Today I ....
..... Finally stopped putting off what I have wanted to do for years, and set up my own website to start blogging. Don't get me wrong, I am not the first to arm themselves with a partially witty hashtag in the hope that someone on the other side on the world might click on and find me slightly funny ( haha, not looking) but I deffo wont be the last. This also isn't my first attempt at a blog, but I definitely think that this is the first time that I have had some sense of direction.
In August on 2016, I got married, turned 30 and had a very predictable crisis of confidence. After 3 solid years of applying for countless roles to get THE job; spending endless Saturdays in estate agencies and selling our souls to get on the property ladder for THE house; selling important organs and people pleasing to plan THE wedding, whilst trying (and failing) every diet and exercise plan (half arsed) to maintain THE weight. We finally completed the assigned #lifegoals and promptly the Hubster and I hit the emergency escape button and took a well needed minimoon to Looe, a perfectly named seaside town for an immature couple like us, where we took the few pennies we had left and camped for a week by the sea. We had no money for entertainment, no electricity for TV's or game consoles and most alarmingly, no WIFI to keep me intravenously linked to the outside world or suckled onto social media. For the first time in forever, the buzz had left my brain, and I faced with zero distractions, and a face full of reality.
Looking over at the hubster, I realised that my choice of partner in crime was absolutely the right one. Being in this bubble allowed me a bit too much breathing space to look at other areas of my life, areas that planning a house move to the arse end of nowhere, starting a job in the butthole of Britain and planning a wedding with a real life Dadzilla constantly trying to wrestle the reigns from me at every turn, had dulled my senses and emotions somewhat, and with all of those distractions well and truly gone; all I had left to face was reality.
And the reality was..... my job was bloody hard, swearingly relentless, head scratchingly moronic whilst somehow simultaneously being flipping fantastic and aweinspringly rewarding. My job was a constant conflicted oxymoron of a paradox that I couldn't quite fathom or figure out. Basically, it was a head f*ck. I was also living in a rural location where I continually stuck out like a sore thumb. I was the most identifiable black lady at home and at school , who's 6 foot 7 white husband didn't exactly add to my anonymity. I had to travel for miles to get the basics my ethnicity needed to survive (I'm talking hair, make up and food essentials)
The only thing I did know was this.... If I didn't start finding some humour in my job and location soon, I would either have a nervous break down, or be struck off the teaching register having gone down in a blaze of glory because I had snapped in the most spectacular fashion resulting in being paraded on the front page of the red topped press or worse dailymailonline, as a warning to others, resulting in a public shaming and never be able to work with kids again, or I would extradited from the countryside for snapping in the butchers because of the mark up for oxtail thanks to the pull out supplement attributing it to being a super food and endorsed my Sweary Ramsey, and forever being known as the crazy black woman who threw her shoe across the counter getting a half page spread in the local rag, right next to the ongoing debate on who would be mowing the council's lawn.
So today I.... decided to dedicate to finding the giggles in my life, because, why the bloody hell not!