When I started blogging again, it came from a wont to document the ins and outs of pregnancy but there were other reasons, too. There had been an underlying urge to reignite some kind of creativity for a while. I just didn’t know what that would be, or how I was going to do it. I don’t know quite why the urge took me when it did. It’s hard to pick the most prevalent reason but if I had to choose I’d whittle it down to maybe three.
Now I am 30.
My twenties have now officially come and gone and I’ve entered the realm of 30. Honestly? I couldn’t be happier about it. Sure, it’d be nice to be turning 20 now instead of when I did, growing up savvier and with so many more information and opportunities at my disposal.
But I’m not, and wishing for it is just encroaching more on my thirties, so why bother.
November is a pretty significant one for me this year. Permit me, for a second, to discount the horrific shit-abyss into which this year has descended and focus on some positives. Firstly it was my mum’s 60th birthday. Secondly, my girl Bee celebrated her one year anniversary and a year since I got to stand up with her while she became a Mrs. It’s my last full month at work until halfway into next year and the last full month before I become a mum.
It’s also *gulp* the last month of my twenties.
A year ago today, I graduated from university and it got me thinking about accomplishments. I like to think I’ve had a decent amount of them in my time, not just academic but professional, personal and physical. However, none of those things- not even shaving half my head and dyeing the other half neon pink- were as much of a conversation starter as pregnancy.
Everyone has an opinion on pregnancy. Everyone has a personal story or anecdote, or know something that’s happened to someone else. Whatever it is, they’re just bursting to tell you. Most of it, admittedly, is well-intentioned. People might not mean to come across in a particular way. They might even think they’re being helpful.
Black Mirror made its return on October 21st, with a new series double the length of its predecessors and big, shiny Netflix budget to fund it. For the uninitiated, it’s the brainchild of satirist, malcontent and silver fox Charlie Brooker, and explores a future not too removed or dissimilar to our own: one where technology, and our reliance on it, has made everything that little bit darker. It’s science fiction, but not so outlandish that it feels unimaginable. It has an almost prophetic feel to it, and that’s where its danger has always been. Who would’ve thought that, some years after its debut episode, the Prime Minister would be accused of getting his jollies from a dead pig?