I am a woman made of various proclivities. When I was a child, my Proclivity for sugar was close to monumental. I had such a sweet tooth, it’s a wonder I have any left in my head.
As a teenager, my proclivities became rather more toxic – smoking and late night repeats of daytime talk shows.
In my twenties, I got to alcohol. I never really had a talent for it until a bad breakup four days before my thirtieth birthday. At that point, my capacity for Guinness would lead any hapless onlooker to believe my drinking to be professional. It was as if stout was a food group.
None of this sounds particularly positive, I know, and perhaps my erstwhile proclivities have been somewhat stupid and bleak.
My current obsession is far healthier: My go-to girl is my novel. Far safer than smoking, drinking and late, late nights.
Pretend people occupy my mind, and I love them.