Stuff and that.

Stuff. And yeah. That

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Gosh, it’s been a while…

I’ve just realised it’s been a month since I last posted. Crikey. However, I have totally been reading like a total reading machine. Srsly. Reading a LOT. Well, a lot for me. I suspect I’ve actually read four books in the last month.

Firstly, I finished The Cold Dish by Craig Johnson. I liked it, I think. The books form the basis for the Longmire series on the Netflix. I loved that series, so I was really keen to read the books. The books are different to the telly series, the characters are different, but at the same time they’re the same. And they’re sort of funny. Not uproariously HARHARHAR funny, more of a quiet snigger here and there funny. I haven’t had the burning desire to read the next one yet (although I am currently in the midst of upgrading ma teckernologies and I haven’t shifted over books from the old beast of burden to the new whiz-banger (which has a weirdarse keyboard and I keep mis-fucking typing all the things). Anyway, I probably will read the next one as I did like it enough to read more.

The secondly, I read another of the Ruth Galloway ones –  The House at Sea’s End. I really like these ones. They’re sort of cosy police procedural type books with a bit of history and a bit of lovey dovey action and enough of a mystery to be quite soothing, really. I’m not sure whether I have the next one on the trusty e-reader, so I shall have to persevere with my reading list.

Yes, I’ve set myself a reading list – I keep getting all zomfg what the fuck am I going to read next, get side tracked definitely not acquiring books by nefarious means (I do in fact acquire books legitimately as well, I am not all bad.) and end up with some trash or other that I don’t want to read. So, yeah, went through the books, downloaded about 15 or so and I am going to read them before I read anything else.

THEN I read Stalin’s Hammer: Rome by John Birmingham. It’s another installment in the Axis of Time series. This was me reading it on the train… Oooh. OH. Nooo. Ow. Ohhhh. NO WAY. No Way. Hehehahehehaheheha Oooh, no. Ow. etc. The Axis of Time series is classified as alternate history science fiction. It is in fact all that. However, that doesn’t give you the whole biffo schmako that goes down in the delivery of said alt.history. Prince Harry is in this one, and he totally is and was Granny’s favourite. Anyway, if you’re into history, don’t mind a fucking excellent stretching of your imagination, and good dose of the “what ifs” do yourself a flavour and get on the Axis of Time bandwagon. Is Don. Is very very Don.

Finally was another by Denise Mina (Gods and Beasts) I am doing a lot of series reading this year – doesn’t matter – it’s reading and that’s the main thing. I had a couple of hours on public transport last week, and slammed through this afterward. Again, I’m not sure about it… don’t hate them, just not sure. It’s only book two, so eh, I’ll persevere.

So yep, that’s four books in four weeks. I’ve set myself a challenge to read two books a month, so that’s not too bad… I am reading a book that’s more on the literature side than the trash side for a change. Nowt wrong with trash, just sometimes a girlie needs a steak. And also to stay awake long enough to consume said steak and not nod off in three point two seconds! I’ve also been crocheting like I am the Queen of Crochet (patently not, however… also, this damn keyboard is taking a bit longer than I expected to be getting used to… it’s slightly narrower than the old one, and much narrower than the one I use all the time at work. I’ve also not been using it much – too much crochet and reading =/= typing on fancy new laptop!)

Back to Basics with the Flylady

I may have mentioned a couple of posts ago that I was contemplating giving Flylady a red hot go again –  so I have spent the last three weeks contemplating a variety of questions.

  1. I have never managed to stick at Flylady for longer than 6-8 weeks at a time in the past.
  2. I have had at least four five or six goes at Flylady over the last ten years with little or no success.
  3. I crack the shits within a week at the sheer volume of emails that come through. Do I seriously think I will find it easier to ignore 24 Farcebook posts in a single day?
  4. I find the website revolting to manoeuvre and can never find what I am looking for.
  5. I find the schmaltz to be completely nauseating
  6. I keep coming back.

It’s so damn condescending and twee and annoying and I keep coming back like some demented teenager with a feral ex-boyfriend (I know I can change, I know I can make it work this time). I’ve dated other organisational experts and had the same result – I’m fired up with enthusiasm and wander off at the first sign of failure.

(Well, except for UnFuck Your Habitat –  I like their evening routine, I think 20/10 is a much better working time frame, and hey, looking at pictures of other people’s Habitats is inspiration for me to get off my arse and do some unfucking of my own. Also swears instead of butterflies and fucking rainbows, and the app is a dollar. But it still doesn’t quite make the grade for general day to day living. Also, Kon Mari for decluttering).

So why haven’t I ever managed to stick at the Flylady before? And what makes me think I’ve got Buckleys of having it stick this time?

I think part of it has been my circumstances at the time. When I first delved into Flylady, it was circa 2005 , I had a toddler, I was studying and working part time, Reg was working shift work (get up and make your bed is tricky when there’s still someone in it); and I just couldn’t quite ever get through the Baby Steps. (Digital clutter is so clutter and you don’t need to buy special purple things to do housework with. Pfft.) I think the next time, I was still working part time, had a kid in primary school and a toddler. I sort of skipped the baby steps because they just irritated me and attempted to move onto the Zone cleaning. Yeah, nah.

The other thing is that her faith plays a big part in the life of the Flylady, and whilst the message is relatively gentle, it’s still very much there as the basis of everything she says and does. There’s nowt wrong with that at all, if that makes her happy, so be it. However, I think I am best described as a bit of a heathen. All this talk about blessing this and blessing that – Pfft. And housework that’s badly done is housework that needs doing properly later. So, maybe I’m a perfectionist? And that’s why Flylady doesn’t seem to work for me. The millisecond something doesn’t work, or she’s too happy clappy, or flogs a product – ZOOOOOOOM. Can’t see me for dust. Of which there is plenty at my house. Any excuse and I am gone.

The next couple of times I had a go at it, I was working full time. Flylady and full time employment are not compatible in the slightest. And when you throw small children and after school activities into the mix, it gets even less compatible. I like the idea of it, I like the structure of it, but the reality? Um. Nope. Not even close. About a year ago, I looked at the last bit of Baby Steps and I was more or less there, so I moved along (yay, nine years to implement 31 days of a program)

So, what’s changed? I’m still working full time, and Reg is now working Monday to Friday like a normal person, I still have two children and I still have to juggle after school activities. What makes me think this is going to work this time?

As a bit of a laugh, I have been doing the Missions in each of the Zones for the last three weeks and um. Despite my efforts being decidedly half arsed and the Missions being subject to much internal derision (nothing says I loves youse all like a fresh supply of toilet paper and clean jocks)… My house is slightly but noticeably tidier and slightly but noticeably cleaner and more organised.

I also had an epiphany of sorts.

Every other time I had a crack at the Flylady, I was attempting to shove my motley collection of rhomboid shapes into her perfectly round and organised circular holes. I didn’t fit, so I left. This time, I am treating it differently. I am NOT treating it as the Master Plan for my life, because we all know how well that turned out. I’m skipping the Baby Steps because I think I’ve actually passed that stage. I’ve gone through her lists for each room and bodged together a list of extra things the cleaner doesn’t do for each room. I’ve divided my house into Zones that make sense for me – only four, though. The odd days are designated catch up on what I didn’t do earlier in the month. And I will do the Daily Missions in as half-arsed a fashion that I choose.

I will see how things turn out in another month. It will be an interesting journey. I am not sure if it was the half-arsed flying or if the confounding effects of working four days a week and having no kids for three days are actually what made the difference. Welcome aboard. This will either be an interesting tale of how I finally beat Flylady’s system into my life, or I will wander off in search of something else in about a month because, hey turns out it was the short week and lack of kids.

 

Can’t resist a good tag thingy

So, I’ve stolen this one from The Mustard Jumper!

What is your favourite breakfast? Breakfast is awesome. I can eat it three times a day (and breakfast snacks. Surely there’s breakfast snacks?) I love poached eggs with runny yolks and super crispy bacon – I was away with the Country Rellies, and the looks of horror when Sir Reg was cooking the eggs, man. He was doing it all backward according to them. If I go out, I normally go for pancakes or waffles or something like that. This is because of the difficulty in getting trained chefs to cook the sodding bacon to the point of snapping. Crikey. It’s not that difficult.

How do you drink your coffee? Small skinny latte. I’m all about the coffee – I don’t like milk particularly, so a small is all I can manage, regardless of how under caffeinated I am. I make one in the morning, and buy one later on. I normally have one or two coffees a day. Any more than that, and I’m up half the night (old persons problems).

What’s on your favourite sandwich? Lettuce, spinach, tasty cheese, tomato, hot salami, and avocado if they’re not $5 each.

Soup or salad? Definitely salad. While I like the idea of soup, the reality is it’s a drink. It’s not food.

What is your favourite cookbook? Cookery the Australian Way (1979 edition with the blue cover)

No more sweet or no more savoury? No more savoury. I’m totally a sweet girl.

Which kitchen (country) is your favourite? Thai or Italian

What is your favourite food movie? I’ve never really thought about it.

What is your ultimate guilty pleasure? CAKE! Food group of its own.

Who is your biggest inspiration? I love love love Heston Blumenthal. I even put my name into the ballot, but hello, two chicks from the boonies weren’t going to get a table. Fat Duck is still on my To Do List.

Home cooking or dining out? I love cooking, but I do love it when I pay someone to cook my dinner.

What is your favourite restaurant? I can’t say I really have one –  I’m more of a going out for breakfast person. Although, the local pizza joint is cheery and cheap.

I do my groceries at … All the places. F&V, coffee and eggs from the fruit shop; meat from the butcher in the povvo shopping centre, bread from the bakery, and I hit up Aldi for junk food and weird stuff. (Thursday night finds me randomly cruising the aisles of Aldi whilst Chaos is kicking and chopping people.) And Woollies, purely because there are two near me.

The best meal I’ve ever eaten is … Hrrm. The most amazing Italian food I’ve ever eaten was in Koh Samui in Thailand. I don’t know whether it was because I was just over Thai food, or whether it was the company, or if the food was really the most amazing Italian I’d ever eaten.Just recently, we’d farmed the kids off and all I wanted was a decent steak. We ended up finding a pub that was happy to whip up a rare eye fillet with pepper sauce, fat chips and salad. It was so so good (and I had no need for red meat for oh, at least a week.)

What is your favourite cocktail? Spirits and I do not get along. At all. I don’t mind a gin or vodka with soda and lemon juice and loads of ice if it’s really really hot. Most of the time, beer cuts the mustard rather nicely. Although I drink a little wine as well.

Coffee with George (Clooney) or Heston (Blumenthal)? Heston, definitely. I’m seriously impressed with his madness. And George is short.

What should not be missing in your kitchen? Coffee, milk and chocolate.

My favourite snack is … Salt and vinegar chippies

What’s on your pizza? Tomato, hot salami, capsicum, cheese and pineapple.

Food you really don’t like? Broccoli, cauliflower, turnips, coriander, seafood of all descriptions (unless Sir Reg catches it, or it’s from the chippie), pork, ham, lamb chops, Brussel sprouts, broad beans, umm. I’m picky. Vegemite. And un-Australian

My favourite food blog is … Don’t really follow food blogs – I like Poh’s Instagram account though. Pictures of her gorgeous doggies and food. Shuddders.

What’s on your food bucket list? Cake?

I cannot live without … Pizza, coffee and chocolate

First World Problems.

Over the several years I’ve been responsible for myself, I’ve had the odd white goods malfunction. Each one at the time has been the Biggest Disaster Evah until I get said appliance fixed or replaced. I’ve gone without a washing machine a number of times (tip(s) for young players, if a washing machine takes up smoking, that’s a bad thing. Also, while they like eating credit cards, they’re not the best for their insides. Nor are chuppa chup sticks. And, the weight capacity of your washing machine isn’t just a  guide, it is a legitimate indication of exactly how many towels you can shove in there without breaking a belt.)

I’ve even had a couple of stoves die on me – of old age, both times. One got condemned – I was only allowed to use the front two burners, and if I used the grill, there was a 90/10 chance I would in fact explode the entire house. The other one, well, again with the two burners – but this time, the back two. But I had a barbeque, a microwave and an electric frypan. You can also cook a decent medium steak in a sandwich maker. This stood me in good stead during the Gas Crisis – where nobody was allowed to use gas for a couple of weeks. Even having no hot water during that period wasn’t that much of an issue. The boyfriend at the time had an electric hot water service, and lived two streets away. Noice.

Microwave is something I most definitely can live without (although it’s a nice thing to have). Sparks flew, so it got sent to the skip quick smart. I didn’t have one for six months or so, and never really missed it. The dishwasher, well, when that died, we couldn’t actually afford to replace it at the time, so it was another six months of doing dishes. I don’t know that I really want to do without that one again, but nobody has ever died from washing the damn dishes.

I’m quite careless with irons (they don’t like being dropped), hair dryers (again with the smoking appliances) and I’ve killed more than one kettle in the last umpty years. But even all of those little dramas are completely surmountable, with ironing ladies, a towel and some sunshine, and a saucepan.

This week, though – I have discovered exactly *which* appliance is the single most useful one that I cannot do without.

Over the last couple of weeks, food had started going off a bit quicker than expected in the fridge, and the ice-cream was more cream than iced, but I can be a bit slack with putting stuff back in the fridge straight away, and there was this packet of potato gems that may or may not have stopped the freezer door from closing.  But the ice-cream didn’t get harder when the potato gems got moved, and despite being strict about putting stuff back… the milk would still turn. the fridge isn’t that old – still in warranty. So, we called out the technician. And yeah, she’s dead, Fred. Dead as a door nail. An attractive, glossy white cupboard with awkwardly arranged shelves and interesting baskets in the bottom.

And we are without a fridge.

Ok, we have a beer fridge, but – it’s in the shed, and the back yard is a building site and trekking across the mud pit formerly known as the back yard for a glass of milk isn’t really practical. Once the technician had been, I started moving stuff that we don’t use all the time out to the shed, but one of the reasons we bought a new fridge was to accommodate the appetites of a couple of growing boys – so, it was relatively yuge in comparison to the old fridge in the shed. I didn’t realise how much bigger until I filled a garbage bag with food to throw out (and the dead fridge was virtually empty). The waste, though. It burned. We’ve ended up borrowing a bar fridge – it holds milk, juice, eggs, butter and yoghurt. I’m discovering the joys of shopping on a daily basis.

IT IS SO DAMN ANNOYING!

But yeah, first world problems.

(Wanders off to write a note to the MiL to buy bread for me tomorrow because a) we have none, and b) there’s nowhere to put it anyway, and the Damn Kids need lunch)

Quarter time.

Yep, it’s a quarter of the way through the year, and for wont of anything else to write about, the house being in a state of ignored, the kids not appreciating Firefly thus having to watch the Damn Football because the Smallest Child’s team is playing badly, I thought I’d give you an update on the resolutions I sort of made…

Always something there to remind you…

  1. Force myself to write more.
  2. Reading.
  3. Use a paper diary and the calendar to good effect.
  4. Do something fucking creative with my spare time instead of bloody Candy Crush.
  5. Stop fucking swearing all the time. Fuck.
  6. Now I’ve got exercise happening, lets see what we can do about food.
  1. Writing more has been sucked up by work words (however, this is a post for no reason, so hey… I suppose it counts.)
  2. Reading – quick count and I have read ten and a half books in the first quarter this year. This is actually pretty good, as long as I keep the momentum up. I’m reading a good un at the moment – Paying Guests by Sarah Walters. It’s all very genteel at the moment, so it will be interesting to see what happens next. I call shenanigans. There often is.
  3. The paper diary and calendar are working ok. I’ve only (only???) missed three things so far – a dress up day at school for Mayhem, another excursion slip disappeared into the ether (yay for primary school office ladies), and Chaos ‘lost’ another thing in his school bag. Oh, and I forgot swimming. But in my defence, it’s been on a Tuesday since 2003 and only changed to Thursday three weeks before the end of term. I’ve got a weekly planner on the go now, in the probably vain hope I’ll remember every week next term.
  4. Castleville’s creative isn’t it? I have dragged the crochet out, though. It’s getting cool enough.
  5. Yeah, I reckon I have that one under control, more or less. Thank fuck. Oops. More or less, orright. I’ve certainly cut down on the swears though, and it’s been noticed by other people that I have been making an effort. However, this is subject to change without notice, and how much Word and Excel and PowerPoint I have to contend with. And stupid people.
  6. Food? Yeah, $3 bag of potato gems for lunch. Forgot to get something out for dinner? Takeaway. Sometimes twice in a week. Or crap from the freezer. I’ve been throwing out vegetables. Got to work on this one.

So, considering it’s a quarter of the way through the year, I am making satisfactory-ish progress. I took Chaos to an organising workshop the other day. He wasn’t sure what to expect, or what it was going to be about. However, he spent the entire hour writing stuff in his notebook so I suspect that he got quite a lot out of it (including “listen yo mama”). I got a bit out of it as well. I do really well with some stuff and REALLY badly with others. I did three months worth of filing on Sunday. It took seven (7) minutes and the whole lot was away. I culled warranties for things we don’t have. I had to find a receipt for the fridge. It was right where it was supposed to be. (And we’re probably getting a new fridge). I now have a three-phase system in place:

  • In-box – where everything goes when it arrives. This is to be checked and emptied twice a week. I think Sunday and Wednesday will work. Rubbish in the bin, stuff I need to deal with either goes in the action folder for later or is dealt with there and then, stuff I don’t need to deal with goes in the blue folder that’s yet to be named.
  • Action folder – Bills, stuff I need to sign and send back, stuff that’s pending/waiting
  • Blue folder – this is supposed to be archive and filing. Archive is stuff I might need later so I’d better keep (like the fridge receipt!) and Mayhem’s swimming certificate. I’m not sure what he wants me to do with it, but hey.

So, we shall also see how that rolls. I’m planning to write myself some weekly/monthly lists as well to keep on top of basics around the house – like sheet changing! But right now, I’m sitting in my warm, dry and clean-ish house and yeah, life’s good. even if I do need a new fridge!

Crikey, now I have to wait another five years.

Old George RR Martin isn’t the only writer who likes to torment his fans by making them wait an INORDINATE amount of time between books. Diana Gabaldon is another writer that likes to make sure her readers are tormented for as long as possible between books. Ok, she does offer the shorter novels in between the big monsters, but still –  five years between books is a long time to wait. Although, unlike Mr Martin, Ms Gabaldon doesn’t feel the need to have a cast of thousands and a death list of hundreds. Most of the people who bite the dust in her books well and truly deserve it. A couple of them deserve it twice.

The Outlander series is a timey wimey wibbly wobbly series of books that flits between the twentieth century and 18th century. They don’t fit strictly into one genre in that while they’re historical romances, there’s time travel, loads of gruesome battles (Culloden for one, plus chunks of the American Revolution and battles around and about Scotland and the South of America between the 1740s through to the 1780s). There are a mixture of ‘real’ historical figures dotted throughout the stories as well, and Claire’s recollection of history from a relatively modern perspective adds to the – well, general coolness of the books.

Written in My Own Heart’s Blood is the eighth book in the series and starts shortly after the end of  An Echo In the Bone, when Claire discovers Jamie isn’t dead… (not a spoiler – happens in the first page or so!) and the fallout from all of that, and Willie discovering who his father is and being a complete idiot about it. It races off out of the blocks and barely pauses for breath in 1100 odd pages. Brianna is having a dire time in the 20th century, and while sometimes the “modern” stuff is a bit of a mood crusher, this time, I was pretty keen to keep up with their story as well. It was worth it. So many things happen in this book – it doesn’t stop for a minute.

An Echo in the Bone had a dirty great cliffhanger which was all very well and good, but when you have to wait for FIVE YEARS…  well, that’s just mean. This one didn’t end with a cliffhanger as such, but left me waiting and wanting to read the next one now please. It had a really nice ending. The ending was nice enough that if Ms Gabaldon never picked up a pen again, the ending of this book was quite satisfactory. One thing I will say, that’s not really a spoiler, but more of an alert – there’s a hell of a lot of sexy bits in this one. Crikey. EVERYONE was either at it, thinking about being at it or remembering being at it. And there’s a couple of REALLY gross operations. In detail. More than one of which had me squirming as I read it.

Anyway, I read the 1100 odd pages in under a week, couldn’t put it down and stayed up way too late. And it was worth it!

Day 15 – Five foods

You can only choose five foods to eat for an entire year, what do you choose…

Beer.

Pizza.

Chocolate.

Chips.

Coffee.

 

I could live on that.

 

Day 4. My earliest memory

It was Christmas, and I was two and a half – according to family legend, I requested a puppy and was bitterly disappointed when I got a little sister instead. I remember being picked up and shown my new sister in the hospital through a window. I was’t impressed in the slightest. I got a penguin soap dish for Christmas that year, and we went to this house with the weirdest table. The legs stuck out at an angle and everything was very tall. (Apparently, the table was quite normal – I just remember it from the perspective of a two year old).

 

Deep thought. Always dangerous.

A long time ago (like last century), I dated a bloke who was nice enough. Until the day he raised his fist to me in anger. Fortunately, he was seriously drunk and I was equally sober. I saw it coming a mile away, stepped out of his way as he landed on the floor, where he started to get even more angry at me (for moving out of his way, I think). Then he passed out. The hardest part that night wasn’t him taking a swing (Blind Freddy could see *that* was on the agenda.) But I wanted him out of my house. Now. My neighbour helped me push him into my car, I drove him home and pushed him out into his back yard. I left him there.

It started off well enough, the night he tried to hit me.

I was going out with my house mate and a couple of friends for some quiet Sunday drinks. I don’t remember why he ended up coming along, he really wasn’t invited. It wasn’t going to be a big night, it was supposed to be two or three drinks and home by ten. But he either showed up there or showed up at ours just before we left. But come along he did,  and he was already drunk. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they didn’t let him in – but they did. He propped at the bar, alternately slamming down drinks and hurling abuse at me. Nice. Telling me I was a real mood crusher and a bummer and I was just spoiling everyone’s fun and I should just leave. After about an hour, we did in fact leave. With him in tow.

He fell asleep in the taxi, so I told the cabbie his address and my house mate and her boyfriend were going to drop him home (it was on their way). But he woke up and followed me inside where he started with the abuse again. On and on about how I was the one who spoiled everyone’s fun and how dare I spoil everyone’s fun. You need a good slappin’ you’re just a useless bitch. Then he swung at me – and you know what happened next.

I still remember it though. In detail. I can tell you what he was wearing, even. (Thick white jumper, blue shirt, jeans, high heeled cowboy boots). Apparently, he went inside about three hours later and told his mate what a bitch I was (I was his mate’s boss. It’s how we met).  But when I called him the next day to tell him that if I never saw him again, it would be too soon – he really did not know what I was talking about… According to him.

The thing with this chap was that he was really quite nice when we first started dating. We’d met through a work colleague of mine at a party. He was all considerate and lovey dovey, and always surprising me with little gifts or dropping in to mine with takeaways (I didn’t cook). He took me to theatre, he took me to dinner in restaurants with menus and cloth tablecloths. The first time I noticed something strange was Christmas. He thought I’d be going home with him for Christmas to his parents who lived 3-4 hours away. But we’d been together for three months at that stage, I was having Christmas with my family. He showed up at my parents place for lunch.

But the Weird started maybe a couple of weeks later. I went with him to his home town to some cricket game. He got drunk and he got mean and started abusing me in “French”. Wasn’t French. It was jibberish. And aggressive. And had I not been in the middle of bloody nowhere, I would have gone home there and then (and solved myself a lot of grief). But I wasn’t sure of the address (this is before the mobile phone was invented, so I couldn’t even call for help), I wasn’t actually sure of the town I was in. So I stayed.

After that, he was contrite and apologetic and it was like nothing had ever happened. For a week or two. Then the niggles would start again. I broke my nose at some point in this period and the cross examination from his mate was sorta weird, especially when I told him I ran into a door (I actually did run into a door). He’d started just dropping in casually – coming around after night school. Waiting outside my house after night school. Calling into work (I worked in a secure building. He couldn’t get in. He’d wait out the front). He had to go away for work for a couple of weeks, and told me I wasn’t to speak to his mate while he was away. Bit tricky seeing as I was the mate’s team leader. His suggestion was for me to kick him out of my team.

Weird. So I thought I’d drop him. Then he’d have a disaster, so I’d not drop him until the next time he got weird. Then he’d have another disaster…

In the space of six weeks he:

  • Was involved in an armed hold up
  • Got dropped from the winning cricket team
  • Nearly got evicted
  • His car got stolen
  • He got his car back but it was wrecked.

So for six weeks, I’m trying to break up with this guy and he was all disaster after disaster. Then he took a swing and pfft. Did not care that he just lost his job. That was a deal breaker and he was GONE. Sort of.

He owed me money – I’d loaned him slightly more than I could afford to lose to prevent him getting evicted. He kept paying me back, $20 here and $20 there. And kept up with the “oh, just passing through, pop the kettle on will you? By the way, here’s another $20”. After a couple of months or so of this, he still owed me the bulk of the money he borrowed, they got evicted anyway – he somehow found out that my house mate had moved out. Oh, so you’ll be looking for a tenant will you – I’m looking for somewhere to live.

Ah. No thank you. Just pay me what you owe me and LEAVE ME ALONE. He did eventually give up though, although he still owes me about $200. Small price to pay for having him gone though.

But it was still hard to get away. I should have said “fuck off” right after that first time, but I still hung in there for another few months. No kids, didn’t live together, didn’t even like him all that much, let alone love him. And I still couldn’t get away.

How would it be for someone who loves their abuser, has children, lets it go on for longer than the six or so months I put up with him for…

 

 

Stuff. And yeah. That.

Well, it appears the cosmos has decreed that I must pop my nimble fingers onto the slightly grotty keys of my slightly grotty keyboard and stun you with my witty and erudite commentary. 

Or not.

I may or may not bang on a bit about books, food, cooking, how much I loathe housework and would rather be a) cooking or b) reading. I may also discuss (or not discuss) the frivolities of fashion, young peoples music, reading, cooking, and cardigans as a fashion statement.

Welcome aboard.