Sayonara, Mr. Chef

 For now I will put in a hiatus the series on commentaries with Protesilaos, as I am abhorrently overwhelmed with the current state of affairs.

Since last thursday I've been helping my parents moving to their new house. Last saturday I moved heavy furniture from my current flat (some kind of lease with my parents in which I fix and take care of the house without paying rent until I save enough money/finish the phd and buy something), spent the whole day doing so while also carrying away trash from the house (old stuff mainly or just bare junk stored by my parents). My fiancée arrived that day at night, we ate some pizza to celebrate the new life we were about to start, and that was it for the day. I was so exhausted.

Since then I've been working around 16 hours per day; either cleaning the house or fixing things like lamps/bathroom etc alongside my fiancée. It looked like it would never end and I was at the verge of crying at some points; everything had mold, some furniture wasn't cleaned in a decade and there were many things that were poorly taken care of.

During that colossal duty that isn't actually over yet (but severely advanced), I finally understood what it was to be on my own; I had to buy/cook/clean/laundry or it wouldn't happen, if something was broken or non-functioning or if the insurance was trying to fuck around, I had to solve it, I had to put my face and keep going. Pops, even while he's been supporting the idea of me going to live elsewhere, wouldn't be there. I am a man after all, and I shall behave like one.

Also, I called painters to paint the house (it's almost over, tomorrow is the last day), and you know, now having lamps in some places, the smell of fresh pain, the mental strain... it led to my right cheek to crack when I open my mouth.

The changes have been positive overall; I like the new looks of the house, which feel more like-a-me, but there is something that still bugs me.

This work-load, alongside the pressure of wanting everything to work out and be as good as possible for my fiancée put a lot onto me, and I was so frustrated at time, furious that I got myself a place to "caerme muerto" full of dirt. Of course, I also had to spend some grands on all of this.

As the two main events of this calamity of a week, I went to buy a new bed, and while trying some for a couple hours as I am extremely cautious with these things due to my back problem, I got hyper anxious and was unable to buy any, as the available ones made me dizzy and sick.

The other one was related to the insurance, they tried to screw me (and did so, to an extent) and the work that needed to be done was a disaster, so I had to pay someone to fix the damages. Shit happens.

For now we have a couple rooms ready, we have cleaned a lot and I am willing to fix more things as due to recent events, my fiancée will have to leave until late august and after that, until early october (she's on the verge of becoming a public worker and needs to study) and I want to surprise her.

I am currently trying to find some cabinet things (those you use to open) as I want to renew the kitchen furniture, and I hope I will make it.

I've not had time to worry, to be me, just the pure anxiety and will to conquer this period of my life.

I have a new podiatrist appointment on tuesday (for free), I've been working onto something while in the greenhouse, which seems to be a great place for ideas to come. I want to visit my grandparents, I need to ask my mom how to remove sweat stains from shirts. I hope I can do these soon.

Also, today I was cleaning the kitchen (which was severely dirty with fat stains, like horrible) when we were throwing away stuff, and we stumbled upon this chef figure, and when my fiancée told me to throw it away, I started crying. I do not know why; that clumsy little guy has been there since I was a kid, holding two forks, kindly, and nowadays is covered in fat stains and decolored since we fucked up trying to clean it. It seems like it is something I've grown attached to. I will try to restore it, as it is, I think, the only thing that remains at the house that reminds me of the old life, with my parents at the living room watching tv and me reading in my bedroom or talking with people from the internet, or just doing whatever I use to do.

God how do I love this little chef.

 Anyway, that's it for now.

As a little data I've found out after reading a documentary, it seems like the canaanites were called phonicians by the greeks and the romans, and that name means something like "those who wear purple". Also my priest friend is leaving town by the end of the year.

A lot of changes, really.