There are times in life, I am told, where you need to recognise your own truth. I'm not precisely sure what this actually means. Sometimes in life you need to recognise that mickey mouse sweatpants aren't a good look, or that cupcakes aren't a valid breakfast choice? Um, I find that very hard to believe (and fyi, I rock those sweatpants). But... there are a few things I've become resigned to over the course of this week.

I admit it...

I can’t keep plants alive. Seriously… two weeks ago I finally admitted that I couldn’t have a pet, since I work all day, so instead I invested in a lavender plant. I named it Brown. I made jokes about my life as a crazy plant lady coming to fruition. Plants, fruit, fruition, you see what I did there. Brown and I were all set to start a glorious new life together: two weeks later, Brown is wilting all over my coffee table like an Austen heroine with the vapours. This is a terrible blow.

...The internet is not being particularly helpful in telling me what I did wrong, or how to fix it, either. Every time I google lavender, it tells me what a hardy plant it is, and how easy it is to take care of. Sigh. I suspect I over-watered.

I can’t write my novel. That is to say, I’m writing a novel. My current pace is one sentence a day. If it’s a funny sentence, I let that one count for two days. Sometimes I find things funny that aren’t really funny, which I think is my subconscious mind’s way of avoiding doing anything constructive.

I can’t fix this spot on my chin. Every time I get a load of crap out of it, I clean it up and think I’ll leave it to heal. A little while later… I have to smother the whole thing in makeup in order to leave the house without people thinking I have the plague. It fills up again. And repeat. I feel as if my chin is gradually swelling to cartoonish proportions. My chin now has its own chin. I had more than enough chin to begin with, thanks. Is this TMI? More importantly… is this just me?

Well, this is depressing. I'm a spotty, illiterate, murderer-of-vegetation. Here are some things I could do this week:

I can fix my broken makeup powders. Whether I should be wearing makeup, given the aforementioned chin situation, is another matter; but this week I managed to drop and break both a black eyeshadow and my face powder. The latter is a problem as I can’t find makeup for my skin tone in Japan and have to get it sent over from England: fortunately a friend came to the rescue on Twitter. The trick is simply to slosh some booze in, mix it around, press it back in and let it dry. I should have known: vodka is always the answer.

I can, at the last count, read and write 366 kanji characters from memory. I was feeling super accomplished and proud of this, until I heard that you need about 2000 in order to read a newspaper, so… awesome. Don’t look to me for current affairs just yet.

I can (finally!) make some of my favourite recipes from ‘Appetite for Reduction’. If you were following me on Twitter last Spring, you will have heard me go on and on about this vegan cookbook until you just wished we’d elope together and be done with it; well, I didn’t elope, but I sort of emigrated? And with finally being able to locate cauliflower (!) and chickpeas (!!) and capers (!!!) in Nagasaki, I reignited my love affair with it over a romantic dinner of chickpea piccata and caulipots, sitting on the fire escape. The recipe is as printed, sans rocket/arugula (you can find the piccata online here), and yes, you should buy this book.

...When did my life become ‘triple exclamation marks over capers’? I don’t even mean capers in the sense of ‘Rumplestiltskin capered about’, I mean… capers. Oh god, I’m questioning everything I’ve become.

Comment with your cans and can'ts for this week, guys. And no, I'm not gonna get all "can't say can't!" on yo' ass. Because... I totally can. I consider myself the gloomy antithesis of all the chirpy gym bunnies bouncing around Pinterest, bubbling with inspirational quotes.

And I'm cool with that.