I meant to write this one on the eighth of January but I didn't get the chance. I hate it when I give excuses like I didn't get the chance because the question excuses like that beg is, why? What were you doing that you didn't get the chance? My answer is I was thinking. I was thinking about where I'd be without Mena.
Some of you may know Mena. I've blogged about her before. She features in this blog here: http://www.theramblingsofamadman-afam.com/2013/05/life-in-motion-middle-middle-age-guide.html and here: http://www.theramblingsofamadman-afam.com/2013/06/notes-on-we-need-to-talk-about-kevin.html.
The thing you don't know about Mena, is that without her there'd be no blog. It was she that first noticed my weirdness and casually said, "I think you'd make a pretty good writer." I laughed at her. I wasn't meant to do this. It really wasn't in the plan back then. Back then was 2011. I was 21, firmly on track for a 2:1 and going through stuff. I'm a little bit of a melancholic so I'm always going through something. There's always way too much emotional bullshit in my life. I freak out like a crazy person. The other day I went out for drinks at a New York rip off bar called 355, and I was so uncomfortable that I had to dash for the toilet. I like toilets. They're neutral. They're safe. In my haste to escape, I slammed my foot into the glass table and shattered it. I don't like feeling unwelcome, so when I walked into the bar and everyone knew everyone else, and the person I came with didn't make any effort to introduce me, and I didn't want to introduce myself because they were all so cold, I started panicking a little. Mena, looked at this crazy person and saw a writer and she backed it up. She backed me up. She's read and edited every article I've ever sent her and I've sent her no fewer than 250. Somewhere along the line I started believing that I was a writer, or that I could be a writer, and here we are.
It was Mena's birthday on the eighth of January and I'm grateful that she's still here. She's got the most interesting face. She's nice looking. She's probably on just on the cusp of pretty, but the thing is none of that matters with her. When she walks into a room she's the first person you look at because her light shines so brightly, she glows. Her skin radiates this cherry wood brown sheen, and, all of a sudden, even though her features aren't the prettiest, she's stunning.
I just wanted you to know, that there's this person called Mena that helped me start this journey and for all its highs and lows, I don't think I've ever been happier.