I was up at 3.30 am. Marking. And so, when I was doing my make-up at 6.30 am, I pushed a little tear. Combination of fatigue and frustration at feeling totally redundant in this world. I mean, I really do make an effort with my job - really I do - hence my being up at 3.30, but some of the stuff I had to mark sent me into a frenzy of fury so fierce that even Precious Cat hid. (Again, under the pink bathroom mat.)
Thank God for The BF, my people, though. Because she sure does know how to cheer a girl up. She sent me this image while en route to work:
The BF and I earned our National Drinking Colours there. What our parents were thinking, we'll never know. But we used to take our school uniforms along and declare one day Private-Scool -That-We-Used-To-Go-To-On-The-Move-Day.
These were the rules for this particular day:
1) You may only take your school uniform off if you are swapping kit with a boy. (And, Mom, it was just for shits and giggles.)
2) The first drink of the day to be mixed with milk because it was breakfast time.
3) You may not have the same drink twice in a row (hence, we believe, the birth of the John Deere).
4) During pub-to-pub transit, the African crystal mug, (purchased from Livingstone local market where that crazy woman called Violet used to spit at us) has to remain safely fastened to school dress.
It was on this day that I truly learned about loving someone so much and it not being the liquor talking. Many of those nights ended in dronk vir driet love.
Ah, my BF - she rocks. At least she still loves me after all the fashion faux pas I've made:
And yes, I will be drinking wine with my BF tonight.