I wrote something for my writer's group. It was terrible and I decided that I did not want to read it out (not couldn't, but didn't want to!) in front of those people that I respect. So I didn't go. Next meeting is this Monday and I've decided that if the fiction I write embarrasses me, I will at least write some non-fiction. I am opinionated if nothing else. I started feeling lighter as soon as I made that decision. It's amazing how clearly you can be guided by your physical reactions to something.

The unpacking has definitely progressed, helped in part by a house inspection. Momentum is a wonderful thing and even after the inspection date I've continued to keep the place tidy and continue unpacking. It's not finished yet but there's progress every day. As we speak the new couch that has been in its box for four weeks is being assembled.

The biggest change since I wrote last is that ‘he' and I decided to give it another go. By living together, eating together and going away for the weekend together ‘because there wasn't anyone else,' we were neither single nor a couple and it wasn't going to help either of us in the short, medium or long-term. So I did something I've never done before - demanded that he decide either to stay with me and make it work, or not in which case he had to move out. I tried (and I think succeeded) in staying out of the decision. The deadline was 5pm Friday. He chose to stay.

As I walked through the front door an hour later he told me that nothing had changed over the last few days, he still didn't know if this was the right decision but he wanted to stay and try and make it work. I would have been upset and angry if it wasn't for the fact that I felt exactly the same way. But a decision had at least been made. Hurray. 24hours later I'd reversed the decision, and 12 hours after that we were back to decision one. When did my life become a pathetic sitcom?

While he had been making the first decision, I had been busy preparing myself for the worst - telling two girlfriends that I may need a shoulder to cry on, making arrangements for every evening next week, and depleting the library of all the break-up books I could find. (There are two left that I'm going back for). I'd had a good cry about how I was going to die a haggard, crazy woman and be eaten my own cats. During this process my heart realised what my brain knew, that I would be just fine. It was liberating. To be honest I think that's the only reason that I'm now in the healthy position where I can say, ‘I want to see if we can make this work, and I will try properly, not just make a few half-hearted gestures, but if it doesn't work, I'll be fine.'

In the name of actually trying and not just pretending to, I've promised myself that I will stay in the present. We've resolved our past arguments, I don't care about his exes, yes things have been rubbish for some months, but right here in this moment, we're both okay, and we kind of remember why we hung on for so long in the first place.

My list of goals is in the process of change. I've decided to write a list, or maybe draw a diagram, of where my life is at this moment, being as honest as possible. Then I am going to do the same for the life I want, being optimistically realistic. I think it'll be easier to see what I need to do to get from diagram one to diagram two. Not easier to do it necessarily, but easier to know what to do, and that's the first step.

As for ‘him,' I'll keep you posted. In the meantime there's still the copy of Bridget Jones that I bought a few years ago from a street vendor in Bali.

Read Jasmine's previous blogs:
30, single and lost in life