Work is that most unusual thing at the moment - simultaneously busy without being a death march and interesting. I'm actually having fun. Working. Who'd have thought it? I sense that the condition is like a beautiful insect - a wondrous thing to behold, intricately detailed but so fragile that it cannot possibly survive long. I watch with interest; we're supposed to be moving offices to Hammersmith soon, and given that that'll add 30 mins or so to my commute each way I feel that we may come to a parting of the ways.
Speaking of parting, the situation with my ex is rapidly coming to a head. Given that we're a) lazy and b) still good friends, we're still sharing a house at the moment. Increasingly this has become a source of frustration and on occasion tension, and so the current plan is for her to move out in the new year - by late Jan or early Feb, as Fate decrees. It'll be odd having the place to myself, and even stranger not having her and my daughter around. I know from experience that on the whole I'll enjoy my new-found freedom, but still... The good news is that initially at least she's planning on staying in the area, so visiting rights will be easy to exercise (on both parts, given I'm keeping the pets). We're also planning on me having our daughter to stay every Friday night and every other Saturday night, as plans allow (ie it's understood that I will be out some Fridays). Part of me can't wait to have the opportunity to fully get on with my life (and give my ex the change to do the same), while part of me mourns the ending of a chapter. C'est la vie.
Right then - I'm meeting my friend in 20 mins ("I'm getting a cab, so don't be late ;p"), time to get dressed and blow this joint.
|< Saturday Morning Drinkin' | BBC White season: 'Rivers of Blood' >|