I’m instantly regretting this post because this photo was taken in my old dining room. I’d finally started to feel settled this week. I arranged my dressing table last night. I line up my boots neatly along one wall. I picked out the pieces I think I might need in the next few months and hung them up on my clothes rail. My tiny little clothes rail. 2 metres people. The struggle is real. All that aside though, my room is starting to look like a bedroom now, rather than a spare room with all my stuff shoved in it. I haven’t quite worked out where the hell I’m going to put the rest of my shoes yet, but that’s a puzzle for another day.
Then I went and posted these photos and once again I’m waking in the middle of the night with palpitations, wondering what the hell I’m doing with my life and what comes next. I miss having my own house and all it’s SPACE. I miss my shoe shelves, and the washing machine always being free, and being able to put whatever I want in the freezer or watch whatever I want on TV – although, it turns out my Dad just got Netflix which was an unexpected perk! Anyway, the point of this post was not to harp on about missing my house AGAIN, it was to harp on about my unremarkable outfit from yonks ago. So here it is.
This is one of my favourite skirts, and yet I don’t actually wear it all that often, and I really don’t know why. It’s awesome. It haunts me everyday that I know for a fact they made it in at least another two colours, and I don’t own them. But for some reason, the last time I wore it was here, waaaaaay back when, when the sun was shining and everything. Looking at it now, in all it’s bright red, pouffy glory, it seems an absolute crime that I’ve only worn it once in 6 months. At least I didn’t wear breton stripes with it again, which is basically what I wear with it every other time I put it on. I went instead with a black sweater and my staple ‘Winter’ work shoes, my Carvela Athenas. In fairness, I’d have looked a bit of a numpty swanning around in breton stripes and peep toes in mid-December, wouldn’t I?
Having just waxed lyrical about how amazing this skirt is, I’ve just spotted that it isn’t even hanging on my tiny clothes rail. Which means it’s in one of the bags stuffed under my bed. Oh bother. Excuse me while I start from scratch….