I turned 40 and woke up angry


I am 42 this September and have been angry ( on and off) for the best part of two years.

I turned 40. I had a toddler daughter. I had found my right cheek ( yes face) pressed so tightly up against the glass ceiling it had gone white. Blood pushed away to other extremities. Like my right forefinger, wagging and pointing at the injustice.

I was born in 1975. The same year as the passing of the Sex Discimination Act. I am cross. The reasons shall unfold, badly assembled and poorly spelt as I blog while moving through space and time in a commuter blur of other peoples bad habits ( headphones stop the ability to hear your own snot sniffing).

For now, see you at the next finger wag.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.