It’s no secret that I hate my house with every fibre of my being and it is probably the main cause of my unhappiness. Everything else in my life is either really great or good enough. But this house. Ugh, this house. I’ve lived here for 13 years now — renting. And this place has housing leprosy – the ceiling is falling down, the tiles are coming up, etc etc. This house hasn’t felt like a home in a LONG time.
But it’s not our house. Hopefully we will own our own house someday, but until then I decided that instead of being a big crybaby about hating my house, I’m just going to deal with it and start decorating again like I used to.
I started with the fireplace mantel and window sill and I feel better already.
Now if only I can get rid of Henry and all his shit…
Hard to take pictures in the dark, but it loses its effect when lit.
I’ve been so overwhelmed with life these days, like if I were a celebutante, now would be the time to check into rehab for “exhaustion.” I even had a small break down at work last week, which was totally embarrassing and it’s all because I’ve been so emotionally sensitive lately.
I’ve had to say no to people. I hate saying no. I want to say yes and help out everyone with all the things they’re doing, or want to do, but the reality is that I’m at a buffet with a saucer. The more I take on, the more half-assed everything turns out. And that makes me unhappy. And also physically ill.
My priority has to be this house, and looking for a new house. (And also looking for a new couch: one that isn’t broken and slowly giving us scoliosis. Then maybe I can let people come over again.)
Breaking everything down into small projects makes me feel like maybe this is manageable, and maybe one day I won’t feel panicked and miserable every time I walk through my front door. I won’t lie though: I’ve been thinking that maybe blogging needs to either go on the back burner or just go. That might be a hard addiction to break, but sometimes I think I would be happier in the end. Who knows.