The clock is ticking relentlessly towards midnight, and you find me sitting in the dark of the junk room once more, bathed in the light of several desk lamps, wondering both where the day went and what I might write about in the blog. Because I have to write something, right? It’s been a few days. A few days that haven’t stopped.
Work has been a little bit crazy this week - jumping between projects, attending meetings, and stressing over anything and everything. It was definitely a good week to return to using a bullet journal - several pages have now been filled with notes, actions, ticks, but strangely no doodles.
I used to draw doodles all the time. I can’t remember the last time I drew anything - a surprising admission, given I did art at college. My early paper notebooks and bullet journals are filled with drawings, diagrams, and doodles - back when “Moleskine” notebooks were a thing. They all stand in a line on a shelf across the roof from me - filled with nearly twenty years worth of thoughts, ideas, and idiocy.
I may attempt to escape for an hour or two tomorrow - visit the cafe where my daughter works, take my work laptop and buy a cappuccino and something to eat. A change of scenery - escape from this place.
While away on holiday we had the living room decorated - the first “proper” decorating we’ve done since before children. Sure, we’ve re-done bedrooms as the children have grown up, but finally our attention has turned to the rest of the house - or one room at least.
A new sofa arrived today. The newly decorated room now makes the rest of the house look horrific. I imagine the kitchen will be the next project - and will blow a hole in the bank account the size of Jupiter. Perhaps we’ll do a room a year to make it more affordable.
I’m not sure if I wrote about it, but a record player arrived a few days ago - part of the re-imagined living room. I’ve always wanted a half-decent record player, and now we’ve got one - only we had no records. Or I had no records. My other half still has her collection from the 80s and 90s, which was curiously absent of any female artists. I’m putting that right. Today an album arrived in the post (the first of many), and Kylie Minogue burst forth across the lounge, singing about stepping back in time. I might have turned her up to 11 while my other half took our eldest to the cinema.
I had forgotten how much warmer vinyl records sound than digital media.
Anyway.
It’s now half past my bedtime. I should go brush my teeth and fall into bed. There are coffees, cafes, and sausage rolls to look forward to in the morning. Maybe.