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Yesterday sucked giant, hairy donkey balls.  It was the kind of day when you’re glad the children are in bed, you’re in the bath and you sit and wonder, ‘How the holy fuck did I get through today?’




It started out well enough. Dexter and I managed to avoid the train crossing gates coming down (we’re normally running late for Breakfast Club and end up having to wait for three trains to come past. THREE!)  I managed to quickly paint my nails whilst I watched Dexter walk into school.  I got to work on time and miraculously found my nails weren’t smudged at all.  (What?  It’s important!)  I even managed to get stuck into a new social media campaign for one of my clients.  Happy client = happy Kate.


But, to be honest, it just went downhill from there.


The main outcome of today?  I’m moving back in with my Dad.


(Love my Dad, but FFS.)


I have to put my house up for sale on Saturday – something I have worked hard to try and avoid but, unfortunately, I now have no choice. Having a conversation with your Dad to ask him if you can move back home aged 42, complete with child and assorted crap collected over the past 23 years, is not really a conversation I thought I’d ever be having. My Dad, to his credit, didn’t bat an eyelid and said that of course we could move in if we needed to.


Not really going to do wonders for my love life but there you go.


I’ve talked about reaching a crossroads before on my blog and yesterday was another one of those moments, and not just because of the house.  Yesterday, I also made a decision that I have not been strong enough to make for the last 18 months and it will possibly have repercussions for myself and Dexter for the rest of our lives, but sometimes you just have to do the right thing, no matter how much it hurts.


And it hurt. It raked up my past. Will colour our future. But yesterday was a milestone for me and I can’t quite believe where I found the strength because, quite frankly, I am totally and utterly exhausted.


But I think that is the thing about women. Just when you think they can’t take any more … they find the strength to say enough is enough.


Yesterday was that day.


It was a BOGOF from Dominos type of day (WITH meatballs.)  It was a ‘stay in the bath for 47 minutes’ type of day (and yes, I timed it.)  It was a ‘take a deep breath, reboot and move on’ type of day.


I’m rambling, sorry, but my head is all over the place at the moment.  I don’t mean to be cryptic but there are things that I don’t feel ready to talk about.   At work, I’m (mostly) professional, smart, switched on.  I get the job done goddamit.  I can’t afford to fall apart.  At home, it’s the same thing.  I’m Mum – sole carer of a nine year old, curly haired boy who still needs me.  But sometimes, just sometimes, I’d like someone to put an arm around my shoulder and tell me that everything is going to be alright.


Basically, I’m winging it.  Anyone else every feel like that?





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