Oh, dear

So. The three of you that read my blog (read: the three of you that have been given its super secret address, and who possibly stop by once a month, if that) may or may not know my relationship with Paul to be a beautiful thing. And it was. Until, that is, this last week of living with his father before moving into our own love palace. Nothing major has occured just yet, only...only...we're snapping at each other now. Getting snappy. And grumpy. In public. This may or may not have something to do with the large quantities of Cresta and Fourways we have been forced to ingest in the last two weeks, not to mention the stress that comes with trying to find curtains that don't make us openly retch or carpets that are the same grain.
Dont ask.

Or it could have something to do with being confined to two (TWO) rooms in a small house, being forced to put up with hours of whistling (Paul's dad), cricket watching (Paul) and amazingness (Me).

To vent this stress, I have taken to talking aloud to myself in public. I realised this yesterday, after having climbed to the top shelf of Mr Price Home to retrieve a plain white curtain pack and dropping it inches away from a passing woman. After hopping down with a squeal, followed by a stuttering, manic laugh, I practically shouted "I nearly killed that woman!".
She was standing next to me.
After realising that I was talking to myself, I stated, in as calm a manner as is possible under that much fluorescent lighting, "Wow, I've become that woman who talks to herself in public".
I then repeated this sentence endlessly, hoping passers by would think I was talking to my boyfriend, who had walked away.

At the rate I am going, I wonder how long before I become that person whose conversational staple is just a stream of repetitive non-sequitur's. I estimate two years; by 26, I will have the conversational abilities of a 73 year old. Who lived on a farm. In the Freestate. With only Koekie the cow for company.

I should note that this entry was written after I secretly shotgunned two glasses of Rose in the kitchen. I seriously need to get out of this house: cheap booze and painkillers are far too abundant.

A random thought after spellchecking this entry: if they really wanted people who can't spell to use www.dictionay.com, they would make 'dictionary' easier to spell.