Smoke, fire and roses

We have had skate for supper. To get rid of the fish smell Clare suggests burning some incense. Our fire alarm is set to Sensitive And Then Some. I foresee some Bells and people running up and down the stairwell again...

We have closed the door to the hall and opened the windows. It looks like a smoky bordello in here. Clare drifts through the haze on the other side of the room. We need some high heels and feather boas. Fancy a good time, sir?*;)

So anyway, I have reached a career impasse. I need a change. IT is just dull and stressful, which is not a good combination. So, I could:

1. Look at getting into IT sales. This will use my IT experience but also mean that I could earn some proper money and not have to work in the same office Every Day. Argh.
2. Look at resurrecting my psychology degree. I'm quite interested in training as a life coach at the moment.
3. Find a job that pays the bills in T Wells and devote the time saved from commuting to doing something less boring instead. Like sleeping in and being home in time for Neighbours.
4. Go on the dole.

I should also be devoting a lot more time and energy to the wool business, as that's currently languishing for wont of effort. We have a couple of shows coming up and it's going to be a last minute scramble as usual. I have made the following resolutions in the past week:

1. Stop any unnecessary spending
2. Carry a notebook at all times to write things in like Wool - To Dos and ideas and 3BTs.

I can't believe that I still have an overdraft. I mean, I'm 30 years old, have a reasonable job, don't go out boozing every night, nor do I have a Jimmy Choo habit, and yet there it still is, nasty minus numbers. I have about three days every month when it's in the black, then the mortgage goes out, the few hundred goes out to my monthly pocket money allowance, the cheque goes out to the parents as repayment for the house deposit, and suddenly it's all well back in the red. Well, enough. Perhaps it's my stars - apparantly Saturn is somewhere to do with responsibilities at the moment. Huh. Perhaps I am just growing up finally. I'll be telling everyone to make do and mend soon, and darning socks.

On a brighter note, my man met me at the station on Friday armed with flowers. Well, actually, he had to chase me up the hill because when I get off the train I'm on a mission to get home, man. But I am hugely smug that I have such a wonderful man (and flowers). They do exist! (Wonderful men. We knew flowers exist.) There is still a little part of me that's questioning if it will all last, he's surely going to let on that in fact he spends 5 nights a week in the pub scratching his arse and farting like the rest of them, but we are ignoring that evil little pipsqueak voice at the moment. Get back in your box.