Chapter•Twenty Five

Buckle up my dear reader, this could be a rather long post…

A long time has passed since I have written for my blog. The proverbial life has taken over and while a lot of exciting things are happening, sometimes, things have gotten a little too much and in turn, I’ve failed to have much interest (and time) for my blog.

I’ll get on to the exciting news shortly, but first I feel I need to address what today is for me. Only a couple of people know the significance of the date, but I’m in an OK place about it all so I’m fine with not waffling on about it to people endlessly. It’s a year ago today that the man I thought I’d spend my entire life with, broke up with me. As you can ascertain from previous posts, it crushed me and temporarily threatened to ruin me. But it didn’t. It really didn’t. You see, because there is life after love, and I have been on a mission to show myself that. It was a sad day a year ago, but a year on, I’m celebrating. I believe everything happens for a reason. Including getting your heart-broken. Sometimes, something really big and really horrible needs to happen to shake us out of the rut we’re unintentionally living and open up the freedom we need to live a better life. The life we, deep down, have always wanted to live. The life we wouldn’t be able to live if we were in a serious relationship.

So, to cut along many stories short, I am celebrating today and the freedom it has given me to do what I want to do, go where I want to go and be who I want to be.

And if that ain’t cause to crack open the Bailey’s, I don’t know what is…


In other more glorious and slightly less emotionally curdling news, I am flying to Norway in two months time!

All the yay’s and all the “oh christ’s but I have no money” for me!

It was decided back in March, while I was talking to my friend’s on Facebook who live there, that I should visit. So, impulsively and very un-Amy-like, I agreed to go. And after a couple of days of despairing over flights and costs, I booked me in for the end of July. I haven’t been out of the country since 2003 and most importantly, have never flown by myself. I currently have no idea how I’ll react to sitting alone in my seat as the plane builds speed to take off, as I sit there fists clenched and panting like a dog in summer, next to a bunch of people I do not know. More’s to the point, I don’t know how they’ll react to me…

All this starts at 2.45 in the morning on a Friday when I leave the house to get a coach to Gatwick airport. From there I’ll spend 4 hours on the road (with a token 30 minute stop at Heathrow for shits and giggles), rock up at the airport about half 7 and from there no doubt spend the entire time until my flight trying to work out how to check myself in and use the self-service bag drop. As they like to call it. What ever happened to queuing for an hour at a check-in desk, while a nice lady gave you your boarding pass and helped you wave goodbye to your luggage, I do not know.

The whole trip, of course, dependent on whether I make it through security. I get quite shifty in tense situations when I know I’m supposed to be efficient. There’s so much to think about. From what shoes you’re wearing and whether or not your feet smell like roses if security ask you to remove said shoes. To what your instant reaction is going to be if you set the alarm off. To making sure anything which might be classed as suspicious (like a hair grip or chewing gum) is in a clear bag laid out on a tray as if some sort of flat lay blog photo was about to occur.

From there I’ll proceed with a smug, nonchalant walk through duty-free trying not to knock over the still-overpriced barrage of tacky perfumes by lets face it, no one we’ve ever actually heard of. Then cosy up in the nearest Starbuck’s to my departure gate I can find and stinge their Wi-Fi and eat all the food, while I wait for my flight.

Quite frankly, I can’t see what I’m so worried about.


Also, this ^ kinda happened…

I have enrolled on a Journalism Diploma with the National Council for the Training of Journalists. I touched on how much I wanted to do this in my last blog post, and a month on, I am doing it. Yet another massive decision which has cost me a ton, but I keep reassuring myself it’s an investment in my future. It’s a distance learning course which means I have to find not only the time to study and do coursework, but the energy also. After a long day’s work on my feet and battling my ME symptoms life it’s the war on health, staying awake and alert for evening reading is not going well. However, I will not be defeated and I shall attack this with oomph and passion. Yeah, oomph and passion!

National exams are only held twice a year though so it either puts serious pressure on for me to finish by next May or depresses me slightly to consider I might not qualify until next December… Ideally, I need to be working in a newsroom to fully complete the course, so maybe I’ll magically land a junior position somewhere so I can leave my job before December next year. I guess it would all make a lot more sense if I were already working in the news industry and it would most certainly help me complete the course quicker too. However it’s the age-old problem of what comes first? Experience vs job. You can’t seem to do either without the other.

Anyway, that’s what I’ll be absorbed in for the next forever. Journalism studies and travelling. Essentially, my dream. However, nothing, especially dreams, happens that easily. Screams the oh so cynical part of me.

Wish me luck chums…

Oh, and before I leave you all to resume with your lives, other news. I turned 25. I am officially not a young adult. I am a whole adult. No more reduced National Trust membership fees for me. In fact, no more National Trust at all as of next year. Because let’s be honest, who wants to pay £65 a year to look at really bloody repetitive foliage and on top of that pay half your savings on tea and cake, every time you visit?

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