We’re having work done at the house. It’s an ongoing thing. The first workman— ‘The Roofman’ kept asking, kept prising open my grandma’s situation, much to my mother’s dismay. The second workman— ‘The Doorman’, or ‘The Woodman’ was my age and frightened me for being my age. The third group are the type of builders to call black women ‘mate’, and haven’t yet done so only because I will not give them the opportunity.

I introduce it as a weekly thought, not because I have anything to elaborate on, but because there are strangers in the house and we should be making a note of this kind of burden. Having strangers in the house— as we all know— is like wearing a corset, Spanx even, but the really expensive ones. I can’t even massage over the deep ridges that have formed as a result, because it feels the girdle never comes off. And also, it’s adding two spoonfuls of honey to your morning routine, having to sweeten yourself in your own home. Would rather be a bit vinegary at home considering I work in customer service.

Something has to be said for gym culture, not the point you think— not the misogyny point, not directly anyway. I’ve found myself bulking up my patience at the gym, more so then nyash. That’s often the case I’ve discovered; in any environment intended for progression in one area, comes the opportunity to progress in another. It happens when the people and scenarios that speckle said environment are disconnected from the environment— and are entirely connected to your own trigger points. And the people used for your much inspiring personal growth have to have a superficial interest in their own. For me, that was the two men bothering me during my workout last week. Or the countless other wearisome gym scenarios from the catalogue of misery. Again, clutching for straws with the weekly thoughts here. But it’s worth noting, that it’s always good for you to be afflicted. And that all work, no matter what category, is good work. And.. there’s always a bigger plan that supersedes your intentions, regardless of who you think to be the author of said bigger plan.

Quote of the week:

“I want a smile when I give away my money,” said one woman at work who would (likely) rather sleep forever then use self service tills.

Which essentially means, my smile is worth £24.11.