It may get hairy…

Posts tagged ‘rent’

Can’t think, can’t think, can’t think

So today poses interesting quandaries.

New home front view (beach view to the left, more sea view to the right...the only place you can't see sea, is if you turn around to look at the house). No Infernal.

I spent yesterday in the midst of a deep depression, but I believe that sometimes you must hit the bottom in order to rise up, regardless of how cliché that may sound.

This morning I wake up and start to organise. My friend has forgiven me. I’m not sure how, but she has forgiven me for letting her down so horribly; Infernal has been informed that I will be moving for financial reasons, which, despite have a slightly false inference, is the truth; and my new landlords know I will be moving in Monday, providing my new neighbour also moves in. Synchronised moving and all

Beautiful view, but you have to actually leave the house to see it. Plus, Infernal is there. Need I say more?

that – long story, I shan’t bore you.

So, with all that on my plate, I set about trying to make more money. It is needed, and rather desperately, as I’ve explained previously. After having sent an exhorbitant amount of emails, I felt myself whistfully wondering after kittens.

I’ve been keeping track of shelters and adverts for awhile now. Part on the look out for Shadow and partly because those little faces warm my heart. There has been no hiding the fact that, regardless of my getting Fluffy back, I will need company and will want a cat (or plural) in my house. I have no intention of replacing Fluffy. No one could. She is beautiful. She is mine and she will always be. I’ve posted my own ‘missing’ adverts and will always hope someone finds her, but I think I must put the hatred and sorrow behind me now. It hurts too much and nothing I do is getting me any closer to finding her. I will always hope though and nearby shelters have been informed of her.

So, off I go trolling the sites for kittens or cats and I came across these two. Their foster mum works in a vet and, thus, they’ve been checked and offer cheap sterilisation at a later date, but that’s not why I loved them. Look at their faces!!

Kittens! Need I say more? Who could part these two? Apparently a few people want to.

They are beautiful. They’re desperate to stay together, well their foster mum thinks they’re very ‘tight’ and shouldn’t be separated – I agree. I can offer them a home together and so much love, I just may smother them, but not for two weeks. I contacted the lady, in my proactive state. Told her about my situation and how I must wait two weeks. Apparently, I’m the best prospect so far, as everyone wanted to separate them. She said she hasn’t a problem waiting two weeks. I don’t want the kittens to be at a loss, so I told her that if a better prospect comes along, I understand, but please just inform me. Now I sit here wondering, after ending the call only moments ago, what if? What if someone takes them? What if she decides to keep them? Should I call back? Should I go and visit so she can see I’m serious? What if…

So, now I can’t think. Stuck in whirl of ‘what ifs’ disguised as kittens.


Bad, bad friend

I have to let a very good friend down and I’m not quite sure how to go about it.

I’ve made promises, or rather almost promises, to people in the past and have had to break them, as we all have. It makes me feel yucky and particularly horrible, but this one stands out above the rest.

I’ll start with my excuses first; get them out the way. I’m starting a business. There, that’s pretty much it. I have no cash. I have enough to get through the month, which is pretty f’ing fantastic if you think about it. Most starter-uppers can’t get past the first few months without capital and I have none, but my sales have soared me past them. Which means, after expenses, I literally have around R500 for food. Most wouldn’t be able to live off that, but to that I say ‘piffle!’ I’ve lived off of plenty less. However, it does mean I won’t be able to make it to Joburg for a very important day of a very important friend of mine (screw the grammar).

I haven’t promised, but I have told her I will do everything in my power to be there for her and she was beyond grateful. Now, I must tell her I can’t. I have supported her in this goal for years and even did the stupid 94.7 Christmas wish to try and get her there quicker. Now, I must break her heart on the very day that we have both longed for. In all reality, I won’t break her heart and probably won’t ruin her day, but nonetheless, she will be sad…very, very sad. And it will be my fault.

And she’s pregnant.

So tell me, how do you break a pregnant woman’s heart? Especially when that heart means so much to you?

Infernal fires up

So, my not-so-nasty text had adverse results.

I sent the text and had a lovely reply back from Infernal, apologising and saying he’ll sort the problem out. He did. There was no noise this morning, but apparently he felt he had to out-do himself one more time.

The plonker rocked up, underneath my cardboard box, with Religious Fervour, at 9.30pm and started what could only have been a full-scale riot. I thank whatever gods may be* that I’m not an early sleeper, else they’d have had a half-naked, zombified lunatic accosting them…which would have probably ended in some form of legal action. It turned out that we were riot free, but they were moving innocuous furniture from one side of the husk to the other. I ask you… what’s the point?

It must be a ploy to take my sanity.


‘The Taming of the Shrew’

Please excuse the decidedly corny title, but we found a shrew in the pool today, still alive, and the title seemed appropriate, especially since I seem to trying to tame everything else in my life.

I’m already at work. This is never a good sign of the day to come. I’m here because some particularly noisy cretins decided to have a gossip session…underneath my cardboard box (I live on the ‘first’ floor, in essence, but the ‘ground’ floor remains a husk, waiting to be made into an apartment).

Along with the sweeping, these little gossip sessions have become part of my daily grumbles, but this morning I would have none of it. I stormed to my window and yelled, ever so nicely, to shut the [insert expletive here] up, as it’s 6.30am.

There was barely an ebb in the flow of conversation. Either they have particularly bad hearing, or really couldn’t give a flying beep at a rolling doughnut (please excuse the Stephen King plagiarism). So, in my fit of near rage, I hurried to find some clothes, gave up and decided see-through pyjama bottoms would have to do. Until I happened to glance in the mirror and nearly reeled myself through the bedroom window. I’d forgotten about my swim yesterday and, whilst I had washed the chlorine out of everything else, I’d not done my hair. I had about a half a dozen cork screws framing my face, smeared mascara, see-through polka dot pjs and a set of matching luggage under my eyes, big enough to have bought at Harrods. By the time I had managed to get over my shock, wipe away a bit of the masses of masacara and find the ever illusive bra, I was out of energy…and had summoned up enough logic to realise that accosting two unknown men, with no one else around, wasn’t perhaps my best idea ever.

So I sat down to compose a particularly nasty text to Infernal. Sadly, it turned out to not be so nasty, but I did elude to the sweeping and asked him (nicely…I just can’t stop asking nicely!) to please get his ‘guys’ to keep it down pre-8am, as I had once again been woken up by their gossip session. The text was long, but no more than double the average length. I hit ‘send’ and immediately felt relief.

Until the ‘ping’ came, informing me the message wasn’t sent. Apparently, my phone believes that having enough airtime for 4-5 texts, you aren’t allowed to send any. It keeps blocking me at R5. At R5, I am allowed to go onto Facebook, Twitter and even Google+, but God (title cased only out of respect for others) forbid I try to send a text. I try again. It fails. Does anyone else see a sneaky hate spiral coming on?

I now can’t wait. I get dressed, hurriedly grabbing whatever I can find (I end up looking like a monochromatic witch) and drive off to work.

I get here, load airtime and wait. I want the perfect moment to surprise Infernal with my particularly not-nasty text.

My first cup of coffee arrives. It has no sugar. I could weep.

PS. To quote Benoni Goose, I’m not overly fond of being stalked, or people lurking about on my blog, so please subscribe (email link to the right, or click the elephant, not the mammoth). I don’t do a whole lot of posting, so you become victim of a spam-attack.

On that note, I still have no idea what to do about Mr From a Lesbian. Can I lay a charge of theft, if he’s told me she’s missing? Do I give up? Do I harass him? Please help me out guys. I’m lost and a bundle of emo nerves.

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