Her grandmother ran a shop that was also a laundrette, a motel and a caravan park, and she worked there as cashier, secretary and housekeeper all at once. She left it for a job at a larger company and spends a whole post wondering whether that was a mistake, which is the most honest thing anywhere here.
The cats get the longest piece, six of them named, including one declawed as a kitten on the assumption she would stay indoors and then put outside when somebody in the house turned out to be allergic. She does not soften what that meant for the animal.
The remainder is a diary of an ordinary life in a cold place: Russian food, sisters, a poker run, moving into a smaller flat, and a football final spent at home.
Ten posts and no advice in any of them. Read it as somebody's actual week rather than as anything you are supposed to act on.