Keeping Up

It’s tough to keep up the pace when you have a full-time job, a part-time degree, a social life and other responsibilities. But somehow, we manage. I’m feeling quite organised of late; I’m way ahead on my studies, for example, which is awesome.

I decided yesterday to go back to the gym. I went in 2010 5 days a week for about four months, and whilst I lost a little weight from the diet I was on, my fitness levels didn’t improve, and I didn’t build any muscle. How? Because I went to the gym for 90 minutes and didn’t push myself enough. I’m older and wiser now, and I know that if I do 45 minutes of intense workout, I’ll save time and get fit quicker than if I breeze through it for an hour and a half.

Going back to the gym does mean going early in a morning before work (I won’t go after work, it’s full of posers and too many people) but it’s not so bad. I’m due in work at 9 and the gym is round the corner, so I figure if I arrive at 7:30am, do a 20 minute warm up, 20 minutes of either cardio or strength depending on the day, followed by a quick 5 minute cool-down walk on the treadmill, I can be showered and dressed by around 8:50, giving me ample time to hoof it to work.

I start going on Monday 29th October (may as well start at the beginning of the week) after I’m paid, and I plan to be there Mon-Fri with weekends as rest days. That works fine for me.



There’d be too much to write fully, so here’s a bullet point summation of what happened on moving day:

  • Landlady called me whilst I was dropping things at my folks demanding I get home and move my things in about 30 minutes, as she had to go out, and wanted to supervise the situation ‘given the circumstances’.
  • I got there, and she demanded the key immediately, saying I should come back tomorrow (yes, in complete contrast to what she’d just said) and her brother would let me in. Naturally, I refused.
  • She kept demanding the key, and saying that for all she knows if she leaves the house I’d rob her blind. I said her house was full of tat and there was nothing I’d want even if I had the intention of it. Not that I did.
  • Whilst packing, she followed me around like a virus everywhere. At one point standing literally a foot from me, staring at the back of my head. When I asked her to stop staring at me, she said she was ‘supervising the situation’.
  • This is important: she checked the wardrobes (some of which had her belongings in) whilst I was standing there and said nothing.
  • I left, and she left for her function at the same time.
  • Two hours later (whilst she was still at her function) she texted me saying ‘you have stolen a wall hanging from my wardrobe, it seems I did have something you wanted’.
  • I replied telling her where to go, as I’d taken nothing.
  • She then accused my dad, brother in law and his brother in law of stealing it instead. She said she’ll call the Police.
  • So I told her to call them, and then I’d sue her ass for harassment and unlawful eviction.
  • No reply since. Not sure if she’ll keep at it, but we’ll see. I won’t speak to her again, I’ll just gather all the evidence and then if the Police are called, I’ll let rip.

Moving Day

Today is going to be exhausting. I managed (somehow) to pack absolutely everything up in the space of an hour last night, which was tiring. I also didn’t get much sleep. I literally had dreams about my landlady following me around the house trying to control everything I do. Then I woke up at 5:30am, pretty much been awake ever since.

Oh well. Once I have moved all my shit, I can just relax and start sorting myself out in terms of debt and lifestyle in general. Living at home again is going to royally suck at my age (29), but the pros of this is that I’ll be £200 a month better off. So I can use this to throw at my myriad of debts, get myself a nice smiley face on my credit record, and then move out.

It might take a couple of years, but allowing my loan to be chipped away bit by bit will take five years. So I will see what I can do.

Crazy Landlady

You know when you meet someone and you think ‘good god, they’re crazy!’ Well I am lodging in the house of someone who is genuinely crazy. There are many things this woman has done, but I am moving out on Saturday because she’s gone a bit too far in her craziness. Here are some examples of weird things she does:

  • She hid all the kitchen/bathroom cleaners in the garage and requested that I clean the house with washing up liquid.
  • She talks to herself all the time. It’s like a running commentary on her daily activities.
  • She believes her son, hospitalised for schizophrenia could be possessed by a demon and/or driven crazy by the meds the hospital are giving him.
  • She thinks this because 20 years before he was even born, she used an ouija board.
  • Yes, I am quite serious.

That’s just a few of the weird things she does, just to exemplify why I am moving out. The last straw came yesterday morning when she came into my room to use the dehumidifier and saw that I had my own little radiator, which I was using just in the morning to take the chill off the room. She only allows me to have heating at certain times, basically when it suits her, and she went barmy.

She asked me no less than 5 times ‘what is the power usage on this’, I said I didn’t know. She then deduced that approximately 6 hours of use costs £50 (for any Americans reading that’s almost $90), which is ridiculous, and she demanded the money from me.

That night, I handed her my notice letter to say I was moving out. I was polite about it, we’re both adults after all (I am 29, she is 60). She said ‘oh good,’ in a tone that suggested she would probably want me to leave regardless. She then began telling me off about how ‘sneaky’ I was having that radiator in there (as if I needed permission), and then said I was ‘stealing electricity’ from her by having it. She then literally freaked out saying ‘have you been touching my radiator settings, you haven’t been touching the radiator settings have you?’ (what she means by radiator settings is basically, the little knob on the side of the radiator where you can turn it up or down – no big deal. They were set to full, and all I ever did was turn them down if it got too warm, but nothing more).

And now? She literally won’t speak to me, won’t be in the same room as me, won’t even look at me and she keeps talking about getting her money back.

When she came into my room to get the dehumidifier, she made a comment about my room looking ‘grubby’ and about how she’ll have to clean it. Let me explain this. I keep this room PRISTINE. It’s cleaner and tidier than the rest of the house, I’m quite the neat freak, especially when I know that the room I’m in isn’t technically my own. Anyway, I do my cleaning on the weekends, and last weekend I got busy/distracted and forgot, so I thought ‘oh well I will do it this coming weekend’. She said ‘I paid a fortune for this carpet, I am going to clean it later’.

So later, after I had handed her my notice to leave the property, she calls into my room to see if I am there. When I said yes, she replied with ‘oh, never mind, I thought you were out, I was going to come in there and clean the room.’


Firstly, that wench has no legal right to enter the room without a) 24 hours written notice and b) my permission to do so. However, she’s always in and out of this room when I am not here because she left two giant wardrobes full of her shit in here when I moved in. Secondly, we’re both adults, as I mentioned, so why not just request politely and maturely for me to clean it? I already had done, I should add. The room was fine.

She’s quite the control freak, and I tell you I was anxious to be left alone with her after all that. She has literally switched gears on me. The woman has no clue how the world works or anything, it’s ridiculous. She has serious problems.

I had my dad round after handing her the letter. Basically when I let him in, she came out of the living room, stood in the doorway and just STARED at me and my dad from the moment I opened the door until I shut the door to my bedroom. She was giving us the filthiest look on the planet, as if I was some kind of rampant scum. I was so livid last night I was practically shaking. Who acts like that!?

Sorry for the long post, I had to get that off my chest. I am a patient, tolerant person. I’ve been putting up with her intrusive, weird ways for several months without a peep, and I was hoping to go with a modicum of calm and maturity, but she’s turned it into this awkward bitch-fest because I am a sneaky, grubby electricity-stealing weirdo. Apparently.

Working in an Office

Working in an office is all I’ve ever done. I’ve managed to work my way up from photocopy girl to a secretary for a Partner over the 11 years in total that I’ve been doing office jobs. I’ve literally never done anything else, aside from a two day stint in a fruit market, but I quit on the third day, because it was awful. I’ve never worked in a bar, never done food service, anything.

But I hate office work. Or should I say I’ve grown to hate it. I was looking up the retirement age for women in the UK recently and my jaw went through the two floors below me when I discovered it was 68 years old. I have to work until I’m realistically old enough to die of either old age (hey, it happens) or some other ailment I’ll no doubt have at that age. Wonderful.

This got me thinking: I cannot do this. I thought about sitting at the desk I’m at now, for 39 more years, doing the same thing for the rest of my life and it made me want to kill myself. I have awful GCSEs, no A Levels and at present, no degree (I just started a Bsc in Natural Sciences with a focus on Geology, but that’ll take me six years to complete… and then of course I have to pass) so getting a job when it seems everyone out there has paperwork that states they ain’t stupid, is near impossible. In the last few years I’ve sent out dozens and dozens of applications (probably about 60 to give a number) and I’ve not even gotten an interview.

My CV is fine. I embellish my talents quite well but never lie. My phone manner is great, my typing skills are second to none (100 words per minute, with approximately 97% accuracy), but I can’t even get a job as someone’s secretary because I don’t have a qualification telling me that I can sit at a desk and make coffee for some rich suit.

It’s painful. And I won’t do it for the next 39 years. Hell, I can’t. It’ll drive me mad!

Be Less Judgmental

I’m well aware that I’m not the ugliest duckling in the pond, but I also have a lack of confidence that sometimes convinces me that I am. Also, I am aware that looks aren’t everything and sometimes – regardless of what other people think – some people simply find you gorgeous for reasons many others may find you ugly (such as flaws like being overweight, or having a scar, or tattoos, or whatever).

What am I trying to say here? I could name at least three people who I believe would happily date me were I to suggest it. But I am holding off on all of them because I look at them and think ‘you’re not physically good looking enough for me, regardless of how much I like you as a person’. Now, I know that there must be a physical attraction for any relationship to work, but I seem to deliberately put myself off based on their looks.

What I want in my vain side is a guy who has a nice, healthy/fit body who is well-dressed and has a nice handsome, perhaps a little rugged, face. But these people (when coupled with a gentlemanly, funny, charming personality) only exist in romantic comedies. What I usually get is someone with a good personality, but often looks I am a little ashamed of.

And I feel awful about that. Does anyone else experience this? I want to point out I am not a vain person at all! I don’t befriend people based on how they look or anything, but I’ve been single so long I’ve gotten a bit fussy, I think. My outlook on getting a guy has become a little skewed.

So, should I perhaps push looks aside entirely and go for a guy who isn’t the best looking but makes me laugh? Or should I hold out for Mr Perfect? It’s so stupid, I’m almost 30 I shouldn’t even be asking silly questions like that.

The Doctor’s In…

I have a hospital appointment today. I hate these, they take up several hours for a five minute ‘hi how are you’ from my Consultant.

Quick bit of background for those confused: in 2010 I underwent treatment for Stage II Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma (Mediastinal Primary Diffuse Large B-Cell Lymphoma to give you the full name) and so now I have to periodically go back to have blood tests and update the doctor on how I’m feeling. They’re largely uneventful and I haven’t even had a scan in a year.

Long story short, it’s really boring. I also feel quite silly having to update my doctor on every cold, headache and ailment I have. Being required to monitor these things you get rather paranoid that every illness could lead to something much worse.

Couple weeks ago, for about three days, I had horrible muscle pain. Not aches, but it felt like I’d run two marathons in high heels. It was like really bad muscle soreness; I couldn’t move my legs, neck, stomach – oh man, my abs were killing me! I hadn’t even exercised, but whenever I stretched, coughed, even when I shifted about in my chair, I was in agony. Thankfully this stopped, but then I went home from work feeling like I was about to throw up one day. The following week I felt a bit iffy, and then had to book time off due to a stuffy head and sore throat which hasn’t quite gone yet.

Sounds like nothing, but my doc is required to know this in case he thinks that I’m displaying symptoms. It’s horrible thinking that a cold could be a sign of Cancer, but when you have what I had, an enlarged spleen occurs which leads to a lowered immune system, so you have to watch it.

Well hopefully my blood count will be regular, and the aches, pains and grossness is just a sign of a winter bug.