We’ve decided that we don’t have to sell the flat, but if someone comes up with a proper offer we’ll consider it. We haven’t done a lot to it since the depressing decision to sell came about, because it didn’t feel like ‘ours’ anymore, and it’s been in a limbo state ever since. Having reversed the decision because The Man has completed his courses and is beginning to earn again, we are now in the very wonderful position of having a choice in the matter of moving home, or not. Only thing is…it also means that we are now free to make positive changes in the property for our own benefit, not just for the purpose of selling, but here’s the crux – we don’t really like DIY (we’d pay to have work done if we could). Were it the only activity on the cards, it would be fine, but we’re both deeply involved with other things that are much more interesting/urgent. So, I’m trying to dig deep, put my preferences to one side and make some changes, but it’s funny how carting the huge flat packed cardboard boxes upstairs to stash in the attic space can suddenly seem a bit daunting on my own, especially when the Big Dog is under my feet and clearly concerned by my sudden activity (brought on by a welcome break in the hot weather and a short thunderstorm, which put an end to any thoughts of going to my shed to make beads) and here I am at my laptop writing this. It’s really really bad! How did that happen? I’ve been thinking for a while now, that if I have a blog, I ought to write something for it. Then I think, ‘yeah, but who really cares anyway?’, but I like writing and as I have a blog…well, I might as well write something. You see how this nonsense can go in circles, and it only really seems very important when I’m doing something uninspiring, like manual labour.

If all I cared about was housework, I’d do it, but I feel so cross and annoyed chasing dirt, it’s not worth the energy lost in the process when I could use it for something else. I’m beginning to see why my mum-in-law kept one room for ‘best’, just in case someone visited. I used to think that was a pretty stupid arrangement, especially as she kept house well and had nothing to be ashamed about. (I still think her ‘no butter/marg with the bread if there’s gravy’ rule is silly, but that’s another story. Actually, that pretty much is the story.) Anyway, I’m beginning to think I should have a room for ‘best’ for me to sit in, one that doesn’t have idly discarded stuff scattered about, like clothes, piles of paperwork and various items of technology with their wires draped nonchalantly about the place. Were I only as relaxed about mess and muck as the mess and muck seems to be. I want a clean home, I just don’t want to clean it. I’m so hung up on this subject, I really need to let go.
Yesterday I fantasised about my girly summerhouse/shed/caravan again, I almost welled up, I could just imagine pretty cushions, books and quiet, a retreat from anything to do with anyone or anything else. The Man has one, he smokes cigars in it and listens to the radio, it’s not pretty, but it’s his retreat. If I work hard I can have one too, it all depends on how much I want something. I really want it, and I’m having it.
I’m going to clear up the mess I just made, and ask for help with getting the boxes up the stairs later (I bought them in preparation for moving a while back) because it’s silly to try to do it by myself. I’m a bit weedy, despite my ‘Amazonian’ frame. I used to be able to do things and not worry about asking for help, it didn’t cross my mind, the process of aging is still surprising me. Since I broke my ankle last September, I have become a little more cautious, (and disgustingly unfit) so every time I’m going down the stairs a little fast I get a flutter of fear…I don’t want another fat ankle, I don’t have many slim places left.

Yes, the rain has stopped, so while the kiln heats up I’ll load the dishwasher, put a clothes wash on, empty the bin and change the cat litter, I’ve got a fair tomorrow, I need to make more cat beads (might try fuming or adding gold leaf…hmm) and I have to pack all the fair gear up. What was I thinking, re-arranging rooms and dragging heavy things around? Ridiculous.

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