As I hit “Publish” last night, it started snowing again and The Husband was ecstatic. When it comes to snow, he’s like a big kid and it lightens my mood instantaneously, even if I pretend to be all grouchy and snow hating. He calls me a “Snow Bitch”.
Today I went back to bed when The Husband went to work. It was cold outside and even though I knew I had work to do around the house, a few more hours under the covers just felt like the right thing to do. If anyone asks, I’m blaming the dog. He knows where to hang out where it’s always warm and cozy.
The prospectus came from Open University last night. I only have a few more days to apply for my Openings course and I’m nervous that I’m not going to be able to hold up my end of the bargain when it comes to paying for it.
We had a deal, The Husband and I – he would pay, I would help more around the house. Apparently I’m doing a so-so job with it at present. I’ve never been one for housework, hence why we have a cleaner come weekly and I have no idea how to go about keeping up my part in the bargain.
I guess I just have to keep trying. I wonder what my therapist will think about swapping household chores for one payment of £290?
Poor old froggy lives outside, in front of the Summer House. It sounds ironic having a Summer House in the UK, but we do actually get more than a few sunny days here in London, so he doesn’t suffer too badly after the end of February. However, this week, he made up for eight months of half decent weather, where a jumper is only mandatory wearing 90% of the time by sitting outside in the sub-zero temperatures and even getting a dusting of snow.
I don’t like snow. I used to, when I first moved over. It was the excitement factor of having it in your own backyard and getting to see snow fall whilst you were all warm and cozy in an office or sitting on the lounge. Those days were pretty exhilarating. A few days after my first snow fall, I discovered what it’s like in London when the snow starts to melt (or turn into frozen grey slush). It’s not fun, it’s cold and it’s usually wet too.
So snow, you can stay in the sky or hang about in posh French and Swiss ski resorts where people are a lot more equipped to deal with you and I promise not to moan about the cold. Deal?
It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I didn’t mean to leave you so long or make you feel deserted. It just happened. I apologise.
Last time I wrote, I was in Australia. I was dreading leaving one home but excited to get back to reality. Now I’m not so excited. The job scene isn’t hot (long story short: worst interview ever), it’s so cold I feel like I live in an Igloo, I miss my family like crazy and I finally realized that even though I love London, my real home is in Australia, with my family.
There have been tears almost every day. There have been stupid arguments and decisions to plan ahead but I just don’t want to. I want to go home right now. I know it’s selfish to expect him to pick up his happy life and everything that he holds dear to him but I know that those three months of happiness, comfort and being able to spend time with the ones I love were the reason why I didn’t need to take my antidepressants and the moment I felt I had finally kicked that black dog right out of the door.
Decisions have to be made. It’s just a shame they are the ridiculously hard ones.
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