A lovely internet friend emailed me earlier to ask if I was OK as I hadn’t blogged or tweeted for a few days.
I am OK. But not great.
I mostly try and keep my blog as a place for positive, happy things, hence the recent quiet times around here.
I am the type of person that needs a ‘plan’ – just as much for what I’m going to do on any given day, as for the long-term future. And until very recently, as you know, the plan was that we were moving to an amazing house, in a perfect location for us.
And now … there is no plan.
Our house is still up for sale. We have had 26 viewings. I am sick of trying to keep it looking constantly like a show home.
There are two sets of people who’d like to buy it, but one is yet to sell their own house, and the others have lost their buyers. Twice.
If we do sell it, we have nowhere to move to. There is not a single house for sale in the area we want to live in that we want to view (and I check Rightmove every day). But equally, we all know that we don’t want to live here any more.
Mentally, I had disengaged from the house and the village, and with the house still up for sale I’m finding it very hard to re-engage with it at all.
To exacerbate matters, the house we were buying is still possibly for sale, though probably not on terms we’d be happy with, and the guy selling it is an absolute loony, whose word is about as reliable as a cheesecloth condom.
What makes me even crosser is that I have no right to feel miserable about it. I think I’m being ridiculously self-indulgent, and it’s making me dislike myself. Talk about bloody #firstworldproblems.
Good God, I have a lovely family, I live in a house many people could only dream about, I have plenty of money and I’m off to the Indian Ocean next week. I mean, it’s not what you’d call a hard life, is it?
So that’s why I haven’t been around much. Because frankly, I’m even boring myself now.