And yes, I apologise to Twitter for all my whining, sooky and please help me fix the fucking hole in my wall tweets. I apologise profusely.
Did ya’ll know moving is the third most stressful event that will happen in your life? And I believe it, last weekend I woke up on a hospital bed gagging on a tube down my throat and that was less fucking stressful (don’t fall in love kids, or take drugs kids, neither end up well).
And these little stressful lists never include kids shit. Because kids ACCUMULATE. But when you go in their rooms with the boxes and garbage bags it’s like every single thing they own is suddenly precious (even though they haven’t worn that shirt, played the playstation 1 for years or used the damn sock hanger you bought 3 fucking years ago). Oh no, everything is all suddenly the fucking ring of power and they’re Gollum, mine, mine, mine. So apparently nothing is going in the garbage, it’s all coming to the new house. God Dammit.
But I can’t blame them entirely. I cannot throw out cords. Charging cords, computer cords, broken HDMI cords, Ethernet cables, long arse telephone cords, them old red, yellow and white cords that no one has used since 2010, TV aerial cords, all the fucking cords, you need a cord, I probably have it.
One good thing to come of all this mess though I guess is the weight loss, so a lot of clothes have bit the dust, and I’m saying hey how ya doin to my old clothes. Am I the only person who waits until like midnight to go do a clothes drop at the clothing bins? (probably – shut up)
And my books, I have at least two full bookcases full of books, I thought I would be able to part with at least a few rows. But no. What if I want to read it again? What if I need to reference something? What if someone gets it but doesn’t treat it right? What if someone wants to borrow it but I’ve turfed it? What if there is a zombie apocalypse and my library is the only one left to re build humanity (Doomsday Preppers ya’ll).
So we all have our things we cannot let go of I guess. And by the way, the hole in the fucking wall has not been fixed. It’s currently hiding behind a grey piece of construction paper. I don’t know how to fucking drywall, why do people assume I know how to do this shit. I may have books, but none of them pertain to house repair (note to self, buy house repair book).
I have no compunction whatsoever in throwing out kitchen paraphernalia. It’s all ugly and mis matched anyway. I’m making my long suffering mother buy me a whole new kitchen set. And if anyone out there wants to send me housewarming gifts, really awesome pots, frypans and a slow cooker that actually works would be ace.
Oh and I almost forgot, I have a site that sells pretty good t shirts, throw pillows, coffee mugs, iPhone stuff, iPad stuff and all that other really cool shit that no one else has. It’s here, and some new designs will be up after the stress of moving has left my body (I rang a friend today, and said hey don’t laugh ok, and she’s like yeah ok, whats wrong, and I said I was doin yoga this morning and I fucked my hip up pretty bad, then she laughed like a maniac, and I screamed at her you said you wouldn’t laugh, and she said I’m sorry, then she started laughing again) moral of the story, sometimes yoga isn’t all it makes itself out to be. Site here http://www.redbubble.com/