Okay, so it’s not actually my birthday (my birthday isn’t until August) but it is my blog’s birthday. That’s right: today marks the one year anniversary of my very first post here at After I Quit My Day Job! And what a year’s it been…
First there were those six months of hell (aka “The Shop”) during which I realized I had three options: commit homicide, commit suicide, or start a blog. Luckily, I went with Option 3 and before too long, I quit my job, went to the Philadelphia Writers Conference, blew the majority of my savings to present my first academic paper at the Society of Dance History Scholars conference in London and got my act together. Almost.
Upon returning to Philadelphia, I was still depressed. And still missing London. And still lonely, now that all of my American friends had seemingly gotten married and moved to the suburbs. It was at this point, in my infinite wisdom that I decided to join Match.com (because as everyone knows, the greatest time to start a relationship is when you’re lonely, unhappy and depressed. See how well it’s worked out for me?)
I don’t have to bother to tell you what happened over the course of the next few months because if you’re reading this, you probably already know. In fact, you’re probably a subscriber, in which case: THANK YOU! It’s one thing to know that your mom and your old roommates have taken an interest in your “anthropological endeavors.” It’s quite another to realize that perfect strangers from around the world are cheering you on (or telling you you’re an idiot, which is fine too; obviously I prefer the former but seeing as my “research methods” are a bit controversial and are on the internet for everyone to see, I’m trying to develop a thicker skins so far comments are concerned).
I’ve written two blogs in the past (one when I lived in Oxford and one when I lived in London) but I scrapped each one at the end of the school year. It never occurred to me that my life could be interesting outside of school (or outside of the UK), or that I could— at the very least—make it sound interesting.
For those of you who haven’t figured it out by now, I should confess that my life isn’t nearly so exciting as it seems. An old friend/former flat mate/ex-boyfriend once asked me, “How come no one ever just falls in love with you normally, Kat? Why are men always ‘professing’ their love or ‘declaring’ their love to you?”
Well, because I write it that way. Obviously the old friend/former flat mate/ex-boyfriend was unacquainted with my love of Jane Austen, the written word and romance in general.
That is not to say that the “professions” and “declarations” I’d received were exaggerated—I developed a taste for philosophically-inclined, poetic types during my year at Oxford and one in particular, himself a great fan of the written word and romance-in-general, was forever “declaring” things to me.
The more accurate answer to this question, however, is that I’ve read entirely too many nineteenth-century novels: Austen, Elliot, Dickens, Dostoyevsky, Bovary as of a few weeks ago, and nearly everything ever written by the Brontes—did you know, by the way, that there were actually three sisters?
As such, I’ve developed a penchant for all things dramatic. I may live with my parents, I may teach preschool and I may spend the majority of my free time sitting in a coffee shop staring at my computer screen (encounters with The Civilian notwithstanding) but I’ll be damned if I’m going to spend the rest of my 20s moping around and lamenting the fact that I’m no longer living in London.
So yes, my life may seem exciting but really, it’s because I write it that way. (And here concludes the “Writing Wednesday” portion of today’s post.)
Now: let’s talk about birthday presents. My blog would like very much to take its readership to the next level (by which I mean the six-figure level) and it’s stuck around 98,000 hits right now. Comments, Tweets, Likes, Facebook “shares” and chocolate are therefore greatly appreciated. (Also, its writer could do with a few new bras but then she’d have to confess her cup size on the internet and there are a few things—even after a year—that a girl’s got to keep private.)
As always, thanks for reading, spread the love and stay tuned! Because tomorrow, it’s gonna get steamy.