Growing Up, Part 2: Flat Warming in Limbo.

There are no words, books, manuals, other people's experiences, blogs, Instagram posts or anything available in this world that can prepare you for moving out. So far, I am ready to give up because it is a long arse procedure that will find you falling out with your nearest and dearest purely because you can't handle other people's shit, even when they're doing you a favour.

This past couple of weeks has been so stressful. Living between two places means that you're not quite ready to live in one but so over living in the other. Trying to sort out who's name is going on which bill and then trusting others to pay that bill on time, as well as attempting to buy a fridge, washing machine, other supplies and hold down a 40 hour a week job is exhausting financially, mentally and physically. Especially for me being a complete control freak. I want to just do it all myself and have it done but 1) that's not fair on the guys, 2) I ain't no housewife doing everything (so contradictory, I know) and 3) We're all holding down 40 hour a week (or there about) jobs so need to give each other time and space to deal with what we need to. Anxiety Gillie needs to chill. We're all a pretty tight group that would reply to each other in an instant but right now we're breaking from each other because moving out has overridden every other aspect of our lives. 

Trying to find out who is providing what and how much each person has budgeted can take days which makes the organiser want to throw in the towel and say "do it your fucking self." Or maybe that's just me because although I'm a slow person, I have no patience. 

I've been so tired. I just want to be all moved in and settled. In anticipation for the upcoming move, the guys and I threw a party that actually turned out to be a success. Although I did end up being like four people's therapists. There must have been something in the booze that made everyone emotional about the same thing.

Getting ready for the party, being an emotional eater and being stressed over a period of weeks led to me being really insecure about my body that night and then I had a couple of people talking about it, which inevitably made it worse. 

I have always had a thing about my arms. I don't know what it is about them, I just dislike them. That night I wore my tutu and tiara (princess vibes be strong) and I got really hot in the flat (straighteners, alcohol, anxiety and a lot of people were there) so I decided to take off my cardigan. There was a girl there who was so stuck up her own arse it was unbelievable. She slagged me and my friends off in my own flat about my clothing, where we had decided to live, our alcohol choices, and only God knows what else. I ended up asking her to leave because to top it off, no-one would be in the same room as her, she would not pee without her boyfriend IN the bathroom with her and when I asked to talk to her boyfriend (with mine in plain sight may I add) she was practically screaming "NO, NO, NO" and not making the slightest bit of effort with anyone.

See, at first I thought she was shy. Until I introduced myself an she looked me up and down before turning and walking away. So fucking rude. If you go to someone's flat, uninvited may I add, at least have common decency and manners. 

After she had commented on my style and hacky looked me to her hearts content, another person asked me if my boyfriend was a feeder or if he was telling me to lose weight. This really pissed me off. It's noone's business but he is neither. He loves me the way I am but encourages me to lose weight if I tell him I'm struggling. He's lost weight and got fit himself in the past so he knows exactly what it's like.

Also, don't use people's make-up to draw on their walls. That still makes me angry and now I've had to buy my brand new Provocalips make-up again because it's unusable. I then binned my other brand new one accidentally and so have to fork out for two brand new ones when the other ones were perfectly fine!

Apart from the minor annoyances and several people having a tiff (we were all pretty drunk at this point) it was a really good party. Some people showed interest in others, romantically and not, and I feel like I really got to know people properly. 

I genuinely believe that until you have been drunk together, you are not true friends. Until you tell them stuff that you would be ashamed of sober then you will always have the idea of a friend in a person that is wearing a mask. 

Hopefully this week we get to sort out the bills, only one left to go! The fridge and washing machine, the internet should be installed Friday and I'm attempting to sort out my financial budget and prioritise what I need to live with and what I can take to the flat as soon as possible. This is the hard thing about my clothing, I thought it was as easy as bunging it into a car and driving over but I don't know where I'm living on what days and what clothes I need for work. Especially without a washing machine. 

I am currently living on a temporary bed with a quilt my boyfriend's Mama gave me with all of my stuff in bags and boxes. I'm aiming to take larger furniture over on Wednesday after work and then be officially moved in by Saturday 1st August. Fresh month, fresh start.

We may not have food yet but we do have plenty of booze left from the party if we get stressed out. Ha!

I would totally throw another house party when we've settled in but I refuse to be the only one cleaning it up this time. I nearly passed out from the smell of alcohol. 

A good thing about the morning after the night before was that my dream of sitting on the kitchen floor, in a tiara, eating a pink cake finally came true.

Time for some party photo spam!

We have a pool table in the living room. Living the dream.

My cleaning the flat outfit the next day was amazing. I felt like a '50's housewife because of the cut of the dress. Also, one of my best friend's bought me the best knock off Michael Kors bags that I have ever seen from her trip to Turkey. I adore it <3 

Have you got a moving out horror story or fairy tale to tell?

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