I'm totally paraphrasing Hamlet there. I think my words work better than Shakespeare's, yeah?
As mentioned in my previous post, blogs have been writing themselves in my mind. Unfortunately they seem to be taking a sinister turn. I'm toying with a few of them to see if they cheer themselves the fuck up, but until then in my mind they will stay.
It is, clearly, a weird time. I know I don't mention it much but I am arse-clenchingly terrified about my move away. A move which is moving nearer and nearer. To the point that it is a week tomorrow.
A certain part of me has been moving ahead and organising stuff, so clearly part of me thinks this is the right thing to do. The other part of me is clinging on to the last vestiges of her sanity right now. And the doorframe. I don't know how my friends are going to prise my clammy grip away from my doorframe next Tuesday. I love this house. I mean, I LOVE it. It has been comfort and home and refuge and the scene of arguments, merry making, mirth and, well, quite filthy things to be honest. I don't want to leave it. I just don't want to.
My landlord came round the other day. The last time he came round I went to great lengths to hide Fatman and all trace thereof. I was so stressed this time that I didn't even bother. I mean, what was he going to do? Evict me? You know what he did? He told me that I've been a great tenant, that he's sorry to lose me, that he kept the rent lowish for the last five years because he wanted me to stay, that if I change my mind before the 20th to let him know... He looked Fatman right in the eye and didn't say a word. And it nearly made me cry.
Don't tempt me Mr Landlord. I can't change my mind now.