Monday, 26 September 2016

Later That Same... Year

Cast your mind, dear reader, back to the chillier time of January 2016, when I initially wrote this blog post and forgot to post it... Since I wrote this, three of my friends have had babies. It has literally taken me the full gestation period of a human to get around to posting it - quite possibly my greatest procrastination feat to date.  I'm going to reclaim my title, for real this time, as my friendship group's finest blogger, but in the mean time, have this:

I'm thinking of doing another degree. I know this sounds ridiculous and like the absolute epitome of what not to do with my life, but let me explain my reasoning before jumping to any conclusions.

Despite my last degree proving itself to be entirely fucking useless, I managed to get so much cleaning done during the toughest periods of degree related stress. For example, during the last few weeks of my dissertation, my bedroom was the most organised it had ever been; my clothes were all laundered and put away, my CDs were alphabetised, and I had written corresponding stories to go with my collection of stolen objects that I could eloquently reel off should a figure of authority ever question their provenance. It was bliss, and, looking at the current state of my life, I could really use that type of motivation again. Since my last blog post in July (oh, hello again, lack of ambition), my clan and I have moved from our sad excuse of an abode to a slightly nicer one a few streets over. It was a very rash decision that we made in about 7 minutes and we moved into the first house we viewed, which meant that we spent the week leading up to Christmas day forcing all of our friends and family to heave furniture through the village and make sure the kitten we had recently adopted did not escape/crawl into a box and get thrown out/piss all over the new house. As it is, we have been in for two months now and even though the cat is allowed to go outside and has a litter box, she still decides that it's a good idea to wee all over the post as soon as it comes through the letter box. In fairness, the last thing she urinated on was a letter from the council telling me how much tax I owed them, so, to be honest, I can't really berate her for it as it was my first instinct, too

Our new house has lots of fancy features that our old house was severely lacking, such as a bathroom fit for human use, windows that don't have giant holes in the bottom, a drain that doesn't vomit all over the garden path every morning (well, it's done it once, but we'll let that slide), and, most importantly, enough room for us all to actually fit in it. It's amazing how much better you feel about life when you don't have to invite people to sit in your living room-bedroom hybrid, and you don't have to say, 'make sure you don't step on a slug in the kitchen', or, 'if the Haagen-Dazs tub that catches water in the bathroom is full just let us know.'

We're currently in the process of decorating the living room and trying to merge our belongings in a way that says, 'it's not our job, but in our free time we like to practice interior design,' as opposed to, 'most of this stuff was free from work/friends/the street'. We got our sofa from one of my mum's friends with the proviso that we could have it for nothing if we picked it up from her house, which was a task easier said than done, as all seemingly simple things are. Obviously, it would not fit in our little car, so I enlisted the help of a friend whose car it also did not fit in. After thirty minutes of pushing, pulling, swearing, and an abundance of innuendo, we managed to get half of it in and then tied the boot shut over the remainder with string. Not rope. Not bungee cords. Not any kind of suitable binding material. String.

It is currently adorned in a variety of mismatching cushions, half of which have been made by Cat and are beautiful and fashionable and chic, and the other made by my mum. I'm not saying my mum's cushions aren't just as well made, it's just that she made them when she was going through a phase of making cushions out of my old t-shirts, so while half of the cushions are hip and trendy, the other half have either Kurt Cobain's face, marine life (we're a family prone to phases), or some hideous design that wasn't fashionable when I was wearing it and is not fashionable now. But, you know what they say, Rome wasn't built in a day! Even Romulus and Remus probably had to borrow someone else's settee every once in a while.