Tuesday 26 January 2010

Brains... Must eat... Braaaaaaiiins...

Or something. I've given up entirely on being a normal human being because it's just not happening. What IS happening is that I'm drifting from one hour to the next with no real clue as to what's going on.

We're going to view this house in a few hours. I've looked over the details a few times and worked out the pros and cons and to be honest, I'd be happy with it. But I refuse to get excited about it's possibilities because odds are my husband will find something wrong with it. To be honest, I'm expecting him to decided that actually he does want a garage despite him saying it wasn't important. So I'm going to stay quiet, leave it all be until he's made his feelings known one way or another and be prepared for the worst.

Strange thing is, when he came back on Sunday night he started talking about getting the home report back from the house we viewed last week that I loved. He told me how much it was valued at and I mentioned a reasonable bid and agreement (in my eyes) given that information. He then agreed with me before telling me a story about his weekend away... Confucious say, man who plays with his wife's mind is going to get stabbed in the eye (ironically he bought me a spork while he was away)

In the meantime I'm cleaning up. My husband has spent six years complaining that I leave clothes, books, sweet wrappers, DVDs and every other thing I've ever owned, lying around the house. So since we moved I've made a concerted effort to tidy up more since I know I can be messy. However, we still had a row last month about him having to tidy up after me. But today, while looking around, I noticed an odd thing. There's a pile of his Christmas presents still sitting at the bottom of the stairs. The fleece he was wearing to clean the car is also on the stairs, along with my hairdryer, which he used to seal glue in the windscreen washers. There's a book and a magazine of his lying in the kitchen, and a pile of magazines beside the sofa. A pair of his shoes are by the back door and the book he was reading last night is on a chair in the lounge. There are flyers from a magazine he reads on the lounge floor and mail of his is on the kitchen table. In the spare room he has things spread out all over the (king-size) bed and beside table. So. All his things are now in piles. If he doesn't move them, I'll move them. Into the garage. Watch him complain then!

So now I'm off, to mend some clothes and finish clearing things away, and then wait for him to come home and take me to the house viewing (I cannot wait for the day I can buy my own car) Until next time, CLEAN YOUR ROOM!

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