The beginning:
A letter hit the mat. Car Tax was due. Bank balance: zero.
I looked around my flat. What could I sell that was worth something to someone? Bingo. My wedding rings. Well, I didn't need them anymore, did I? Gathering dust on my dressing table, burning a hole in my heart every time I caught a glimpse of them. They had to go.
That got me thinking: what else did I own of value that I could make money from? My ex was generous: Mulberrys, Louies, Furlas filled my wardrobe in various forms but, as I desperately downloaded the Ebay App to flog them all, I stopped.
Sell them? And then what?
Divorced, skint, living in a two-bed flat I could hardly afford WITHOUT anything decent to my name? No.
I'd only have to go out and buy a new handbag, probably a supermarket cheapie whose handles would inevitably fall off within a few weeks of over stuffing it with the usual amount of crap every average teacher, mother, woman carries around with her. Off to the landfill it would go...along with the last remnants of my pride and dignity. Meh!
Sleep: a place in which I could forget that my life had just fallen in around my ears.
The next day I awoke. My daughter's toes imbedded in my spine was normal but something else wasn't budging. 'Thirty at Thirty.' 'The List.' '30 items, all thirty- year- olds should own just one of.' 'Thirty at Thirty.'
It wouldn't budge. Lightbulb moment.
I looked around my flat. What could I sell that was worth something to someone? Bingo. My wedding rings. Well, I didn't need them anymore, did I? Gathering dust on my dressing table, burning a hole in my heart every time I caught a glimpse of them. They had to go.
That got me thinking: what else did I own of value that I could make money from? My ex was generous: Mulberrys, Louies, Furlas filled my wardrobe in various forms but, as I desperately downloaded the Ebay App to flog them all, I stopped.
Sell them? And then what?
Divorced, skint, living in a two-bed flat I could hardly afford WITHOUT anything decent to my name? No.
I'd only have to go out and buy a new handbag, probably a supermarket cheapie whose handles would inevitably fall off within a few weeks of over stuffing it with the usual amount of crap every average teacher, mother, woman carries around with her. Off to the landfill it would go...along with the last remnants of my pride and dignity. Meh!
Sleep: a place in which I could forget that my life had just fallen in around my ears.
The next day I awoke. My daughter's toes imbedded in my spine was normal but something else wasn't budging. 'Thirty at Thirty.' 'The List.' '30 items, all thirty- year- olds should own just one of.' 'Thirty at Thirty.'
It wouldn't budge. Lightbulb moment.
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