day 30 of 30 - 01/12/20 : a farewell and a shitpost

Welcome to my final entry for this fundraising challenge. Over the course of this month I've written more than 30,000 words starting from a rant about how much that eggy cunt Jeff Bezos earns go on to to religion, to philosophy, to politics, to love, to mental health, and a surfeit of other topics. You wouldn't have had to read that if Sean hadn't proposed the idea to me drunkenly a month and a half ago so if you want anyone to thank for that, thank him. In all seriousness, I'm very happy Sean manifested this idea. Not only were we able to raise more than $1,750 for The Water Project that will go on to help 54 people, the chance to spill my thoughts onto the screen before you and develop my skills in that sense is incredibly valuable to me. Not only that but we've had three other brilliant people, Tom, Darragh and Niall committing to their own challenges this month who, despite all the writer's block and sore knees and the time taken away from their day, all contributed so much for us in reaching and surpassing our goals. There's also been you, my reader friend, who read and donated and watched us as we spammed your newsfeed with updates and who gave us your precious time and hard-earned money. To everyone involved - either directly or as the occasional click - and especially Sean, thank you.

The final blog post then. What should I talk about? I suppose I should tell you the deep, dark secret I've been hiding from you all this time my reader friend. I didn't mean to break your trust, I was just scared of what your reaction might be. Here goes:

I have webbed toes.

Pardon?

Yes, webbed toes. On both feet two of my toes are partially webbed together, like a mutated frog.

rare picture of me as a newborn

As far as I'm aware, my biological father isn't a frog. It has no effect on my balance. If you asked my best friend Luke from when I was 5, it gives me an unfair advantage when I swim but other than that, I am just like you. Honestly, I'm so used to them I get freaked out when I see normal toes. Why are your toes so long? Freak.

not my actual feet, I don't want my kebs posted on RateMyFeet

I remember growing up and getting the piss taken out of me by my older siblings who kept saying I was adopted. "Do you really think Mum could have NINE kids? Pfft, so naive." They even said they got a discount on me for having nine and a half toes. At some point I must've believed them cause my ma (she has it too) had to remind me that we have the same webbed toes. When the days got dark and all hope seemed lost, my one consolation was my mum and I sharing the same genetic deformity.

So that's my big secret. Do you think less of me now? I've talked about racism and revenge porn and I'm tying it up all up with a shitpost about my funky lil feet - going out not with a bang, but with a whimper.

Sean said yesterday he'd probably keep up with the blog, but on a much less frequent scale and I think I'll more than likely do the same. Trying to churn out 1,000 words a day can be draining, especially when you don't feel particularly proud of what you've written. It'd feel a lot more manageable for me and I hope more imparting for you if I posted even say a decent, 2,000 word blog post once a week.

If I'm being completely honest, I'll be somewhat glad to not have these blogs to post everyday anymore. It was a nice way of structuring your days and stretching them out and with all the lovely pieces of feedback I've received, I felt (and hope) some of you got something out of my ramblings, even if it was just one of those half-laughs where you breathe out of your nose real fast. With that said, writing 1k words really can eat into your day although that was precisely the point. I'd probably spend atleast an hour and a half each day writing. Every day, women and children across the African continent spend on average 200 million hours walking for water. For each person, that's 6km for a round trip, where they'll finally arrive at the water site, dig for dirty water and then carry 10 kilos of water back home. That takes them about the same time it takes me to write these. This is an experience shared by over 319 million people across sub-Saharan Africa, and begins from when you're old enough to walk. This is all discounting the risk of drinking this contaminated water, stacking the risk of disease and illness on top of your weekly marathon with weights tied to your wrists. However, with me, I don't have to do this everyday and can opt out whenever the mood strikes but that simply isn't an option for them. I've everything I need at my fingertips just like you. Rain or shine, disease and dehydration looming over you and your family or not, you walk. For all my grievances with this challenge, the inconveniences and frustrations are a staple for those living without clean water - and I'm here sitting comfortably in my room with a mug of tea and not trekking 6km every day. Their struggle is so inconceivably foreign to me that I would never be able to fully empathise with them and for that reason, it is the least we could do to try and help. That is my privilege and that is why, as the donation page might suggest, I'm privileged to help. Extra helping of cheese with all that clean water, thank you very much.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who read any of my posts over this past month. It was a privilege to write and see the reactions from people as well as grow and learn from what I read about in Sean and Tom's blogs. Our charity page will still be running for another while so it's not too late to donate if you haven't already.

All the best,

Hugh Bogue