Hello, Present Janna...Past Janna wants a word.

Yesterday afternoon I was sitting in the lobby of the Marble Arch hotel my mother and I had just checked out of. Four glorious days of running around the city, eating too much (too much being the keywords, my stomach has yet to recover) and spending too much - I was officially exhausted. So whilst my mum and I chattered away about everything and nothing, as we tend to do, I scrolled through my new emails on my mobile very distractedly.

Until I found one email with the heading 'Hello from Past Janna =)'.

A year ago yesterday, I hadn't been in a very good state. Nearing the deadline to finish a thesis I had absolutely no love for, still heartbroken about an ended relationship and very confused about the direction my life was taking (at that point, it seemed to be into a brick wall), I stumbled across the website http://futureme.org. This absolute gem of a site gives you the ability to send an email to yourself...in the future. How awesome is that? You can choose any day, month or year you want. It can be as long as you want and about anything you want. You can make it private (which is what I did) or public, giving the owners of the website access to publishing it in a collection of futureme letters (I think one book's already out).

Before yesterday, I used to regard the first half of 2009 as some of the most awful months of my life. I used to remember my state of mind at that time and cringe at the mess I was. I used to make fun of myself in front of friends, both old and new, about how pathetic I had been spending most of my days on the internet when I should have been forcing out that damned thesis; or obsessing over what had long been over when I should have seriously been giving myself a kick up the arse.

Of course, I still think I'm right about the whole 'I should have stopped moping around and done something' issue but, at the same time, past Janna had some very wise words for me one year later. Whilst she wasn't sure whether we'd actually pull through with the whole thesis business, she certainly hoped for the best. She hoped I would finally find a nice guy and have a good, healthy relationship. She hoped I would eventually find what I was looking for. She couldn't guarantee that all that would happen, but she was indeed hopeful. The one thing she did promise was that, despite my many faults (overthinking everything and obsessing, extremely low self esteem, a horrible temper, a level of stubborness that would make a grown man cry, etc etc) there were people who loved me. Are. Love. People who would support me and offer their shoulders whenever I needed a cry, or greasy food runs whenever I was having a minor thesis-related nervous breakdown, or a whallop if I whined about my thighs (if my best friend is reading this, she'd be smirking rather knowingly right about now).

It's a good thing past me didn't promise all of that because things haven't been perfect. I barely scraped through where my thesis was concerned and, despite a few opportunities, my commitment-phobia has successfully seen to the disappearance of a couple of potential boyfriends. But I am where I want to be! I'm in London for chrissake! Studying my favourite Ruskis! I'm definitely living the life I've always wanted, even if I am completely broke doing it and fearing my bank manager's wrath when I eventually get back to Malta. And whilst I'm not in a full-on relationship, I'm dating - taking it slow enough not to arouse the sleeping beast that is the aforementioned commitment-phobia.

I think I ought to give my past self a lot more credit than I ever have.

In the meanwhile, just to prove my point, I'm going to get back to these lovely, recently purchased buggers. Trifecta of doom, anyone?