Welcome to the Planet

Back from our impromptu honeymoon, and immediately dived into fifty shades of crazy at work.

Just as things are reaching that particular degree of lunacy where the only viable solutions are to murder half the people in the office or pack up and leave, well… just as I’m cleaning my desk drawers and hitting the road, they offer me a freaking promotion. Of course, it all makes sense. It all. Makes. Sense.

And yes, it’s just the kind of job I’ve been after for a few years now. I’d be crazy not to jump at the chance.

But this is not your regular workplace.

Not your regular workmates to hang out with by the watercooler on a random Tuesday morning. Nobody dares to hang by our watercooler for too long anyway. You can get stabbed in the back half a dozen times as you wait for your cup to fill.

We are violent, unscrupulous creatures, thriving on our collective toxicity. And now I get to chomp my way to a higher, slightly more comfortable spot in the food chain.

Please forgive me while I shrink into a corner to cry over my surprise salary jump.

All jokes aside now, I’m seriously doubting whether I should take this new role, and the infinite levels of insanity it will bring along. I’ve asked for a little time to think about it, and if thinking about it means worrying myself into super duper, insomnia flavoured misery, then yes, I guess I’m thinking about it good and hard.

In other news…

I’m doing very little reading these days, but lots of walking and listening to extraordinary music instead.

Green Park is turning a million shades of gold, and I’m actually looking forward to autumn for once.

It’s been a year since we closed on our flat, and drove a car-full of potted plants and bed linens across London, to spend our first night in the place on a blow up matress in a freshly painted, deserted guestroom.

One week since our wedding, and they must have been feeding these flowers some pretty extraordinary things, because half a dozen bouquets are still holding strong in various corners of our living room.

More than two years since I’ve started this blog, and coming close to six years since we moved to this country.

Dust in the wind and all that.

Apart from my work related dramas, the coming weeks appear to be rather uneventful, so I’m planning to binge on various TV series, cook fool-proof dinners and carve pumpkins.

There’s an awful kind of beauty in the way things have settled in my life lately, and I think what I’m mostly working on right now is trying to enjoy it as much as I can. As scary as it is and all.

Feelings, Big and Small

It’s been a while.

I do miss this place.

I do miss this place, but…

Well.

I’ve been working like crazy. My current office is an absolute jungle – people constantly shouting, badmouthing each other and coming close to strangling each other on a daily basis, but somehow, despite the craziness, I seem to be doing very well. I may well start a dangerous catfight in a meeting one day, but at least I absolutely adore the guys in my team, our deranged shared sense of humour and the work we’ve been doing, and so most days it’s a blast.

V and I are still debating on where our careers are going, and struggling to answer a million other difficult questions. But we also try to focus on the good stuff.

We began our summer in Mallorca and ended it in Cascais. In between, we left work early on a few occasions to make it to the evening mathches at Queens, our favourite grass tennis tournament. Then we traveled to Birmingham for the Women’s Tennis Classic finals. An AC/DC concert on Wembley. And supporting Romania in the Rugby World Cup on Stratford Olympic. A roadtrip to Stratford Upon Avon, and the opening night of the BFI London Film Festival. And guests, countless guests, family and friends. Walks, dinners and laughter. Lots of laughter.

And then, this Saturday.

This Saturday we got up earlier than usual, changed into freshly pressed outfits, walked to the local Register Office, and got married.

A low key, intimate affair.

So low key that I did my own hair. And made my own bouquet the night before, with grocery store roses and a bit of YouTube guidance.  And I would have definitely ruined my chances at a happy marriage before it even began, had someone not remembered the “something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue” thingie just as we were leaving for the ceremony. Reluctant to upset the nuptial gods, but mostly giving in to very stubborn and loud peer pressure, I ended up borrowing earrings and most importantly, wearing a ridiculous aqua-blue hairpin stuck to one of my bra straps for the rest of the day. Thankfully, it was invisible to the outside world, but that particular detail didn’t really make me feel any classier.

And now here we are. Together. Not more together than before, but a slightly different, matching-wedding-bands sort of together. Although if I’m perfectly honest, we’ve been wearing our matching wedding bands around the house and out and about on weekends for a month or so anyway, to get used to them. We’re super duper traditional like that.

I had cake for breakfast today, by the way. Then I spent the rest of my morning doing load after load after load of side plates and flute glasses, straightening sofa cushions and polishing silverware. Then I had cake for lunch, of course. And now, everything feels pretty normal again. If it weren’t for the flowers. They’re everywhere. In glass vases, in milk carafes, in recycled pickle jars, on every surface of every piece of furniture in every room.

And so, happiness. Or something like it. Something very much like it.