Totally exhausted. Meetings, proposals, phone conferences, meetings. It doesn’t stop.
Last night I went to bed at 7pm and that’s why I was awake at 3.30 this morning, only to discover that there is no milk in the house so I can’t have any coffee.
I have another long, long day of meetings ahead of me and I know they are going to serve coffee in doll-size cups. What I need is a bucket of coffee. I have to leave here at 8am. I think I am going to get ready for work now, then by 7am the local shops should be open and I will be able to get some milk before going out.
So glad it is nearly the weekend. Also, I just checked my diary and was overjoyed to discover that I have only ONE meeting next week. Amazing. Perhaps I will be able to take care of some things that aren’t meetings, eg:
– writing more stuff for the literary agent
– returning my iPad for repair, it broke a month ago and I haven’t had even a moment since then to send it to Apple
– there’s an IKEA sofa that I bought out of sheer desperation because of needing something to sleep on so that I can have Airbnb guests and not have to sleep on the floor like last time. I really did not want a sofa, in any way, it was a distress purchase. My flat isn’t big enough to house it, I resent its presence here and I would gladly return it to IKEA but it too has been hanging around my living room for a month. I doubt they will have it back now and they would certainly expect me to pay for a courier to take it away, the cost of which is about what the sofa itself is worth. It is here now, isn’t it, and I have no choice but to assemble it or just stare it at taking up my whole living room floor in its packaging. After the magnificent efforts I’ve made over the last 5 years to resist having one in the house.
This picture shows the size of my flat:
My history with sofas:
– Threw out the first one along with the TV in 2010 when I evicted an old boyfriend and started the blog.
– Did not regret it. I have been saving the space ever since for a concert-size vibraphone, something I’ve waited my entire life to own.
– Threw out a second sofa quite recently because it was taking up warehouse space and I needed to empty the warehouse because warehouse units in London cost as much as owning a home.
– Now a third sofa is in my life. It is like herpes. Fucking unwanted furniture, sofas are determined to be in my life and in my tiny cube of a flat. No matter what I do, they keep coming back.
This is what I have waited my whole life for, and by the way I am not getting any younger and my reflexes are not getting any faster, if I want to ever play the vibraphone, I need to get on it immediately or give up hope:
This is what I have instead. I hate it. It is a symbol of despair and of defeat. I wish I could return it and buy a vibraphone instead.
At least I now have enough hope of That Company actually paying me some money that I’m no longer looking for a flatmate because that was an utterly ridiculous situation. This flat has one normal size bedroom and one box room that you could keep a hamster in if it wasn’t prone to claustrophobia. My former plan, born more out of panic than anything else, was to rent out my bedroom and sleep in the hamster room, overlooking the fact that I am not the size of a hamster, I own clothes, at least 75% of which are business clothes, and I have also crammed the entire contents of my business and office into my flat as well.