As is my wont, it seems I have have bitten off slightly more than I can chew. I always was a child prone to gluttony - not all the time, but if the right digestive experience was to present itself to me it was quite plausible for me to bite off much more than I could comfortably chew.
In this case it happens not to be a feast but a concordance of events. I'm sure most people would stride through them in their seven league boots but as I've only (no slaps please - you know what I mean) been a house-Sheweevil for quite a while now - I have a new job. It's very little but it might help in restoring something of my lost confidence: that or push me over the edge completely.
In addition to that, I decided it would be a good idea to take part in the writing task detailed below. So far I have managed 375 words which means I'm lagging somewhat. Yes, I've got a plot , reading Cheryl's blog this makes me feel rather smug, just no botheration at the mo. This is mainly because, three cheers and a hoorah, the Painter came home last Friday. We have also had news that we are a priority to be rehoused (DOUBLE HOORAH).
It was very weird to begin with and we were both a little, well, the only thing I can equate it to is, shy. We went to Tesco's today (his first trip out since coming home) and he said I could blog about what a crip he is but he did really well so he can go whistle. Supermarkets are a trial when your fit and healthy. I must admit I felt very protective - note to self: just make sure you are not over-protective - and one or two AHs were in real danger of a bunch of fives.
In other news, Samuel MacBeth from the first kiss story below contacted me to say he didn't remember a thing and who was I. Well Sam, I know who I am without the need to google myself (she lied). Truthfully, though, the interweb thing is a beauteous thing. Hi again Sam and thanks for the emails.
On a slight tangent, I can only commend the benefit of bedroom arranging to my mate Ally over at Ducking for Apples. Having been here for a year now and with the vestiges of the first stroke inducing wardrobes still obvious in the bedroom and us still living out of boxes and a couple of skew-wiff argos rails, the backlog of benefit paid for two wardrobes, two chests and two bedside cabinets. Get us with our hotel stylee room. The Painter thought he'd come to the wrong place so tidy and un-trippy was it. I even laid a carpet. What a boudoir.
4 comments:
You're doing better than me with both a plot AND some words - I haven't got either and I think I have given up until next year.
I am so pleased The Painter is home and that all is going well. However, I AM suffering from Bedroom Jealously :).
I am off to measure the attic to see if I can find a chest of drawers to fit under the eaves, as we are now thinking we might sleep up there ourselves ...
YAY!! HE'S HOME!!
Congrats. What a rollercoaster - whilst you are busy being his perfect guardian angel, just make sure you look after you, too. Please.
Hugs.
Glad your man is home. Cheryl's right, though. Don't try and be Superweevil - make time for yourself and relax!
He's HOME! Yippee!
It's probably good that you have a little job - does it get you out of the house now and again? A bit of breathing space for both of you...? Once you find your working feet, that is.
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