It wasn't done intentionally, but it seems I've ghosted my book club and now I don't know what to do.
You see, I still want to be a member, but I fear I've missed all the catch-ups (except one), haven't read any of the books (except one) and haven't engaged in much of the online discussions that now, I've backed myself into the corner.
And I have nothing to blame except my own disorganisation.
For years, I've watched on jealously as most of my friends have discussed their book clubs. I've always wanted to be part of one, but have never been asked to join. I was Shane Warne asking to be included in the Nobel Prize for Literature shortlist.
This particular group was so in demand they run a lucky dip to invite new members. One year, I missed out on an invitation, but then as luck would have it I finally made the cut. I was in!
Although, I only know one person in the group, and normally find hanging out with new people a bit nerve wrecking, I jumped at the chance. I was so excited.
Full of good intentions, I downloaded the first six books onto my kindle and began reading. But then I got busy and realised I'd be away for the first catch-up, so I never finished the first book. And here's a disclaimer, I never finished any of the Fifty Shades of Grey books either - I only read the sex scenes.
The next month came along and the same thing happened.
Then the next month, while I could make the meeting, I realised at the last minute I'd stupidly read the wrong book, so bailed at the last minute.
Finally, I could not only make my first meeting, but I was also reading the right book. It had only taken me four months of dealing with my own ridiculousness that I'd finally got it right. I felt much like I suspect Justin Bieber did after he finished his epic autobiography First Step 2 Forever.
But two days prior to the event, I was still ferociously reading the book. I was staying up into the night, getting up early and putting off work to read. I was determined to be able to take part in discussions. I was determined not to let myself, or the team down. I had something to prove. My honour was on the line.
Minutes before the meeting, I finished the book.
And I had a great time. The discussion was intelligent, the laughs many and all in all I had a fabulous experience. I loved meeting everyone and was looking forward to the next book club catch-up.
But as luck would have it, it fell on my birthday and I couldn't make it. Nor could I make the next one or the next one.
I was so embarrassed by my inability to join-in fully, that I started ignoring all discussions. And then, after a couple more months I realised I had ghosted my book club.
I'm a 40-plus professional woman and I ghosted my book club. Who even am I? I am a Twilight book - fun, but so badly written you want to poke yourself in the eye.
I am still yet to write an apology. That's how ashamed I am. And I have nobody to blame, except myself, and my extremely bad life-juggling skills.
Perhaps I'm not cut out for a book club? Perhaps I should just offer up my lame excuses and remove myself from the group – forever a book club failure. A little like a second-rate historical, romantic fiction that you find in the $2 bin at the supermarket - written with good intentions, but so unbearably predictable that you can't wait to leave it on the bus. Forever forgotten.
Or maybe I should just suck it up and keep persisting, much like Paris Hilton when she thought it a good idea to write a novel and then stupidly decided to write another one.
I just wonder - will they still let me be a member?