I didn't have a particularly good Valentine's Day this year, despite the fact that I had an okay morning at work (in the company of Twitter friends) and came home to a live-in girlfriend. Silly ILB had agreed to go back to work in the evening to cover some people, so he spent the afternoon preparing for that. He had also taken a lot of stuff over to his upcoming new place of residence, so he was filling in paperwork in what had once been a lounge, but was now a barren room with a tinge of sadness about it.
Jilly was understanding; it just wasn't the best way to spend Valentine's. I'd given her a card in the morning and had a surprise planned for the day afterwards (made affordable by the cover work I was doing - see, makes sense, right?), but unlike some other Valentine's escapades, there wasn't a massive explosion of sex in the time we had available. Some of it was spent moving even more stuff from home to new home, which also didn't help.
The day afterwards was my surprise, being that (after more moving stuff!) we went into London, ate far too much and went to see The 39 Steps. The first time you go to see a West End show with me is probably an experience (ask her), since I'm a bit overenthusiastic when the world of theatre is concerned. This was the second time I've seen it, actually, so I knew some of what was coming. But I loved it all the same.
Then came yesterday.
One week after handing in the deposit was our final push to move. How appropriate, I thought, moving into a new place - together - on Valentine's weekend. I just hadn't factored in a few variables: namely, the amount of stuff we wanted to take, the amount of space we had to fit it all into, and the fact that I don't deal well with stress. Most of yesterday was spent breaking into hives, having incredible stomach cramps, bursting into random floods of tears, and standing completely still staring into middle distance and hoping everything would stop for a while.
That is what I've been doing this week. Kindly excuse my absence.
Normal status will now be restored. I've got a different set-up now from that which I used to have (namely, it's a smaller room; I'm also sharing a workspace with Jilly: although we have separate desks on opposite sides of the room, she used to work in the lounge, but although we have a lounge here, it's not really adequate space to write erotica). There's also no cat; the hardest thing I had to do yesterday was say goodbye to Willow. She blinked a few times, but I think she understood.
Broadcasting from the same postcode but a few streets away, I've been ILB. Thank you, and stay tuned for more of my nonsensical rantings.
Here's a picture of Kitten Natividad.
|Because I'm still reading Russ Meyer's biography.|