for just enough of a gap to pay some much needed attention to this very neglected blog of mine. Wow, it's been far too long since I put manicured nails to keyboard. And, if I'm totally honest, the nails are not-so-manicured at the moment... a side effect of being down a deadline rabbit hole since about mid-Feb. Another side effect is the neglected mane I'm sporting these days – less golden highlights and more aging zebra, thanks to the early onset of grey hair that I haven't had a chance to get banished by Rudi-the-fabulous 'cos booking an appointment seems about as likely as my discovering I'm the heir to a the Louboutin empire.
Dear readers, life for this not so starving artist has been pretty entertaining as of late. Firstly, come the end of July, hubby and I are homeless. The result of our apartment (which we rent) being sold and the banks not wanting to give us a house (the only non-perk of self-employed-ness). Combine the tears and tantrums of trying to become homeowners with this freelancing thing I do turning into a proper grown up full-time job and you've got an alternate universe where hubby is single-handedly funding the 24-hour Steers takeaway on Rivonia Road and I'm on a first-name basis with the midnight hoovering brigade at Permalancer HQ.
So, what do The Winderleys do when sleep deprivation, marathon sessions with a certain banker and the onset of a fast food coma is on the horizon? Retail therapy, of course...
In an act of sheer denial about our homeless status, hubby and I bought a massive daybed from Coricroft in one of those (to quote Richard Branson) 'screw it, let's do it' moments... while hubby may never leave the house again on account of it's oh-my-greatness-super-comfy-ness, the fact of the matter is that we have a problem: we keep buying really big furniture for the really big house that we're hoping to have one day BUT in the meantime, our apartment is looking like I did last winter when I tried to squeeze the results of too many takeaways from a fabulous new Indian restaurant into the size 28 jeans I wore when I was living on roll-up cigarettes, a tub of hummus and a bagel a day at art school in London.
Apologies for that last disturbing image but it had to be done. As too did this blog post 'cos homeless people can't afford therapists and this blog has always been my favorite venting ground.
Here's hoping the deadline rabbit hole lets me hop to this blogging thing more often than in recent months. And, who knows, maybe I can multitask and do some blogging mid-manicure. Hey, a girl can dream.
Dear readers, life for this not so starving artist has been pretty entertaining as of late. Firstly, come the end of July, hubby and I are homeless. The result of our apartment (which we rent) being sold and the banks not wanting to give us a house (the only non-perk of self-employed-ness). Combine the tears and tantrums of trying to become homeowners with this freelancing thing I do turning into a proper grown up full-time job and you've got an alternate universe where hubby is single-handedly funding the 24-hour Steers takeaway on Rivonia Road and I'm on a first-name basis with the midnight hoovering brigade at Permalancer HQ.
So, what do The Winderleys do when sleep deprivation, marathon sessions with a certain banker and the onset of a fast food coma is on the horizon? Retail therapy, of course...
In an act of sheer denial about our homeless status, hubby and I bought a massive daybed from Coricroft in one of those (to quote Richard Branson) 'screw it, let's do it' moments... while hubby may never leave the house again on account of it's oh-my-greatness-super-comfy-ness, the fact of the matter is that we have a problem: we keep buying really big furniture for the really big house that we're hoping to have one day BUT in the meantime, our apartment is looking like I did last winter when I tried to squeeze the results of too many takeaways from a fabulous new Indian restaurant into the size 28 jeans I wore when I was living on roll-up cigarettes, a tub of hummus and a bagel a day at art school in London.
Apologies for that last disturbing image but it had to be done. As too did this blog post 'cos homeless people can't afford therapists and this blog has always been my favorite venting ground.
Here's hoping the deadline rabbit hole lets me hop to this blogging thing more often than in recent months. And, who knows, maybe I can multitask and do some blogging mid-manicure. Hey, a girl can dream.
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