(please don hyperbole detector when reading this post)
This is the past month in precis. It will thus omit to highlight the number of times one has had to retire to the parlour to lie on the chaise longue in tattered crinoline, holding a lace kerchief to one's fevered brow because of the sheer TRAUMA of it all.
October to November in a nutshell - house offer, job stops, claim benefits, get new job, hate new job, change mind about house offer, still hate new job, change mind again about house offer and annoy everybody including self, "dream house" comes on the market again (and unlike last time I'm in a position to actually put an offer in, but it seems there's something wrong with it which is why it's back on the market, stoopid, so I have to sit there looking at it on Rightmove like a kid at the window of a toyshop and DO NOTHING whilst getting enraged), the passing of time does not alter my hatred of job, start looking for new job, fill in forms for solicitor and get maudlin about leaving home of past ten years, watch as price of "dream house" is reduced and still DO NOTHING, develop grudge about workplace which doesn't do wonders for motivation, wake up to a blood spattered sitting room after "playfight" between felines goes all Tarantino on the laminate, take MrCat out for the first time in AGES and celebrate this fact by ordering a spicy poppadom. NO EXPENSE SPARED!
I ate most of it. Was that wrong of me?
There'll be more of this dross along soon I can assure you. And there’ll be more detail, so leave now.
4 comments:
What's wrong with it? Is it haunted?
Eagerly awaiting dross and detail. With smelling salts and fan at the ready.
Hanging out here in the comment box with CL and Lynn, hoping to hear the rest of the house drama as it unfolds. I need closure.
PS-Tell the cats feline homicide is not a joking matter.
And I thought Bridgit Jones was a traumatic read!! Hope things perk up soon. xx
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