I Have Lazy Bones. Sue Me!

At 10:44 this morning, I was still in bed. Needless to say flat-grooming has not happened.

It is now 15:54. 

I am weak. I am weak. I am weak. I am weak. I am weak. I am weak. I am weak.  

Need I continue?


Still, I have done one thing thoroughly today and that's travelling of the mind, i.e. reading.
So all is not wasted.

I have also watched clouds chase across the occasional blue spot of sky - which made a nice change to all the gray of recent weeks.

I have watched the builders make quite some progress on the site opposite my house.

I have watched the rain pound against my window.

All was done with dedication. And once more I understood that joy can be found in the little things.

Just because the Void is big does not mean we should forget that it is made up of those very details. There is time and place for each and every one of them to be discovered and enjoyed.

Simply decide upon the where and when.

WWBD?

Indeed, What Would Bradley Do?

I figure, first of all he'd be real grateful for something or other. (I know, this is getting old...)
Secondly, he'd NOT be sitting procrastinatin' - I mean look how far he's come in the world. Despite the fact that he's got a VERY thin-lipped mouth. A lady of my acquaintance once warned me of people with lines for mouths. They are mean and cruel. Her words, not mine. Clearly, she had it wrong somehow. Because it seems they are driven too. And perhaps there needs to be a certain amount of cruelty to get ahead in the world. Maybe it's a secret club. With secret signs and passwords to get you in the inner circle, with measuring tapes for the smallest ... Oh, whatev!

Faced with a problem, good ol Brad'd dig in. Or tell someone to. That comes with the territory and the celebrity pay cheque, I believe. Lucky Coop.
Maybe we should not ask WWBD but WWBAD? A is of course for? Correct, assistant(s).

So having said that it is clear that BC would tidy his flat if that were the most pressing issue of the day - or have someone do that for him. The thing to remember is, Void, he'd get straight to it. No mucking about there!
Since I am not of his monetary calibre, I and I alone will have to get to work. Which looks dire to me, dire, indeed. Oh, the unfairness of it all!

Enough I say. So tomorrow - as all good procrastinators will agree - tomorrow, will be the day I shall invest my time in a flat-overhaul in the cleaning and clearing sense.
Yup, go big or go home, right.
Though experience has shown that over-enthusiasm is the downfall of many a project.
Still, where would be without a little naiveté, hm?

I cannot be stopped, Void!
And I will be at least twice as good as Bradley's cleaning lady ever was! HA! Even if it kills me. And it may...


I shall stop here and save my precious energy for my big day tomorrow.
Watch this space.



P.S. Just so we're clear - I will not experience tomorrow's task as therapeutic or happiness-inducing! 
What am I, Mary freakin' Poppins?!

Caption? What Caption?

I am half-way there. Have signed the lease agreement, am awaiting counter-signature and that will be that.
To be honest, I have no clue how I am going to manage this all. This being The Move.

Turns out I have no man, no van, just flippin' boxes.
A single gal's dilemma.

Perhaps it is indeed time to take - as Alex Turner put it so wonderfully - the batteries out my mysticism and put them in my thinking cap.

Yup, will do.



Shalalala.





P.S. The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala? Hello!

There's Always More

You know how people say that one should travel light. 

I believe this to be true for both actual travelling and living. 

Note: before moving, do clear out your belongings. Because it is a known fact that if the burden is too great you will find yourself not actually moving at a noticable speed or worse, not at all. In live and on a journey. I am sure you have experienced one or the other at one stage in your life. 

Ah, but now for the moment of truth. 

For the past few years I have thought myself as someone with few possessions. I have considered myself as living light - at least in comparison to other people I know who own flats, whole houses, cars, holiday homes, stock bonds, pets... you name it. But in the cold light of day and with boxes waiting to be packed I have reached a grim conclusion. That which seemed straightforward and manageable now blatantly spells chaos. It is cumbersome and messy. 

In short I am not a fan.

I remember the days when all my belongings would fit into the back of a Vauxhall. Come to think of it that was when I lived in furnished rooms in flatshares, so I am not sure whether that counts. 

But as the years roll on and by you find yourself buying sofas, a bigger closet, more book shelves etc. 

And that is when you usually realise a) you are getting old (because let's face it who in their right mind buys a sofa when they are twenty-something. I was able to prolong that particular moment until I was thirty-odd years of age and I must say I am proud of that!) and b) that the older you get the more things you accumulate for the sake of comfort apparently. 

So far I have managed to stear clear of the possibly inevitable kitchen purchase, Lady Luck was on my side where washing machines and hoovers were concerned, I have always lived with someone who owned these things and was willing to share. 

But oh, how the mighty have fallen... at some point in the not so distant future I will have to consider these household appliances in earnest and make a decision - however, I will cross that bridge once I get there. Until then I shall carry on with my borrowed and inherited bits and bops. 

If need be I can get by on very little. And the way it looks right now, this theory will soon be tested. 

Haven't you heard, I am facing two months of having to pay rent x two. Plus the actual move, plus plus plus - do I really have to spell it out - it is going to cost me an arm AND a leg. 

On the other hand: less money, less stuff to cram flat with. 

P.S.

I know... This could be my Post-Move Fast.

 

Only set-back: it's going to take longer than 40 days.  

Life In A Box

First boxes are packed.
One set of curtains is being washed.
Had a good old clear-out..
All in all it's going well.

Bit of a sore back, though.

I must say I feel proud of myself and generally pleased with my life right now.
Because it needs to be considered that this is the first proper flat I am moving into all by myself. So far I have had what feels like 50 flat shares. I lived with girls and boys, just boys, just girls.
And now it's going to be just me. YAY ME!

I have weaned myself from "we" and have now reached a mostly healthy "me".

Ever noticed how one area of your life can be a metaphor for another?
My housing situation, my looming move, seem to mirror my personal life, i.e. I am clearing out and starting afresh. I am moving away from the past, from what has been. Sure enough I will be taking parts with me but mostly I will move on. That is the plan.

I have just been for a little walk and I have noticed - not for the first time, mind you - that ever since I've found that cosy little new place I have been saying goodbye to my neighbourhood. I cherish my morning walks to work, trying to memorise the houses, the trees, the shops, the quirks of this part of town. I trace and re-trace the routes, places and spaces that are soaked with memories of days gone by. That have silently witnessed brief moments of happiness, wonder and surprise, that have seen me in despair, without hope, that have felt my heart ache and that caught the tears. There are tiny pieces of me left here and there. Nothing big, nothing world-stopping, nothing extraordinary. Just a few years of my life, a handful of memories, the good, the bad, the ugly... that is how it is. And always.

It is good that I am moving on. It is time.

And it is Spring. I have been told that is when life starts over, full of hope, full of faith.

Moving On

Will be signing lease contract for new flat soon.
"Being over the moon" does not even begin to cover it.

In With The Good

... And The New And The Exciting.
Oh, I have had delightful news this week.
More soon.

The Winter Of My Discontent

Just got home...
to find my toilet completely unconnected from the main water pipe...

Dear Void, please DO give me the strength to stay calm.
Furthermore, PLEASE let my landlord find a qualified water/drain/pipe guy who can fix this. And fix it yesterday.
Also, I would like you, darling Void, to point me in the direction to understanding WHY THE FUCK ME AGAIN????

It's Friday.
I have a flat that is still missing wallpaper, paint, tiles (don't get me started!) and...oh yes, a flippin' loo that works.
I have had a week of builders walking in and out, the rooms I can live in look like a horder's den, boxes and stuff everywhere. I am basically living out of a suitcase. Every morning I carry my toiletries around like I'm on a bloody camping site.

I must say I have been pretty darn patient and graceful about all of what's been going on lately.
But this is really taking the biscuit... I have no rising-above left in me.
I HAVE NO TOILET!

Not sure whether to laugh or cry.

Did I mention that the flat-hunt is not going too well.

So, happy freakin' weekend to all!

P.S. Dear Mr. Cooper, what do you suggest I put on that gratitude list for today?

Home Is...

Some progress on the home-front. Praise the Void.
Once more I have had strange men in my flat. Fear not. All professionals of the building craft.
Waterpipes have been changed, would you believe it.
The corridor is now "plus ceiling".
Walls still pretty much the same, i.e. they do not bear looking at or writing about.

Flat-hunt: not going too well.


Am determined to stay optimistic.

The Big Bang Theory

Can I just say this - to get it out of the way:

Flat hunting sucks. 


I have come to this eloquent and rather smart conclusion just hours after having started this quest.
Yes, I'm a quick study.

Furthermore, I am unsure what to make of years that start with a "BANG" (for more on that read yesterday's entry).
I wonder if it is healthy for one to "start with a bang" - does that not muddle you up for the months to come. One may never recover. And then what has one gained?! A burst eardrum and temporary insanity.
I should like to start leasurely. That is to say - I would have liked that very much.

BUT! Since yesterday morning THAT is all out of the window. And I feel like bloody Gretchen in Faust, with my "peace ... gone/My heart ... sore" - though not QUITE for the same reason to be sure. But still. I feel worried and harrassed. And nervous.

The Bang - and size does not matter - is not my favourite thing, I can tell you straight off the bat.
As I have tried to point out before in my postings I like to meander through life and let things happen. Ok, so that is a polite way of saying I am a passive scaredy-cat.
The Bang does not help with that. It tends to get me more edgy and not necessarily more effective.
The Bang tends to do to me what snakes do to little birds and rabbits before they devour them. It incapacitates me. I am still sort of reeling from the experience and from trying not to panic and keeping calm and staying positive and optimistic - ALL AT THE SAME BLOODY TIM E.

Over-reacting, who me?!

Alright, no points for guessing correctly that I am freaking out a little, that I am essentially in panic-mode. That I would like to run away from this and pretend that nothing has happened and that all goes on as before. "As you were, soldier!"

I know, so mature, right?!

I feel a bit like I have to have a solution by the end of the week.
I also feel that I am very slowly catching up to myself and while doing so realising that all will not be lost if I do not have a solution by the end of the week.
And I am beginning to breathe again more slowly. Heartrate's going down, too.

So, suppose I don't find a new place on the first day I have started looking - should that frustrate me? Ok, don't answer that.
What I am really trying to say is (to myself) - stop being so insanely impatient. If you can master that the panic will stop all on its own. What did I say yesterday about the deep dark places in our heart of hearts? - That is where we always know the answers to all our questions, even the silly ones.
Unfortunately, we chose to ignore this inate wisdom far too frequently. In my case that is the reason why I am panicky, the reason why I feel I need to be impatient.

I am a nervous person by nature. I scare easily and I remember the days of my flatshare-times when I would frequently jump up and nearly go into cardiac arrest because my flatmate (for crying out loud) walked into the room unexpectedly. She would then simply say: Remember me? I live here, too.
I also do not necessarily like surprises. (Get this though, I get easily bored.)
Thus, I believe I cannot help but getting a little worked up about stuff most of the time. Memo to myself: Start with those breathing exercises already!

So that has me thinking - is this "BANG" perhaps a blessing in disguise?

A colleague said something interesting today: perhaps it is now time to start looking for something new because now is also the time that something "just right for me" is out there.

Only one way to find out, right?

Deary Me

Did I mention that the flat is falling apart?
Well, it certainly FEELS that way.

My favourite person in the world right now (aka HE WHO CANNOT BE NAMED) is still too busy and important and generally too deluded to be bovvered and so I am STILL waiting for the things to come to pass, i.e. continuation of the "WORK" that NEEDS to be done, i.e. exchanging the pipes and putting everything back to normal . . like plaster and wallpaper on the walls and the ceiling where it belongs.

I have had a letter from the above mentioned BFF in the mail before New Year's. But I thought, screw this, I am not going to spoil my fun and read this letter before 2012 has even started.
(BTW, my FUN consisted of over-eating, watching a truck-load of DvD's and generally being a slob really. I was considering calling into being the Couch Potato Society with me as Chairwoman - or should that be Couchwoman?)

So when I finally opened said letter it contained an awfull lot of name-calling and threatening if you ask me and had me a little scared this morning before work. I am still in a state of mild shock I have you know...

I know I have said it before but now it rings truer than ever - I will be needing to look for a new flat. And soon by the looks of it. That is, the new flat should materialise soon. My looking for it should have started like 5 months ago - at least that is the conclusion I had to make when I took a tentative and very quick look on various property and rental sites.

Anyway - I have - ONCE AGAIN - been thinking and I do believe my refusal to follow in Bradley Cooper's footsteps or rather his example has set a few things in motion.
(Let me re-phrase: my seeming inability. There, that sounds much more co-operative. And if nothing else I am co-operative.)

What if the universe now thinks me an ungrateful bitch for real - after the bouqet-incident last week that is all the more likely - and has decided to send me a little lesson?!?!? In the shape of a nasty letter and the prospect of eviction and lawsuits and other jolly things.

What if my inability to be grateful and openly so has angered the... well whoever runs the universe these days?!

What if I kind of asked for this?!

And if not by being ungrateful then perhaps by my moaning  - and publicly so (WITH PICTURES for crying out loud) - about the flat.
Perhaps the Chief Universal Officer thought, well she does not like it there anyway so why not shape the events in such a way that she will HAVE to do something about it.


Do you not find it worrying that I have all sorts of explanations involving HIGHER POWERS for what I am experiencing? Should I not have understood by now that the events in our lives are brought forth by our own will, might and energy?
I get it, ok. I get that this MAY be the best thing that could happen, like a little nudge to get active and start searching for a new place to stay. So why am I ranting? (Good point.)

Well. because I often feel that I am not in charge of my life.
And I feel that I am still  - far too often if you ask me - quite happy to bum along, as it were.
And I feel that in effect I am passive and waiting for some outside impulse to trigger my action, or should that be re-action.
AND I feel that I should not be like this at the age of ... well, never mind.

That has me worried. Honestly.
And I ask myself WHY?!
Is it fear, is it chronic lazy-syndrome, is it, dare I say it, some kind of self-hate?


Well, this is not the time nor is it the place. But I dare not guess. And anyway, deep in your darkest heart of hearts you always know, don't you.

Back to the point and first things first: I will have to get my head around thinking about a new place for real. Which presents me with yet another "problem" - the issue of WHAT THE HELL do I want in terms of accomodation which then triggers the question of HOW AM I GOING TO AFFORD IT?!

You see, 2012 has started with a bit of a BANG.

As yet I have not been able to decide if it qualifies to be put on any kind of gratitude list.





I wonder if Bradley does How to-sessions? DIY - The Gratitude List. Hm...

Fa la la, la la la -freakin' la

Nothing feels more like Yule Tide Treasure than a flat after the builders have been. Believe me.
Joy To The World sort of sprang to mind but I could not quite get my nervous system to get over the urge to simply scream.

And as for decking the halls etc etc - well, there ain't much of a hall left, to be perfectly honest.

So I get home after work, the builders had left hours earlier and, well - the flat looks butchered like a body after open heart surgery. Read OPEN. It's a miracle my neighbours cannot wave to me through the ceiling. And the walls I am afraid to touch for fear the slightest impact sees them tumbling down.
Of course, people will say I exaggerate.

FYI - I have to live here and I feel like I have been permanently locked in a cellar that was once used as a bomb shelter in WW 2 - because that is what it bloody looks and smells like in my flat these days.



Not to mention the dust and the debris. AND the plaster that rains down as soon as somebody above me moves so much as an inch. Alright, my upstairs neighbour never really just moves an inch, he stomps around and is known to throw fits or tantrums or both on occasion. But that is another story. Anyway, there is a lot of plaster raining down in my flat.

But I digress . . . because the REALLY fabulous and thrilling news this week so far were this:

the work cannot be finished. Because there would be no point in drying up the walls and covering them up again and making everything look like sort of back to the way it was, since - wait for it - the leak in the upstairs drain is not fixed yet. It would be a waste of everybody's time and money, really, to fix the walls withouth having fixed the underlying problem, as it were.
Uh hm... I know. Me speechless, too...
My landlord, the DRIP, knew about having to change all the drains in this house for MONTHS. Why he decided to go about the whole thing backwards, I really cannot fathom.
Arrgh, it does not bear thinking about the whole sorry affair.

Basically my life looks like this right now: I work at a place that is still pretty much a building site. And BONUS! I come home to a building site. It's on a much smaller scale, of course. But that is beside the point really. Because everyone who has ever had work done in their appartment or house knows what it feels like when you are not "at home" at home.

Am I miffed? Of course.
Especially since this did not happen because I could not get the right people to fix this or did not want to spend the money for the work to be done ASAP. This happened because the person whose job it was to get this organised and done simply cannot be bothered.

Am I ranting? You betcha!!! Naturally I am ranting. If it did any good I'd be raving, too.
But really - what is the point?! I know this is not going to be fixed. No one's in a hurry, especially not before Christmas. ESPECIALLY not before New Year's. So what am I getting my knickers in a twist for?
It is indeed pointLESS.
Yet every single time I stand there and have to look at the walls open like that, the wallpaper ripped to shreds, the beams exposed, the traces of mould that have eaten into the building, I get upset.

And yes, I feel sorry for myself, too. Why does it have to be my flat? Why does it have to be Christmas?
Is somebody trying to tell me something?

IS THIS SUPPOSED TO BE A LESSON?!

Well, if nothing else, at least I know what to put on my Resolution List for the new year - not that I did not know where to start in the first place OR needed any help finding resolutions:
Be prudent!
Find a new place to live!
Also: MAKE LANDLORD'S LIFE HELL. Alright, fine - IGNORE landlord. Concentrate on things I can change. Concentrate on points 1 and 2, that is.

Some Newsflash!

Not sure whether I should feel excited, ecstatic even or just freaked out and a little scared.

I have had the news that after over 3 MONTHS of waiting something will finally be done. 

Waiting for what?

Done about what? 

Well, listen closely - at the end of August, water began to mysteriously run down my wall in the toilet. On and off I should say. But really - it's never a good thing when water flows outside of pipes and drains, especially in houses and flats. My landlord is of the Let's wait and see-variety which is always helpful, but especially so in situations like these. 

A pipe had burst in the flat above me and at some point the leak was found and covered. However, it turned out that it was the wrong leak apparently. Because I was still experiencing some weird feng-shui-like water garden show in my loo and oh, yes - boy, the wild swirling patterns of mould forming on the ceiling and walls of my bathroom and in the corridor. Kinda made me feel like I was in a continuous Rorschach test.
So the water-people returned and then fixed the RIGHT leak. (Makes you wonder how they test for leaks in the first place. IF they test. These guys, it seems, just kind of took a random guess the first time they were here.)
Praise the lord! The water stopped. Not to be blasphemous but that's what Noah must have felt like. 

Seriously, I am sooo over this whole thing. 

Anyway - cut a long story short (plus, I have been living this nightmare now for, wait, that's right, too flippin' long and I simply cannot recount all the silly details, excuses, heartache, and sheer and utter, tearing-out-one's hair-kind of frustration) coming MONDAY (12th December) builders will come to open up the walls and ceiling in the corridor, bathroom, loo, kitchen. 

Yup, that is right - I will be living in a war zone. Just when I am sort of settling in at work and the building site is slowly turning into a nice working environment, I shall be returning home every night to utter mayhem. At least that's what it already feels like to me. 

Don't get me wrong - I am not complaining.
I could just KILL my landlord for doing this NOW and not having done anything earlier. 

I just hope the whole house is rotting from the inside out and costs him all his money. Because that seems to be the only place where it hurts him.

I am not sure how I could possibly be zen about this. I am all worked up and I feel knots forming in my neck muscles already. And I will get an ulcer from this, too. I just know it. 

But seriously, though... I mean, I cannot avoid this right now. I shall carry on regardless. Right!
Right?

I just have the sneaking suspicion that my landlord wants to get rid of me and that therefore he does not really give a flying fig whether the work starts now or in the new year or never. Kinda like he is testing my "patience" or should I say stamina.
"Let's make the living situation the worst possible there is and she'll eventually leave" 

That is not a very Christmassy thought to have, I believe. 

But you get the picture. What we have here is a kind of a Scrooge. 

And really, I am not that much of a Tiny Tim to still think good of him, to still go all "peace on earth and good will to men". 

I really REALLY resent this fellow. 

Odious man. 

Insufferable creature. 

(And I am turning into a Jane Austen character as I am writing this. Dear!)

But what is one to do?

I feel like the fates have dealt me a bit of a shit hand here. 

So now what, I go and make lemo-freakin'-nade?
(Hm, it IS the season - so it should be mulled wine really, I guess - but that is beside the point.)

How do you make lemonade out of mildew and crumbling walls and no proper heating in your flat? 

Thoughts anyone?

(Moving springs to mind. Yeah, I have thought of that one already. Now THAT is daunting, indeed. Why is that, I wonder... Hm, maybe because I could end up with another super-jerk for landlord... But I also think: anything is better than THIS right here.) 

Watch this space, as the kids have it. 

I feel a project a-growing.