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The Day I Talked to You About YNAB

on Jan 12, 2016

I want to talk to you about debt. Before you sniff in a derisory way and presume this is a sponsored post, I assure you – it’s not. But given I’m (probably) older than you, and have (probably) dealt with more debt that you, and – for the first time in my thirty-coughcough years – finally feel in control of my cash, I’ve been thinking for some time about talking to you about how I eventually put things right. And though I am not remotely an expert and can only talk to you from my own perspective… it’s my perspective, you know? And if this helps just one person, I’ll be happy. Like: Super Mario happy. This is likely to be pretty long, as I think it’s important to give some context as to how we got to where we were before I managed to pull ourselves out of it again. Some of it isn’t embarrassing, but some of it really...

The Day With Nothing But Nothing Nothing Tra-La-La Blues

on Jan 11, 2016

I’ve definitely turned a corner with my health. Although I still have (gross) spells/spasms of coughing, they’re less frequent, and the cough – finally – seems productive now. Maybe it was a virus and it’s run its course, or maybe the steroids are finally doing their job. Whatever it is, I couldn’t be happier. (I know I write for living and therefore should try harder but omg, WORDS CANNOT EXPRESS HOW RELIEVED I AM). So guess what? Yesterday I did tackle that paperwork cluttering up my spare room! By the time I was done, I had dumped three or four rubbish bags, five or six shredded/recycling papers, and have reduced the monstrous pile of papers down to three neat little bags of paper: Money Stuff, House/Insurance stuff, Keep-For-Dem-Memories stuff. I know: the next job is to go through all of them, too, but baby steps, right? I can’t believe...

The Day All Was Still

on Jan 8, 2016

It’s so quiet here today. Like: peaceful quiet. It’s wonderful. There’s just the very, very faint rumble of traffic in the distance and the occasional (but lulling – I’ve always loved the sound of trains, even when I lived behind the overground line in London) drone of a passing train. My phone hasn’t rung. I’ve only had a couple of emails. Things are mesmerisingly still. My last office? I looked right over that aforementioned train line. Even though I loved it, it didn’t help foster a healthy working environment so noisy and intrusive was it, particularly if I was in a meeting. Late summer I relocated (I still have my own office, but it overlooks the inside of the building, not out, and I’m an extra three floors up) and I can’t believe the difference. Students aren’t back yet (so neither are many academics!) but...

The Day I Fell Over

on Jan 12, 2015

Still haven’t shaken the tiredness. Slept in Saturday and yesterday, although the latter was chiefly because getting out of bed yesterday morning saw me fall over. Hmm. Labyrinthitis and/or anaemia still raging, it seems. Weekend was, perhaps predictably, low key. S spent most of Saturday out with his buddy, whilst M caught up with the football and I roamed the galaxy as Destiny Guardians are wont to do. Didn’t play Far Cry 4 even though I really wanted to; the lounge is just too far downstairs, you guys. Also missed my first 365 day. Yep, I’m disappointed in myself too. The best thing about falling on my arse, however, is that it makes my husband realise that this is a real thing with real problems. He spent yesterday being a very efficient carer, which bodes well for our silver years. I spent the morning feeling really, really horrible, but gradually felt less...

The Day With Lots of Sleep

on Jan 6, 2015

7.30pm last night, I get a call from my husband. He’d popped out to the car during his break and now it won’t start. It’s not chugging, or clicking, or anything. Key turns and there’s an abundance of sweet fuck all. Marvellous. Even though I knew I’d have to wake him again at 9.45pm, I sent S to bed anyway. He’s eleven, and whilst he might think he’s totally grown up and able to stay up until 10pm without issue, I’m his mother and I know damned well that he turns into the antichrist if he chips so much as even an hour off his ten-hours-a-night sleep schedule. So I wake him, bundle him up in his onesie and a slanket – just for good measure – and we make the fifteen minute journey to M’s place of work. I am so glad he doesn’t work forty-five minutes away any more. Get there, with my brother tailing behind as he has...

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