Aloneness ≠ Loneliness

I’m a fairly social kinda lass. I thrive in a team, mostly so I can go on mid-afternoon dairy runs and gossip about who did who over the weekend.

So when I woke up on day uno numero of self-employment, I wasn’t prepared for the feeling of complete abandonment when Husband trotted off to his nine-to-five and I was left alone in our apartment with no one but my giraffe onesie to keep me company.

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I Quit My Job & I Liked It

During high school I had quite a few career aspirations. First I wanted to be a teacher (until I remembered I wasn’t really a fan of children). Then I wanted to be a lawyer (until I realised I’d end up with a student loan on par with the debt of a small country). Then I wanted to be a policewoman (until I discovered my inability to do press-ups). Finally I settled on becoming a writer, although back then I had no idea what that might look like.

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The Day I Became a Mum

It’s 10:10pm. I’ve just hauled my weary five-days-overdue body off the couch, foregone the idea of replacing my clothes with pyjamas because if I can’t see my feet, there’s no way I can hoist shorts up over my enlarged derriere, and collapsed into bed fully nude. At this stage in my life, nude does not equal sexy. It’s simply a survival mechanism because I can’t be bothered exerting any effort that will literally be wasted when I change into day-suitable attire tomorrow. There’s just no point. Actually, why am I getting changed at all?

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