So I’ve been unusually silent since escaping from the lunatic asylum that was my corporate hell. One might think that this is because I’ve been manically job hunting, pulling my hair out to find some other office loon who will employ me. But no. None of the above.
There are two main reasons for my lack of posts. Now that I have no office job and rarely leave the cocoon of my cozy flat, I have no one to bitch or moan about (apart from the lady in the post office down the road; why is she so hairy? Why is she so mean?). Without the plethora of office twats at my disposal I am devoid of any meaningful writing material.
I could tell you about how I plucked the ingrowing hairs out of my calf or how I spent a full hour rubbing coconut oil into my cracked heels. Perhaps a “scary things women do to be beautiful” blog. Or I could write about how I set up a trap to catch fruit flies made from vinegar and fairy liquid or how I never knew that my hoover was supposed to rotate in order to actually work; a sort of “I’m shit at being a housewife” blog.
The second reason for prolonged silence is that along my I-hate-office-life journey I finally decided that I’m unemployable and should never ever take instructions from a ball-busting boss ever again. Perhaps a tad silly as I turned down a really nice job with a really nice company and instead put all my eggs in one basket, spent all the meagre savings I have, pretended I am hugely clever and have started my own business.
In theory this is an excellent idea. I can use the hashtag #girlboss in every social media post. I can tell people I’m a company director, I can expense things (to myself, which is not actually a benefit at all), I can charm customers with my wit and sophistication (lies, lies, lies).
In reality however I have spent the last two weeks lounging on my sofa, flitting in and out of coffee shops like a caffeine crazed butterfly, emptying cupboards and taking huge black bags to charity shops and eBaying (yes, I have just made up my own verb because I am that self important). Actually, eBaying my face off.
(Side note: did you know that there is a huge market on eBay for smelly old shoes? I was shocked to see old, ugly and pungent shoes up for auction selling for £25. So, in my innocence, I quickly pulled out a few of my more battered ballet pumps and jumped on the shoe wagon. After a little bit of research however I learnt that I was in actual fact selling my foot stink to an underworld of foot fetishists. I saw a pair of cat patterned (yes cat patterned) flats, which were torn and ugly and the description stated they had been “worn in the summer with bare feet” and were “very smelly”. These sold for more than £30. I don’t know whether I feel dirty or just a little bit smug. Ebay does not however permit the selling of worn tights or underwear…..this is actually a thing people do).
Anyway, as stated I am currently in the midst of a selling frenzy. I have combed the interior of my cluttered little home and found the most bizarre and very unwanted things to sell. Most of these are gifts from an oddball ex. The array of tat includes: a pink, lacy tissue box cover, an oven glove, a lizard shaped ashtray, countless tiny ornaments, a perfume making set, cuddly toys, a pizza cutter, finger puppets (yes you read that correctly) and a diamante encrusted belt. What the actual fuck?
It’s odd when you look through gifts from an ex. When you see yourself through their eyes and can’t quite understand who they were looking at. Presumably he saw me as a gypsy-skirt wearing, tissue box covering, eye cream requiring (he bought me three tubs once Christmas), ornament collecting hoarder.
I remember the first birthday we spent together as a couple. I was insanely excited about the presents (because he was quite wealthy and I am quite shallow). I sat marveling at the pile of gifts in front of me. The obligatory cuddly toy was first (ahh so cute, love you blah blah), then a rubber snail (when you squeeze it the tongue pops out), then a plastic cigar (no fucking clue) and finally, the big one, a slanket (a blanket with holes for your arms). Thankfully I haven’t subjected eBay to all this crap and have hurled most of it in the bin.
So whilst cleaning out my flat, watching terrible TV, spending money on my new blonde hair, cooking weird curries and going to the gym (once) I am also pretending to start a business, be professional, and not be unemployed. ‘Tis a hard life multi-tasking and juggling procrastination with the feeling of dread when I realise what I have done.
EEEEEEEEKKK. Please keep fingers, toes, eyes and lips crossed for me. And someone remind me that freelancing is not a holiday…..soon.