It is twenty past midnight.
I have just eaten a stale doughnut and am having a cup of tea. After that I will pack up a few things. Then I will attempt to get clean. Then I will go to bed for about five hours.
I have been on the go since 6.45 this morning. I am now beyond tired and well into the world of the strange.
The next few days are going to be horrible. Just horrible.
Today the removal men came to clear out our storage unit. It is full of stuff.
Tomorrow (technically today), they come to clear our house.
I am supposed to be advising and overseeing this. I can only do this in the morning as I am also supposed to be on a training course in the afternoon. I would have cancelled and postponed it, but I have already had to do this once because of the snow. Plus, even though the mere thought of going on a training course is enough to make me weep at the moment, I suspect that by lunch time tomorrow I will be desperate to get away to some semblance of a normal life, if only for a few hours.
I will leave the removal men wondering why I have managed to accrue such a random bunch of items, and in such immense numbers, while I go and learn to be an arts advisor.
Then I will go to my new house, hope that the tradespeople have gone, and scrub and clean and hoover, ready for the next lot of people to tramp through on Friday.
On Friday, the removal men will stop removing and start delivering everything to a house which is currently both filthy and full of people, but which will hopefully be magically transformed before they arrive.
I find this hard to believe after a late night visit this evening. Carpets are up, wires are dangling, walls have great holes in them and there are tens of jobs that have been started, and none of them are finished.
Even after they are gone there is still a list as long as my arm of things we have left to do. Things need painting and plastering, doors need hanging, blinds need fitting, lights need shades etc. Jason’s ‘cinema’ room, is currently a shell, and is liable to remain so for years at this rate. The house is a gigantic money pit already, and we haven’t even moved on to the outside yet.
And despite the fact that we have literally shit loads of stuff, and our new house is bigger than this house and the one we had before, we still don’t seem to have anywhere to put things away.
I remember now that one of my biggest grudges against modern housing is the parlous lack of cupboards for people like me. People who like to squirrel stuff away, just in case.
We have bought acres of furniture this week. All our pieces from the furniture warehouse are in, although the huge wardrobe is in five separate pieces in the middle of our bedroom at the moment. We went to Ikea this evening and bought lights and lamps, sofas and book cases. We are going back for armchairs, and possibly more book cases.
The weekend sees us visiting the furniture warehouse again for more drawers and cupboards and probably a coffee table, although right now that is the least of my worries.
The house is going to look like a furniture warehouse itself very soon, and the thought of rationalising it all and sorting and clearing and boxing up and selling and charity shopping and the endless tip visits that I know are coming down the line apace, fill me with horror.
Right now Jason and I are grim faced and wondering if we have done the right thing. We are thinking that it wasn’t like this last time we moved into a house of our own. This is probably a total lie, but it is one we stupidly persist in believing as we wearily drive back and forth, spilling money into the waiting pockets of eager tradesmen.
We are both tired. We are both stressed. We are both trying to juggle impossible things on a daily basis. There is never enough time to do anything and it is all getting a bit much. Tempers are rather frayed. We are working hard on not divorcing right now. We will be fine, but we are at that stage where we are too tired to think about carefully phrasing the things we need to say, which leads to a few hiccups in our communication here and there.
Friends and family are rallying round. Granny and Granddad are providing temporary refuge while both houses are completely unliveable in, and my friend Nicki is going above and beyond with child wrangling and school disco duties tomorrow so the children don’t feel as utterly wretched as their parents.
It is half term next week, which will mean there is less pressure, and the lack of school run will be magnificent.
I am holding on to the thought that by the weekend after next we will be feeling much sunnier about everything.
Let it be true.