The Other Kind of Rutting

I have now been back in England for four months and, quite undeniably, hit the ground running. Start playing this song:

Sometimes life it takes you by the hand.

I have done more living in the last four months than I have in the last four years.

Within one week of coming back I had a job.
By week three I had an apprenticeship.
After two months I started dating someone special.
Around the same time I got poached for a different, better part-time job and took it.
This week I tattooed my best friend, my mentor and the shop's tea boy.
Tomorrow I'm going to the London Tattoo Convention with one of my mentors.
By the end of the year I will be a full-time tattooist and have my own place.

As you may have read previously, when I lived in Belgium I struggled to find work. I spent most of my time indoors, entertaining myself with the dogs, the internet, books, video games and cannabis. I often found myself halway through the fifth joint of the day thinking to myself, "I should make the most of this freedom, I won't have this sort of time to waste for long".

I was right.

I now work seven days a week. I've had three days off since I started working and on only one of those days I spent a portion of the day doing fuck all due to exhaustion. My working week is anywhere between 50 to 70 hours, depending on my rota. I've lost more than ten kilos in weight and I haven't smoked a single joint for over a month because I just don't have time. Many people say that I've been thrown in at the deep end in many different contexts. They're not wrong. I'm swimming rather merrily.

In May I wandered into the first tattoo shop I'd seen in the area with my sketchbook just on the offchance. I was offered an apprenticeship that day. After scoping out the rest of Southend's tattooing scene, I accepted the offer.

The shop that I apprentice at is run by the president of a local bike and trike club and my mentors are also full members. The club itself is like an oversized close-knit family that I not only work with but also live with, frequently go out drinking with and, occasionally, go out riding with. I've been a fan of Sons of Anarchy since it came out, now I feel like I'm living on the set. I've got my own Chibs and everything. What can I say, I'm a sucker for older men with sexy accents, beards and tattoos. We can't get enough of each other.

Win.

Here's our song. It sorta picked us rather than the other way around:

Nowadays it is a rare occurance to walk along the seafront without being recognised and greeted by a familar face. I frequently get honked at by vehicles driven or ridden by friends. Sometimes people walk up to me and talk as though they've known me for years but, for the life of me, I don't remember who they are because I've met so many people!

The friends who are quickly becoming my family often chastise me for selling myself short, for biting my tongue and for not having enough confidence. What can I say? I've had it metaphorically beaten out of me over the years and my stay in Belgium put a few nails in that coffin. This lot are building me back up to where I should have been all along and replacing a lot of things that have been taken away from me or left behind.

I owe them so much for giving me a real chance at life where I (and others) have squandered it.

I am where I belong and I'm happy.

Stopped Ruttin'!

"I'm infinitely frustrated at the limbo I'm still hanging in after three years of living in Belgium. I know I'm at a point where I just need to stick it out just a little while longer and I can't force things to change any quicker... but god damn, I'm tired of this rut." 

Oh boy. If words ever did come back to haunt me, these are they. Haha! I laugh but my eyes quickly widen with disbelief. Oh god. Where do I start?

Things hadn't been going well between me and my now ex for a couple of years. I've always tried to make things work out and always tried my best. Sometimes your best just isn't good enough and some things can't be fixed. The final straw came when I found out that he was hitting on some other girl. Some other girl on the internet. She's already engaged to someone else. Yeah. Awesome. Good luck with that. There's also a fuckton of other juicy gossips there, but I'll save that for later. I suddenly realised that even if I could fix it, I didn't want to anymore. Only took me six years. BWAHAHA! I'm slow, don't laugh. Loyal too. Loyal to the point of a fault. That much has been proven.

So, I'm getting the hell out of dodge. Only there's one snag: my passport expired while I was living over here. I have to renew it in order to be guaranteed that I can enter my home country. That takes "a week to ten days if you're lucky" according to the embassy and "at least six weeks" according to their website. Not sure which one I should take heed of, but I'm planning for worst case scenario.

I'm not going to lie, I never used to be good at dealing with drama. I used to be a real overreact now, regret it later kind of girl. Now it's a lot more like this, as a visual metaphor:

Not to imply that I've caused an explosion, but I am walking away from an inevitable one. I'll be laughing from a great distance later on, trust me.

Now play these songs while you read if you want to hear something that's a) ultra cool b) a window into my soul at this current moment in time.

Alright, I yelled at first. Choice words like "cunt", "twat", "arsehole" and "retard" were used repeatedly that Sunday which shall be henceforth known as "Bloody Sunday".  Since then I have risen to the occasion, sorted out my passport renewal application, found a new home in England, relentlessly tied up loose ends and not had one sleepless night.

A friend of mine took me out for a drink as soon as she heard the news. After four or so rounds she said "I was expecting carnage and tears, Kat... what the fuck?". I laughed, supped my beer and started rolling another cigarette as I explained that, despite the fact that I had always reacted badly to stress in the past, I've always been good in a crisis. I think this whole thing has really shocked and slapped me into growing up and being less of a pussy when things go south. I feel invincible. Hell, I think I could handle anything you could throw at me right now, but please lawd, please don't fling any more of your shit at me just until I get this one sorted, okay? 'Kay.

I drank a lot that night and oddly didn't even feel tipsy. I really enjoyed my first night out as a single girl with another single girl. We had to tell at least three guys we were lesbians. Some of them took that as a challenge instead of a brush off. I think I'll be staying independent for the forseeable future. I'm enjoying it too much and I really need this time to be myself and not worry about some moody cocksucker back at home.

An enormous source of frustration was realising I would have to leave Belgium without my apprenticeship. My once in a lifetime opportunity of an apprenticeship that had fallen out of the fucking sky. Oh boy, I was angry. I've wanted to be a tattooist for fifteen years and I was finally getting somewhere.

I got in contact with a few tattoo shops in the area I'm moving to and asked them their advice. I was and still am determined to make it. An artist that I greatly admire and respect replied expressing an interest in maybe mentoring me, but can't make promises yet. He's been following my progress for months. Say what now? It's almost too good to be true. To top it off, I'll be living with my best friends, all creative and social, just a stone's throw from the beach in southern England. I can't fucking wait.

People have been using a wide array of unfamiliar words to describe me lately. Words like "badass", "cool", "independent" and "strong". I would have told you to sling yer hook a few years ago for taking the piss. It's weird, but I think they're right and I can actually see it now. Would it be conceited to say that I'm proud of myself? Proud that I'm not meddling, causing drama or making life difficult for others? How I've restrained myself when other people have done it to me? How I've just kept things simple and I'm just walking away, tying up loose ends as I go? Proud that I just don't give a fuck anymore and moving onto the next big thing in my life? Proud that I finally have my shit together? Because I am proud of that. I'm proud that I've grown out of retaliating. I'm proud that I don't need to go ballistic to get my point across. I'm just getting on with it. No bullshit, just getting the fuck on with what I need to do.

You know, I was ruminating the other week about how I wish I knew someone that would smoke, drink red wine and listen to Bob Dylan with me whilst putting the world to rights. It's funny because that's where I'm actually heading. Praise the lord.

Here's another Bill Hicks portrait. I have a newfound love and respect for comedy as an art form now. I also have a slight obsession with him, not that I agree with everything he came out with and I don't hold him up on a messianic pedestal, but seriously, goatboy. Rawr. I would have hit that so hard.

TL:DR, I'm single and liberated because of it. Here's Bill and some tunes.