Okay, so this isn’t about an unruly dog.
It’s about my unruly family members. Who may as well be called ‘Fenton’.
In case you’re unfamiliar with this meme reference, here you are:
A recent conversation went thusly:
‘I don’t think I like my job anymore,’ I began.
‘Why not, dear?’ My father asked.
‘I don’t know. It isn’t exactly soul satisfying. I think I want to be a writer.’
‘Darling, people have a purpose, and they have a calling. You are fulfilling your purpose by making money, and you can fulfil your calling, if that’s what writing is for you, in your spare time.’
If “sulk” were a facial expression, I was probably nailing it.
‘Honey, I think you should absolutely pursue writing,’ my mother interjected. ‘You are a fabulous writer, I have always said that.’ She paused for a moment. ‘But perhaps you should also think about how you will make money.’
I rolled my eyes and stood up, heading straight to the mini bar. ‘You have to understand,’ my father said, ‘that in our generation there wasn’t a culture of having to have passion in one’s job. Yes, your job could be purposeful, but it didn’t have to be your passion. You could keep a journal.’
I downed the glass of whiskey I had poured and sat back down, picking up my laptop as they yammered on.
I began writing an email to myself. It was after midnight and my father had been talking to me for an hour. I had intended to start writing a post fifty-five minutes earlier, but instead debated with my father about the difference between the 1970s and now. The email went thusly:
Subject: WRITE EVERYTHING NOW
Yeah, that’s actually how my internal pep talks go.
I actually wrote that as I was talked at about how I should go work for a bank. That is an unedited brain to keyboard thought process.
Here is what I was talking about:
It was actually 40* Bloggers That Really Matter, and it was four years ago, but whatever. Also, neither Oprah nor Obama were on this list. Gwyneth was though. And I still rate my ramblings above the recipes on Goop.
Here’s what they said about me:
Sex at Oxbridge
How do you make your blog headline-worthy after a handful of posts? Write about your sex life as a female undergraduate. The author of Sex at Oxbridge has slyly neglected to disclose which of the two institutions she belongs to, and her anonymity remains intact after three months’ writing about drunken trysts with rowers and rugby players. If Belle de Jour or Girl with a One-Track Mind are anything to go by, she won’t stay unidentified for long.
Well I have stayed unidentified. Except for my closest friends who all know about this blog because I’ve drunkenly told most of them. They are more than supportive, and sometimes I wonder if I just told my parents about it that they would understand where this sudden interest in devoting my life to writing came from. Until then, I’ll just have to keep justifying my rejection of the banking industry to them for a myriad of reasons.
Anyway, I shall be picking up where I left off in my narrative and relaying all of my recent shenanigans and life changes.
Love you all, mean it xx