The Valley of Decision

It all began with a text message.

Well actually, it didn't, it began long before that, but it went up a gear when I got the message on Saturday.

"Holy crap!!! I just bought a house!!!"

Yep, L has finally found her dream home and managed to buy it on the first try. And when she stopped shaking like a leaf and reality set in, she repeated an offer that was made a long time ago, way back in London, in fact. She asked if I'd consider sharing with her again.

I considered it. I weighed it against my other options. One one side, there's my current flatmate, the bane of my existence and the reason that I now understand the difference between being messy and being dirty. For anyone who's confused, I'm the first one, and she's the second. I never knew how frustrating it must have been for the OCD L to share with my messiness, until I was confronted with someone who was fine with leaving chunks of food in random places in the kitchen, who has yet to learn that bathroom basins need the occasional clean, and that floors don't mop themselves; until I found myself turning into my mother and bitching about doors left wide open and letting the heat out. From another angle, I could scrape together the cash to live alone once more. It would mean writing off my travel plans for the next while, and probably putting off all sorts of other plans as well, but it could probably be done. And then there's sharing with L, someone that I know both can and will drive me nuts on occasion, but will also let me raid both her bookshelves and her DVD collection, will clean up after me in a most considerate way, and will make me laugh.

In the end, the decision was a no brainer, so I called up the property managers of my flat to find out about the logistics of extending my lease long enough to allow L to settle on her house and get herself organised. After a brief misunderstanding where they thought I was wanting to renew for another 12 months - panic stations - it's all organised. All except telling my flatmate.

In a twist, she's been the perfect flatmate since I made the decision. She's emptied bins, replaced toilet rolls and chatted away like she hasn't since I first met her way back in February. And I have to go and spoil all of that. It's going to be awkward, if only because when I go I'm taking all of my furniture with me, and that includes the bed she sleeps in. But what can I do? What else would I want to do?

Now to screw up the courage for the big conversation...Yep. Decisions. They can really make me stressed.

The Art of Distraction

I've stuffed my back again. I must be getting old, it's happening more often than it used to. Now, something as simple as sleeping can have pain shooting down the back of my legs and radiating up to my shoulders. I've been using it as an excuse to avoid doing dishes (although interestingly, the number of dishes used seems to have multiplied in inverse proportion with my will to clean them). That little half bend at the sink had me throwing in the towel, before it had wiped a single plate. Tonight, I felt that I ought to bite the bullet and get on with it, before I ran out of tea spoons. Funny how they're always the first things to go.

Of course, my will to do the dishes actually increased when I realised how much study I had waiting for me. Because I've taken the masochistic jump and enrolled in that teacher training course I mentioned way back. Part time, I should be able to teach in three years or less, depending on how soon I get myself to a point where I can quit work and study full time. So in around 5 years I should be standing in front of my own class, then. Pfft. Like it will ever happen...But either way, it inspired me to wash the dishes. And now the spasm that caused in my back has me propped carefully on the couch with a comfy cushion squashed in just the right spot while I recover once again.

Of course, all of this is not just a distraction from the lock on my spine. It's to distract me from the fact that, once again, I'm waiting for a seemingly nice boy to get in touch with me so we can meet up and see if we're as nice in person as we seem via email. I'm sweating on my inbox like I never did over results for study, even though I know the boy - let's call him Ernie - is pulling midnighters at work for a week or two and is therefore unlikely to contact me. Either that, or he's miffed about certain parallels with Ray Martin that I jokingly pointed out. Actually, thinking about it, I probably shouldn't have done that. Just like I shouldn't have started writing about him, because now I'm going to get all paranoid that I've done something stupid, yet again. I need a "Quick! Look over there!" distraction. But when you're in your own head, it's a little hard. So I think I might have to get back into some of the things I've been putting off. I think I have some movement in my back again, and an airer full of clothes is calling me. And my new flatmate (did I mention that I have a flatmate now? All part of the trying to get to a position to fund full time study plan...as an added bonus, she's hardly ever here and when she is, she keeps to her room. The perfect flatmate, in many respects) gets back from a holiday on Thursday, so best not have my underpants on display in the living room. I don't think we know each other well enough for that yet.

Right. Arse off couch. Here we go.

Bugger.

Oh well, was worth a shot.