Mind the Supported Housing #4

I had hoped to get part 4 done sooner, but I ended up staying over at a friend’s house. I got back a few hours ago and have been chillaxing, but now I’ve got some epic dubstep tunes thumping through my ear-holes, so allow me to bore your brain with my experience drill—too much?

Side note: cats are incredible healers. Dogs too, I should imagine. The aforementioned friend has a gorgeous kitten; he’s often stuck in play mode, swatting your face and chewing on your flesh, but when he’s not? He’s this super-sappy, adorable little beast of insane fluffiness.

I’ll get back on topic.

Something that has started to get to me probably was inevitable: I’m starting to wish I could just be moved on already. Supported housing has been mentally, emotionally, and even physically challenging and draining, but now I feel it’s coming to a close; I can sense the end.

There’s a looming interview of sorts with a woman who’ll decide my fate, at least I think that’s the purpose of the assessment. The woman will ask whether I pay my bills and keep the house tidy—easy.

Do I pay my bills? You bet. Direct debit kicks bum and I’ll continue to direct all my debits right to whomever needs dat cheddar, yo!

I’m so tired.

Keeping the place tidy isn’t too difficult. I’m a fairly house-proud sort of guy, but that doesn’t mean to say I’ve always got a feather duster in one hand and a hand-held vacuum in the other—I’m all about the hoover.

I do the housework once a week, typically on Wednesdays, which is a day my last flatmate got me into; sadly, he’s pretty much moved out, now. I take out and empty the bins, clean the kitchen worktops, clean the toilet, the bath, and so the very ordinary list goes on. I’m going to make for a wonderful housewife some day! I should probably stop making that joke; political correctness ‘n’ all.

It was nice having a friend around, or at least he felt like a friend, but I honestly think he gives less monkeys than I initially suspected, so I’m not quite sure what to think about that—I’m possibly just over-thinking and he’s merely busy dealing with the move; fair assessment?

Seeing how much my last flatmate is struggling to get himself settled in his new place, I’m left wondering how much I’m going to struggle. My dad’s back is far from what it used to be and I have no clue how to fit carpets; that’s just one potential problem.

I’m not sure how much I’m going to end up spending getting everything together and buying the white goods, but all I can say for sure is that I’m so pleased I started obsessively saving some years ago!

I don’t and probably shouldn’t drive, so that’s a problem, but luckily my dad does, so he’ll gladly help me move stuff as he has done twice already. I feel bad, at the age of 29, to be asking my dad to help me move furniture yet again.

Maybe it’s normal to need so much help at a time like this, and perhaps it’s expected of a man in my situation, but I’m trying to be independent! I’d rather not lean on my dad so much; he’s already done so much for me over the years.

Part 5 can be found via this link!

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