Project Me.

Things have not been going well. No matter what anyone says about remaining positive, it is absolutely impossible to deny that my situation in everything is not going well.

Moving house seems to be on pause. Thank you estate agents for being such helpful liars. (For anyone a little interested) The estate agents told us – TWICE – that the house we have made an offer on is freehold. We find out, after paying for the surveyors, after sorting out the mortgage, after paying for the solicitors for the conveyoncing that the house is in fact leasehold. *Pardon the language* Fucking hell. So now buying a house is on pause until our solicitor finds out if the lease is for sale. If it is, how much for? This is a factor that is just going to break the whole deal. *Shit!* To add to this massive insult the estate agents have now found it appropriate to get impatient with us, trying to pressure us into just signing the contracts for this house… Well, fuck off *pardon the rudeness* but had they just told us from the get go that the house was leasehold we would have asked about the lease and if it was for sale at the beginning. Not only that but it was the vendor’s solicitors that decided they weren’t going to even so much as do anything for what… three months!? because that is the time limit they have to so much as start anything? So, everyone if you are buying a house, DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT trust the estate agents ever. Oh, but this wasn’t their mistake, no, the seller of the house ticked freehold. I do not believe for a second that no one down this line of trying to sell this fucking house knew that the house was leasehold. I don’t believe it. Those of you looking into buying a house, understand this – The estate agent doesn’t care about you, nor are they trying to be kind and help you. They are sneaky, lying, snakes that will turn a mistake, they made, into your problem. Especially for your wallet.

So, I’m not moving, anywhere in my life. No job… No house… Doing well! *Thumbs up*

Actually I take it back. I am moving. I am just moving back into the house that I started in. Sort of my parents house. Into a room that used to be my Gran’s before she fell ill. I will have to rebuild my old bed. And try to discover what is mine again in the rubble of my life.

On second thought, I can’t rebuild my bed. Problem one – I don’t know what my brother and his girlfriend did with the screws of the bed to hold it all together. So, I’m sleeping on a blow up bed. With about a hundred quilts piled on top of it. You’ll see from the pictures the before and after. But I came to a very upsetting conclusion this morning on a walk after putting the room into some form of sleepable state. I could be classed as homeless. The only reason I am not on the streets homeless is because of my boyfriend and my dad right now. Here is how I came to that conclusion.

– I don’t officially have my own bed.

– I have no money to buy my own food. (This is going to get interesting).

Doesn’t this technically mean, that I am homeless? None of the spaces that I have occupied have been mine. I don’t have a job right now, though I have got an interview on Monday coming. *Fingers crossed* The business is currently only just about paying for itself. Just about.

Along with this realisation of no money, no house, and no current accomplishments, I have done a thing. I cut my own hair. I don’t mean I trimmed it either. I lobbed off quite a bit of it. It is wonky. But it is now short enough for me to deal with, and hopefully I’ll stop molting as much as I have been. Lack of change calls for change right? I have never cut my own hair before, so when the idea came to me the first thing that went through my head was – “Oh my god, my mum is going to kill me!” – then the five year old in me screamed – “Don’t do it!”. – But, I’m twenty-seven, I’m broke and can’t afford a hairdresser, so I took the plunge.

I tipped my head upside down. Brushed everything over my head so my hair was dangling over me. I tied the bit I was going to cut off with my bobble. Then went for it with the scissors. It wasn’t the simple easy one snip that every tv show, or film makes you think it is. The scissors had to chomp away at it like a dog chewing through bone (only this doesn’t eventually snap and break apart). It took a minute to get through all of my hair, and the first thing I thought once it was done was… oops. In my sawing stage I had not done a completely straight job. I hadn’t lifted my head back up yet, I couldn’t shake the fear that I was going to be one of those youtube hair disasters that I had seen. In my hand was the the hair I had chopped off, and closest to my palm the cutting line sloped up. Shit!

After closing my eyes and flicking my head back up to witness the actual damage I saw where the shortest strands were. And yes it is wonky, but I think I got lucky. The short bits are around my face, I hadn’t created a bald spot – Hallelujah! – it didn’t actually look too bad. The only problem right now is my hair is still badly greasy. So, the soft slightly lazy curl to mostly horrific frizz that I get isn’t in its full glory. Which inevitably means that this could still look hysterically bad.

Along with the possibly bad haircut, and the lack of bed. The room I am staying in was/is the storage space for mine and my brothers crap. Not going to lie, and the photo kind of makes it impossible but there was no floor space. I had to shuffle through all of it and basically pile it against the walls as much as I could. Most of the boxes of my things are books.

No floor in sight.

Being completely honest, I stood where I was with no idea where to even begin. There is a bottle of wine on my Gran’s old dressing table which I keep considering just losing myself in. I did manage to start by shoving my stuff up against the wall by the window, up to the corner with boxes of books, and then separate my brother’s things to the otherside of the room still pressed up against the edges of the room as much as I could. It worked. Floor space was starting to peek through.


The bed was the last thing I had to sort out last night. After coming to that dreaded conclusion that I couldn’t rebuild my old bed. The frame was shoved up against the wall. I am now sleeping on a really really uncomfortable blow-up bed. The only reason it looks so squishy is because those hundreds of quilts (Which decided to trip me up) are layered over the top of it.

The devil of beds.

As a piece of advice, don’t sleep on a blow-up bed for a long period of time. It’ll wreck and ruin your back. My lower back was killing me this morning when I woke up. Plus, I know I was restless last night which made getting comfortable a long forgotten dream. There was only one thing that made my morning. When I woke up, and turned over – there on the end of the bed – was Luna’s little face whining at me to wake up resting on the edge of the bed.

Luna being cute.

I’m setting myself up as a little project. I want to make progress somewhere. Anywhere! Now, after basically resetting, I would like to get away from the starting line! I don’t even know where to begin. I suppose I’ll begin with this post, every week, on a Tuesday, I’ll post the things I have done and how they have progressed. It will probably mean nothing. But – Here goes- … I have also read back over this post and realised it doesn’t make sense. But I don’t care this is how chaotic my mind and life currently feel.