly, it's my mouth that gets me into the worst trouble. Shocker! I kind of, how can I put this, 'speak first, think way way later'. And in-keeping with this theme, it has come to my attention that my mum has been following my blog for a fair while. Gulp. There's no explaining my way out of my extensive profanity usage or admitting to sharing a bed with boys. Ooops. Does this mean that when I next return home I should anticipate finding my clothes with red 'A's sewn onto them? I'm sure we can all agree that I'm really terrible at making good choices. Or, really good at making terrible choices, if you will - let's try and put a positive spin on this...

Lately though, my bad decisions have revolved around: hanging out with people I shouldn't, expressing my upset towards people I dislike via Facebook, and opening Snapchats from my friends showing me they've just joined the gym, whilst I'm in bed scoffing Cadbury's Chocolate Fingers. It's just one big vicious circle, isn't it?

~ Eleanor xo