Midnight blog entries

Okay, well it isn't midnight but its not far off. I've had trouble sleeping these last few days. My mind is a whirl with a lot of things, mostly spurred on by our move this weekend, but leads into things like 'oh god what about our money situation' and stuff like that. I mean, I know we'll be okay, but there is so much to think about, and I just want to really have a half decent attempt at nesting. I've had a shit time living around other peoples stuff and fitting in around their belongings. I had to sell most of mine, or throw them away. I have some trinkets at my Dad's but that is it. I don't have any furniture. I want some. Even Addie's crib is borrowed technically. I guess Patrick's furniture is mine by association/default, but it isn't the same. I want to be able to move in and put things where I want them, not have to haggle and negotiate with my husband! Gosh, I should have married a door mat and not a stubborn bearded chap really shouldn't I? I keep thinking of a ton of things I want, but right now you know what, add it to the list. Just as well I am a shit cook, because I don't think we've got much in the way of kitchen things. I GAVE ALL MY SHIT AWAY OBVIOUSLY. My gorgeous cutlery, my Nigella bake ware and kitchen sets (I had the LOT by the time I left Jersey) and my lovely lovely polka dot pink bowls/plates and cups dining set. My tea towels. My cushions. My faux vintage baskets. My bathroom shelf thing on wheels.

And now we have to start again. That is fun, don't get me wrong, but it is just frustrating more than anything. I'm sick of seeing blogs about people that seem to have fucking houses that look like they came from a catalogue or cribs or something. YOU DON'T DESERVE YOUR HOUSE. I DON'T THINK YOU REALLY APPRECIATE HOW AWESOME IT IS. Also how the fuck did some of them buy these places? Lottery win? Lawsuit winnings? Trust fund? I don't get it. I earn a decent wage (not as decent as it SHOULD be I might add) and so does Patrick, but we'll be living. We won't be enjoying life as it were. I want to have a half assembled home sooner rather than later. I don't want to be saving up to buy the house necessities over a period of time. I'm fucking 30. I should already have a nice dining set of my own already, I shouldn't have to rely on our lovely landlady taking pity on us and leaving us a set of naff looking plates and mugs. I feel like such a failure! Is it wrong that I just want things to be half nice? I'm not wanting fucking Louis Vuitton cushions and a Cartier can opener. I just want some kind of control and order and I don't feel like I have it. Jeez I am such a OCD/control freak in my old age. I don't even really talk about it too much (least I don't think I do) with say Patrick or people because I think they'd think I was bonkers. I know I am, I just don't need people to tell me I am.

Oh, speaking of Patrick, he was doing some checking on car insurance. His/our premiums will go up THREE TIMES what we are paying now. In hindsight we probably should have looked into that before we chose the area we did, but there you go. I'm taking the T so I didn't even think about it. Whoops.

But yeah, I am up late, thinking about things. Patrick went to bed earlier, and every time we do think I forget why I don't like to go to bed later than him. SNORING. For those of you that don't know. I hate snoring. It is the equivalent of that chalk board noise for a lot of people, but rather than making me wince, it genuinely makes my blood boil and fills me with a mad rage that makes me lash out if I don't keep it in check. Poor Patrick has gotten a few elbows before. I hate it. I really do. And I know we all snore, but usually if we go to bed together, I'm asleep before he gets into it too much (and I get a cuddle!) But there is a certain kind of snore that to me is the most annoying sound in the entire universe. UNIVERSE. That kinda loud deep bellow echo snore that only men over 5ft11 seem capable of. My Dad does it. I think this is where is all started really, so poor Patrick is a victim really. Also I should also state Patrick doesn't snore all the time, but when he does, it drives me CRAZY.

We were at his parents house at the weekend and his Dad was asleep on the couch on Sunday late morning (they'd been out the night before, funnily enough at the house where we are living temporarily) and Sam started snoring intermittently and I wanted to rip my ears off and eat them, to digest them and stop any chance of me hearing that god awful noise. I can't decide what is worse, the regular rhythmic pattern snore, or the intermittent one. They are both pretty bad if you are having to listen to a deep-into-the-chest-echo-through-the-nasal-cavity snore. For the moment Patrick has stopped, but it makes going to bed, when you are already pretty wound up, extremely difficult. I am not blaming him, we all snore. This is all me, being crazy and completely irrational.

But as a women, I think it is worth noting that at least I KNOW I am being irrational. I just can't stop being irrational even though I know I am doing it. It isn't how being a women works I am afraid men.