The ASDA driver probably wishes he didn’t ask!
I have to admit, I had no plans to write today. It’s a typical chaotic Monday, but for as crazy as it has now gone, some things just have to be shared.
This week marks the start of change. With Matt starting a new job last Friday and him (finally!) having some sort of structure, it’s enabled me to create a new, better routine of my own: Up at 7, breakfast at 8, blogging for three hours from 8:30, and then a cup of tea and some housework until lunch. I’m also beginning to think about my blogging schedule and prices to write for others, but if I’m charging for my work then hours are something that I’ll need to be mindful of. I can work up to 16 hours per week before they impact my benefits (I at last want to know that my plans are viable before I come off of them), and so I decided to minus an hour from 16 to get 15, then divide that by five days to get three hours of work per day, nice and easy. I won’t be posting every day, but I’ll be working on my blog, replying to comments, editing dead links, sorting SEO, all of that fun stuff.
Once a fortnight, on a Monday, I also get an ASDA grocery delivery. I get groceries for two weeks, and then freeze the meat that’s for meals which are more than a few days away and I defrost it as we need it. It’s an efficient system created by yours truly that works around pay days and things. Well, at least it works for me.
Today is one such Monday One such Monday when our hallway is full of all kinds of groceries that will need slotting away once I’ve finished on here – that’s always fun.
Now, I received a text message this morning to say that my delivery would be late – between 11:25 and 11:55 – which kind of was a big deal. My slot was 10-11, so it was already screwing up today’s blogging time without screwing up tea and housework time, too.
But at 10:45, there was a knock at our front door. It was ASDA.
“Oh, I wasn’t expecting you yet. I had a text this morning to say you were running late” I smiled.
“Umm… I’ve got you down for between ten and eleven?” the driver replied.
“That’s right, but I had a text to say you’d be delivering between quarter past eleven and ten to twelve.”
“They’ve already messed me around today, to be honest. They completely wiped my computer this morning”. I laughed, I’d lost count of how many times I’d heard ASDA drivers criticise the distribution depot.
“If it’s any consolation” I offered as I picked my groceries from the basket, “I’ve had to delete and reinstall Google Chrome this morning because the damn thing corrupted, so you aren’t alone. First hour into my new work routine and I spend it fixing the damned computer. Happy Monday!” I sighed. He laughed.
“What do you do?”
“I’m a writer” I said coolly. The ‘I’m a writer’ claim serves a purpose just as similarly as I should imagine that OnlyFans girls calling themselves ‘accountants’ would do. It’s more respected than admitting that we dedicate our working hours to sex and pleasure. By miles.
“Oh, what sort of topics?”
Well, no going back now…
“Umm… sexual health” I blushed, “primarily for disabled people.”
Sexual health. Well it was, sort of. In a way.
“People don’t think about it, or don’t want to think about it” I added, “people like to think of disabled people as sweet and nice and removed from some of the more ‘normal’ things in society, as people who wouldn’t be interested in sex, but they are, and not enough people are talking abut it. Actually, one of the biggest things now is kink, because ever since Fifty Shades Of Grey…“
You sly motherfucker, missus!
“It’s quite hard when people ask what I do as well, because the conversation can go one of two ways. Either people are genuinely interested, which is obviously great because it’s a conversation that we should be having, about making sex and sexuality accessible for all, or people get squeamish about sex and don’t want to know, which then of course puts people at risk.”
The poor chap, I don’t think he was ready for such a deep discussion so early on a Monday.
“Is there much money to be made from it?” he finally asked.
“Oh yes, I get people approaching me to write for them all the time. Actually, one of the problems now, because of that, is deciding if and how much I want to charge for what I do. Oh, that sounds awful when you think about what I do. I don’t offer those sorts of services, I promise!” I assured him.
“It’s still hard to believe that it all started with a journal entry that began with ‘well I suppose if I have to then I better do this thing…’, and journal posts so long that my husband called me Jane Austen. So then I set up a blog, wrote about what I was passionate about, aspired to help other people and now, here I am. It’s not every day you get head-hunted just for doing what you love.”
In truth, sometimes I don’t know how long I’ll be here, or how far it will go, or if it will go at all. All I know, is that when I stepped into the working world, I knew from that very moment that I could never work under a manager – the idea of it alone made me feel physically ill! No, I didn’t want the freedom to live an Insta-worthy life, to make videos, play games or to make music in my own little ‘band’. I wanted to be my own boss, to organise my own responsibilities, my own schedules, to manage my own tasks and focus my career on what I was passionate about. I wanted to dedicate myself and my life to helping others, working alongside other people, rather than working from below them.
Well, at least in an official capacity, anyway.