I’m in the lap of the gods. And we all know how the gods love it, when they have someone’s life wriggling helplessly in their lap.
Today the final estimator waved me goodbye halfway through PMQs. I don’t want to give the impression that I spent much of the meeting thinking “fucksake, PMQs is on, can we wrap this up,” but frankly I’m tired and I get crabby when I’m tired, so although I smiled and was super nice, that’s exactly how I spent the meeting. And then it was done and we’d bonded (I’m really good with strangers, especially in a professional setting.) And as he left I pointed at him and said “remember: cheap. Or I’ll have the swans after you” (we’d been together for well over an hour – plenty of time to set up a running joke about swans), and off he went. I had two today, one yesterday, and one last week. Estimators, I mean. Not swans. It’s been a bit er … a bit much.
Exciting. But also frightening.
I’ve gone from “I’m doing this without a loan” to “I’m going to have to have a loan” to “I’m going to have to have a loan AND I still won’t be able to afford all the stuff we’ve planned.” But now, here I am. In the lap of the gods. Strangely calm.
I’ve been here eight months, now. In the house I refer to as “the Little House”. I love it so much, the idea of having to move out for a few months feels like when you leave a person you love. But it will be worth it. I started this process about six weeks after I moved in. It took me a few weeks to find an architect, and then planning took ages, and now I find out on Friday what my impossible wishlist of stuff is likely to cost.
It was about an hour after he left that I realised how tired I was. I put on some PJs (pink fleece, unicorn) and sat there aimlessly for an hour, too tired to even make the decision to go to bed. And then I went to bed.