This morning I woke up at 5.30 from a horrible dream. Gavin had just told me he didn't want to go ahead with buying the house and was leaving me. Just what I needed. Why is the mind so cruel sometimes?
Alfie dog was a pain in the arse. I ended up dozing/over thinking on the sofa until it was time to get ready for work.
Work dragged but finally ended. I was in a mad rush to do the 20 mile drive home as I had to get back out to meet a potential dog sitter. I got stuck behind a tractor for most of the journey. By the time I set off to meet the dogsitter I was stressed to the max and thought I might have a heart attack. Thankfully not. The dogs behaved, all was good and I feel so relieved to have found someone nice to take them for a
couple of days while I move.
So it's my last Friday in the house. I've ordered a takeaway and put my feet up. Tomorrow I'll tackle the house. I want to text something rude to Gavin. How dare he not contact me to see if the sale has gone through. Bastard.
Fuck Gavin. Not literally obviously, but you know what I mean. �� xx
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