Yup. Me too.
2024 has taught me that the Gods I don't even believe in laugh when mere mortals make plans.
This time last year I was two years into widowhood. The business we started together tanked (thanks well known Chinese tat selling platform) and I was in ten grands worth of debt.
I decided to fuck everything off and move to Glastonbury where I had a friend gagging to help me "move forward". My landlord was selling up so there was a section 21 looming. I really thought I had a chance at distancing myself from a home town that didn't feel like home any more.
Just after Christmas my dear SM's (82) mental health spiralled out of control and she ended up hospitalised for several months. The toll it took on my DF (85) caused his physical health to decline massively so I did the dutiful daughter thing.
The section 21 arrived in the middle of this, so I was left winding up my shop and packing down a 4 bed house full of dead people's stuff to fit into a 1 bed - if I could find one with my shitty credit history. The council couldn't have been less helpful than if they'd just handed me a sodding tent and directed me to the pier. They did kindly give me the number for Samaritans at one point.
In April SM was discharged home, and within a week went for my poor Dad, who had to leave for his own safety. Turned up at mine where fortunately I was able to house him while we sorted temporary emergency sheltered accommodation for him via the council.
My luck turned when the agents managing the property which the section 21 had by then expired on, were able to wrangle me a 1 bed flat on the outskirts of town. I ended up moving in a panic, and now have a storage unit that I can barely afford because I didn't have time to responsibly dispose of all the dead people's stuff. And I'm sentimental, so sue me.
Thanks to a few good friends I have my sanity in tact. They went above and beyond and I'd die on a hill for them.
So by September I think the worst must be over for this year at least right? Universe says "Hold my beer". Twice the council have tried to relocate frail unwell DF out of area for his GP and support network (me). I don't drive and the second attempt would have meant a 2.5 hour bus trip on three intermittent buses to get to him.
Fortunately I was able to reach out to a local councillor who leveraged all the appropriate departments and got him a stay of execution and ASC intervention.
Literally the day I concluded that, I was notified that my MIL - end stage dementia - was being relocated from her care home due to an incident that made the national press. She's fine - oblivious in fact, but that's still ongoing.
Honestly this year has taught me to take absolutely nothing for granted, that my friends are worth their weight in gold, and apparently apart from them I'm not allowed nice things. Except my cat. Even though he'd rather piss in the bath than his regularly cleaned litter tray.
It's taught me that alcohol can only be a passing acquaintance but not my friend. I've learned to be grateful for the little things.
Glastonbury is still my goal, but in the meantime I do have nearly everything I need. Apart from my late husband and a bit more money. Dare I say it - things could be worse.
And the Netflix series will be epic.
Much love to all those in the shitty club and surviving out of spite ❤️🔥 xxx