Life is one of those things that you moan and moan about when it’s shit, and moan and moan about when it’s busy, and moan and moan about because you wish you had one.. But when it’s actually happening? You don’t seem to be able to sit down and even think about it, let alone moan.
Last weekend I worked Welcome Weekend for the new freshers of Sussex Uni, and not only did I feel old, but I also realised I have the art of moaning down to a tee. Provided of course that you’ll believe it’s an art. We moaned because it was early, because it was busy, because it was quiet, because it was cold, because it was dragging on.. I can’t list them all to be honest. Not only will you get insanely bored, but I’ll end up depressed by just how negative I was. Which is strange, because I was actually pretty chirpy. Got people enthusiastic about cake and the drama society and the refurbished bar – hey I know what brand new students want to hear about, ‘kay? My biggest moan though was about how much my feet hurt. Lame I know, especially when you bear in mind the reason that they were so painful in the first place..
Fashion Week always seems to fall right in the middle of a busy couple of weeks, making it instead a crazy couple of weeks. And I’ve only worked two seasons.. This time round I felt more confident, probably aided by the fact that I’ve easily grown in confidence in the past 6 months alone, especially when it comes to being myself and doing things independently. What can I say, I’m growing up. (I realise that actually verbalising that makes me seem as naive as they come, but hey, I know what I mean..) But my feet hurt. A lot. That didn’t change..