Yesterday we tackled the task of decluttering the bedroom. Mostly this meant getting rid of clothes. Getting rid of lots of clothes, as it turned out. Three giant garbage bags of donate-quality clothes and an equally giant garbage bag of clothes too worn out to donate. We now have few enough hang-it-up clothes that they all fit into one closet, which hasn’t been so since we moved to Ireland (small closets). Ted’s t-shirts, which used to be impossible to cram into the bureau drawers, now fit nicely. I now only own one logo-ified t-shirt (ok, two: I kept the Bon Jovi “Have A Nice Day” shirt because if I fit in it again it will mean I am Slim), the Comic-Con 2008 shirt.
We did keep some things against the intention of losing weight and fitting into them again, and are starting a new program on July 1. For every pound we (each) lose, we (each) get to set aside €10. At the end of the year, we get to take the money and double it, and buy a new wardrobe with it. I think this is a pretty decent incentive. Also, if I lose twenty pounds I’ll fit into a whole bunch of excellent clothes I already own, too, so I’ll have lots of new wardrobe. :) And then if we maintain/continue to lose weekly for the next 6 months we get to set aside another €10 each every week and buy new summer wardrobes too. :)
Today we went to Dublin to look at houses, and, unexpectedly, to watch the gay pride parade. :) The first house we looked at heartened me: it was in the city centre and large and well kept and on a quiet street, none of which I expected from its city centre location. So we said okay, we could live here, that’s a relief.
Then we went to the other house, which is quite literally around the corner from where my sister lives, and a five minute walk from the bus stop where Ted would need to catch a bus to work. The house was of equal quality to the first one (the kitchen’s not as good but can be worked with), and the location with regards to Deirdre’s family and Ted’s commute couldn’t be beat, and it’s not *in* the city centre, but it’s very convenient to it. Renting it went something like this:
“It’s a lovely house!” said we.
“Thank you. What brought you to Ireland?” wondered she.
“Oh,” I said, “my grandfather was from the North.”
“Really,” said she. “What county?”
“Tyrone,” said I. “A tiny village called Pomeroy*.”
“My father was from Pomeroy,” said our new landlord.
So I think this one won’t fall through, and it’ll be a very nice place to live, and holy crap, this is starting to seem very real. Like, we’re moving next weekend real. Holy crap. o.O
*Genuinely tiny. Pomeroy has about 600 people.(x-posted from the essential kit)