Today we have the hilarious Sarah from Slapdash Mama.
Sarah is one of those blogs I turn to when I need a good laugh. The way she looks at life and all the stuff that makes it up is just awesome as she laughs in the face of any daily crap that comes her way and deals with it in the best way you can - with humour.
The world could definitely do with more Sarah's in it.
Sarah is telling us what happened to the dream she had when she was younger.
Over to you chick.
When Sonia asked if I would write a post about chasing my dreams, I was naturally propelled back, back to the deep dark recesses of time, to my final years in high school. An innocent time, before jeggings, before flannos became ironically cool and were just flannos, before the internet was even a thing. I was a hopeful, confident teenager with the world at my feet. I had long blonde hair that I used to toss around blithely, like a pony, or one of those nubile wenches from that movie Sirens. I had an overdeveloped sense of youthful superiority. I was DESTINED FOR BIG THINGS BABY!
Sarah is one of those blogs I turn to when I need a good laugh. The way she looks at life and all the stuff that makes it up is just awesome as she laughs in the face of any daily crap that comes her way and deals with it in the best way you can - with humour.
The world could definitely do with more Sarah's in it.
Sarah is telling us what happened to the dream she had when she was younger.
Over to you chick.
When Sonia asked if I would write a post about chasing my dreams, I was naturally propelled back, back to the deep dark recesses of time, to my final years in high school. An innocent time, before jeggings, before flannos became ironically cool and were just flannos, before the internet was even a thing. I was a hopeful, confident teenager with the world at my feet. I had long blonde hair that I used to toss around blithely, like a pony, or one of those nubile wenches from that movie Sirens. I had an overdeveloped sense of youthful superiority. I was DESTINED FOR BIG THINGS BABY!
When asked by a teacher once what my dream
job was, the answer was SO OBVIOUS GAH! I rolled my eyes and answered
"I want to be a journalist. A foreign correspondent. Preferably in
MOSCOW".
My teacher raised her eyebrows.
"Wow, really! Good for you! So I guess
you will have to do journalism at uni?"
I may have rolled my eyes again. I mean OBVIOUSLY I
was going to do journalism.
"And probably have to learn another
language?"
Um. I guess so. Hadn't really
thought about it. I felt less
sure.
"Russian, probably? Maybe you should think about
learning some now? And you could probably try and get some work experience at a
local newspaper? Or the local TV station? Maybe you could start a SCHOOL
NEWSPAPER!" she continued, full of helpful suggestions on how to make my
dream a reality.
UGH. Talk about a mood killer. Yeah, yeah
lady, enough with the REALITY CHECK OK? That all sounds like a lot of freaking
HARD WORK!
Obviously I was just going to get into journalism at
uni and just, you know, DO JOURNALISM and stuff and then someone would, I don't
know, like, SEE MY POTENTIAL and just kind of GIVE ME AN AWESOME JOB OF
COOLNESS and it would probably be in Moscow. Or Paris. Or at a pinch, New York.
Whatever, I was flexible. As if I had to worry about
MAKING A PLAN or DOING LOTS OF WORK or anything like that. I mean, I was top of
English AND Modern History. OBVIOUSLY STAR POTENTIAL RIGHT THERE!
Anyway, I did manage to get myself to ole university
and even into a journalism degree. My high school colleagues wrote cheery
farewells in my yearbook, quipping things like "See you when you are a
reporter for Getaway!" and what not. I laughed modestly. Yes, you probably
will, I thought.
The Gods hate hubris though, gentle readers. It didn't
take me long to realize my chirpy big fish in a small pond schtick wasn't going
to fly in this FARKING HUGE OCEAN of HUNGRY ASPIRATIONAL TV WEATHER GIRLS. And
bossy mean lecturers who totes didn't seem to see my INNATE TALENT and MAD
WRITING NEWS WORTHY SPOTTING CONCISE ARTICLE THINGO skillz.
It was so bloody hard. I was lonely and sad and
pathetic. The final straws came in semester two when my only two pals dropped
out, leaving me Nigella No Friends, and we were simultaneously supposed to
complete an assignment where we had to GO OUT INTO THE CITY BOTANICAL
GARDENS, BAIL UP A STRANGER, INTERVIEW THEM AND WRITE IT INTO AN ARTICLE IN 3
HOURS.
You know, like some sort of JOURNALIST!
Outrageous.
The very idea stuck terror into my soul. I raced home
and sobbed onto the phone to Mum, "Sob sob...they want me
to.....wahhhh....go and...sob sniff...talk to a STRANGER....sob...I
CAAAAANNNN'TTTTT......".
A dilemma indeed for an erstwhile journalism student.
In no time at all I was weeping in the Dean's office while he listened
understandingly, all the time probably thinking to himself "What the
actual? Why did this girl even do JOURNALISM even? I mean what is she
LIKE?"
I changed all my subjects and eventually, changed
courses and universities.
The dream was over. I was a failure.
Incidentally, check out the nobody the ABC have
reporting from Moscow these days. That could have been me, people. Well, sort
of. I mean it's vaguely possible.
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Bitch stole my dream. You think you are good don't you Norman? He kind of
looks like me a bit
I guess. You know, he has a face, I have a face, he has hair, I have
hair. I like scarves too.
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Fast forward many years and you find me late 2012, a
lowly librarian and public servant, wife, mother of two and repressed
creative writing type person, whiling away my days in outer suburbia. My
talents unrecognized, my skills hidden under a large bushel of Family
Responsibility and Job Stress, my shopping done at Aldi. I haunt
Facebook, harassing my friends and relations with relentless status updates.
Amusing soundbites, missives from the land of Crazy Sleep Deprived Mummy. I
pepper them with such witticisms as;
"I don't want to make
anyone think outside the box or challenge the dominant paradigm or anything,
but I am GOING OUT tomorrow night...by MYSELF...to a BAR...yeewwww!"
and;
"Is it just me, or does
anyone else have a nagging and non-specific feeling of jealousy towards
Catherine Middleton? I want to BE her...far out, what's wrong with me?
Can't...stop...thinking...about...royal...wedding..."
It soon became apparent that I could no more deny my
need to write and report from the frontline then I could prevent myself from
devouring an entire banana cake in one sitting.
And so, the dream was born again, people. My
longsuffering friends and relations persuaded me to start a blog, a new forum
for my ART. Despite my inner fear that nobody would read it, combined with my
other seemingly incompatible fear that people would read it, I took the
plunge, and the now Famous and Highly Acclaimed Blog Slapdash Mama was born*.
Never ever have I taken such a scary and bold leap
into the unknown, unless you count having two little babies. That is arguably
farking scary and bold but I digress.
So yes, the blog. My dream of being a foreign
correspondent has become a dream to share regular reports from Slapdash
Mamaville, my loft apartment in Paris has become a brick house in the burbs, my
fur hat has become a pair of Ugg boots.
I may not be reporting from the Red Square -
in fact from where I sit it looks more like a Beige Trapezoid, but that's
the way the cookie crumbles.
And you know what? I wouldn't change it for quids**.
Living the dream, that's me. Living the dream.
*Blog may not actually be famous or highly acclaimed,
or even lowly acclaimed.
**Actually that's a lie, if the quids were right I
would do anything. ANYTHING, I TELL YOU!
You can find Sarah on Facebook here and Instagram here.
