Wednesday, 21 August 2013

Bad Days

[I doubt this even makes sense. I just needed to rant. I believe everyone has a rant in them pretty much all the time and generally we just keep quiet, because that's what's nice and polite. I'm not feeling very nice or very polite right now.]

For the last week I've slowly felt worse and worse. That's not uncommon for me - especially during sunny weather and stress - but obviously doesn't feel very nice. The idea that if it continues you'll end up waking up with your legs not working and throwing up everywhere is a bit haunting.

Today just made an awkward week worse. My partner and I had made the executive decision a few weeks back that we couldn't afford to go on the BBC Doctor Who Experience Tardis Tours of the actual m*****f****** Tardis set because we'd just bought a house and frankly things are horribly tight at the moment. We were aware they would be, it's just the living through that's the boring, frustrating bit. This is slowly creeping closer and as all our friends gradually visit the set and arrange get togethers to visit it, it's become a bit of a ghoul. That's tough, and whilst making us both feel a bit grumpy and sorry for ourselves we both accept that's how it had to be. We don't have a spare fifty quid to spend on non-essentials, especially when..

..your mother breaks your awesome shower. The really expensive walk in one that came with the house you bought. So your partner can't use it because he's too tall to use the mocked up system we've created. And then you find out it's so awesome that it's incredibly non-standard and thus you can't find replacement bits for it and you start panicking you're going to have pull the whole wall down to sort it out and that's going to cost A LOT. And then you argue over that because you still haven't got any money.

And you start wondering if the house will ever be sorted. Can you afford that shed that your mother keeps nagging you that you need (and you kind of accept you do need it because your windowsills are full of weedkiller and fertiliser and random helpful gardening presents and you can't collect the lawnmower because you've nowhere to put it), when are you going to get your hands on a man and a van to collect the furniture you've been promised - should you just hire one and spend even more money?

And why can't you get a job? If you had a job then you might have some money and things might be easier. And then you go into a gloom remembering how your illness killed your education dead and now you need another A Level before you can go to university and like you can afford either of those and who is going to employ you when you still doubt you can actually walk well and have absolutely no work history (bar that random time you decided you could speak German enough to work in an art museum in Germany for a fortnight, and that was ages ago.)

And then you have a cry and tell yourself everything is actually fine, that'll you'll unpack all the boxes (currently filling two rooms), and get on top of the laundry, and make sure the kitchen is clean and all the dishes are done because your lovely dishwasher that was a really kind present is actually quite small and we're quite messy cooks so dishes pile up.. That your partner is brilliant and loves you and helps and does so much and you get a hug and a kiss and everything improves. And once the house is tidy your friends, relatives (preferably those that don't break things, but even the other ones can come back provided they're supervised.. That is a joke, I swear.) can come over and we'll have a drink with those bottles of Aldi alcohol you bought a month ago and everything will be lovely.

But then that buggers up because the world is a confused and disorganised place and everybody has their own schedules to keep to and you wonder whether you've bought the house in the wrong place because you feel so cut off from everything even though you're only a thirty minute drive away (Oh fuck the car. The money devouring beast whose engine light is on and needs an MOT this fortnight. And you've only been driving a year so your insurance is £600 and where are you going to pull that from? And who wants to drive it anyway when it eats £80 worth of petrol a month without you even going anywhere as far as you can tell, and you're still terrified of driving it and still assume every time you hear police sirens that they're going to be pulling you over, because clearly you must be doing something wrong even though you don't know what, because whoever decided it was legal for you to drive must have been an absolute idiot.) And then you try to remember how horrible it was living in a one bedroom flat to persuade yourself it was good you didn't buy a maisonette in Cardiff but by now your sad and any more remembering just makes you sadder.

So no more remembering today, no more crying or brooding or shouting at my partner just because he's in the wrong place at the wrong time. Some telly, an early night and a cwtch. Then come back to same old thing tomorrow. Maybe it will be better, maybe it'll be worse. I'll get through it whatever. That's all I need to know.

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