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.

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