Well it seems my brain only has room for one thing, the shop or this blog and as the former has been keeping me busy lately, my blog has been left gathering cobwebs. Much like my house. And don't even look at the laundry basket. Oh who am I kidding. You wouldn't even find the laundry basket. It got buried weeks ago.
So in an attempt to break through the blogging wall I'm just going to write up a shitty update post. You're welcome.
We have FINALLY got the external wall of the house fixed. I say fixed, although, it doesn't seem to have helped much. Something I could cry a thousand tears over.
Unfortunately, the mould downstairs seems to have gotten worse if anything. There is no emoji in existence that can convey my expression when we looked at the wall. There's just too much water in the air down here. Our living room connects to the kitchen with an open archway, no door. And right next to the kitchen, you have our postage stamp sized bathroom. Through cooking each night, hot showers etc and that crappy external wall with a giant corner sofa pushed up against it and it all just becomes one giant mould trap. Upstairs on the other hand, is perfect. Unless we start hanging wet washing around the place then that gets damp too. The dehumidifier is working overtime right now and I do not want to think what our next electricity bill is going to look like.
Very, VERY luckily Dan came in to some money through work and it was enough to pay for the wall, a new washer/dryer (no more hanging washing over radiators *fist pump*) and a dish washer.
A DISH WASHER!!!
I am so extremely, 'over-the-moon-slap-my-arse-and-call-me-Vera' happy about that last purchase. How has it taken us so long?
I don't know. I don't care. The fact is, our washing up days are numbered. NUMBERED I TELL YOU!
What else? The office job which I usually make a point of not writing about has become, well interesting. Long story short, since I returned to work part time after having Alessi I have had to put up with sarcastic, passive aggressive and sometimes downright mean comments from certain colleagues. All having digs about my time in the office. Or rather, the time I'm not in the office. This is of course made worse if I take holiday, (which I'm entitled to I might add) or time off due to sickness. It's been nearly three years and I am so tired of it. I've made all sorts of attempts to nip it in the bud, but nothing has worked and the past month something just snapped.
It has to be said that a lot of it is genuinely said in jest and I like to think that I can tell the difference. The trouble has been when the tone has changed and the jokes no longer felt funny or light hearted. When instead they left me feeling uncomfortable, embarrassed and singled out.
How do you draw the line in these situations?
Unfortunately I think the only solution is to stop tolerating any kind of jokes that poke fun at my working arrangement period. I didn't want to be that person. The one who has no sense of humour or kicks up a fuss over what others may feel is nothing, but really, it's not as if I haven't given them ample opportunity to sort themselves out. I've spoken with the individuals one on one and when that didn't work, voiced my concerns to my managers. Unfortunately neither seem to have worked so I'm going to have to be that person after all. Ah well. C'est la vie. I love my job and my immediate colleagues so I'll be buggered if I'm going to let a couple of bad eggs ruin it.
And on a much brighter note the other job is bringing me much joy and happy vibes.
The decision earlier this year to stop focusing on making things that everyone would like (yes I actually thought I could do that) and instead focus on making things that would only a few people would like, has turned out to be the best decision I've made since opening the shop. Now I'm making things again that I love and get excited about. Perhaps too much as a few things haven't made it as far as the shop and instead magically appeared in my own wardrobe. *Ahem*
I'm enjoying it and as self indulgent as it sounds, I consider this to be the most important thing.
And that is pretty much it. Alessi continues to a whirling dervish of a three year old. Making me scream in to a tea towel one minute and wondering how I ever got so lucky the next.
I did have a wobble last week after reading an article in the Guardian about having only one child (note to self: STOP READING THE COMMENTS). But I'm back on track now. I don't think our selfish reason to have one child is going to turn her into a spoilt, socially inept psycho killer. Although we might get her a pet. Just to be safe.
Right then. For those of you that have got this far, 1) WELL DONE and 2) I do apologise.