Friday, 19 October 2012
September happened. I assume September happened because the calendar now says October and I am sitting in my new house, but that might be my only proof.
The few scattered memories of the past weeks aren't much help.
Sleeping on a mattress on the floor of our Fingal Street flat and crying about leaving a space that felt more like home than any space before. I remember returning to the empty flat a few days later to clean and walking into an empty bedroom that smelled like our bedroom and crying.
My skin can still feel the raging wind on the beach, described as a light breeze, whipping away any relaxation I hoped to gain sitting in the sun on a spit of land called Greece but serviced by Turkish cell service.
The anxiety and disappointment of a long-awaited interview, bookended by a very sad (figuratively and literally) shower.
Virtual friends becoming real friends.
I am plagued by a constant feeling of being lost. I lose things in the house constantly, I don't know the foibles of the house yet, I haven't hit on a routine in the house just yet, I don't know my neighbourhood yet. We moved less than a mile from the flat but in a city where amenities are set up by walking radius we have all new services to find.
And now it's October. Back to School. It will always feel like the beginning for me instead of the natural winding down. Although that feeling is there as well. How can it be helped when the sunlight is slowly disappearing and soon it will be dark at 3pm. The long winter rain cloud arrived and is making itself at home. Thankfully the new house is actually insulated and I can almost forget about the damp upholstery of the Fingal flat.
As I look out the office window at the primary school across the street, I find myself missing my Fingal neighbours. I didn't know them really but I was very familiar with their daily habits and goings on and I find myself wondering about the lesbian couple across the street, has the brother moved out yet? The gay couple next to them, is he still opening the blinds wearing nothing but tight briefs or has he switched to boxers? The crazy, loud, obnoxious family next door, what stage is the teenage daughter going through now? The foul-mouths behind the garden, have they trained that dog or broken the tire swing yet?
I'll never know now. It's like your favourite show being cancelled after the cliff-hanger. But unlike the TV show, life is continuing on Fingal Street. Our sitcom moved location and there will inevitably be a whole new round of mishaps as we get comfortable. I should state that the majority of mishaps we deal with are entirely my fault. I'm a menace. The most recent...almost gassing us because I don't know how to use the grill on our new cooker. Oops.
We may be attempting a DIY/circus-rig fix of the sad shower which I can almost guarantee will be laughable.
It's going to be fun, people. Stay tuned.