30 10 2007

There’s an element of luck in it all, it’s true. Pragmatic as I am, the whatifs come out and whirl around me. Whatif I never was introduced there, never went to that lunch, never got assigned to that project, never took that path. Would I have ended up here?

Here. Where’s here? For you, gentle reader, a truth, an admission. I am, right now, quite exactly where I want to be.

I have paint on the soles of my feet. The walls of my house soar above me, clean and fresh and white and… mine. I have fading bruises on my arms and legs, from carrying boxes and awkward shapes up and down steps. Nothing sinister, I bruise easily (future loves, please take note).

So. I own. I possess. My name is on the title of a portion of the world. Now it’s all done and dusted, it doesn’t seem quite as enormous as it did from the other side. There has been the most delightful level of support from my peeps with this whole thing, from offers of places to crash if the timing was off, to K’s stellar effort with helping paint for twelve hours straight on a Saturday (decorative ceilings are nice to look at but when they are 12 foot high and you are significantly shorter than that…), to nabla & K cheerfully and calmly shuttling my accumulated crap over the bridge until it was all shifted, to bottles of Moet with fabulous cards (I took a photo of the card but the cable to make the pictures get to the computer is around here… somewhere…), to cleaning crews turning the dreaded rental clean into a thing of light and laughter, people being so generous with their time and bringing food and champagne and gamely giving the ‘DIY thing’ a go… Any tendency to be cynical and guarded has been overwhelmed by an embarrassing and very uncool gush of earnest sincerity, a direct result of being so glad to have this wealth of wonderful people in my life. There have been people, here and there, who have responded to the buying-a-house-on-my-own conversation with raised eyebrows and a “that’s brave, going it alone” type comment. But you see, I’m not alone. Not even close.

Today I had a sneaky day at home. At my home. Heh. The last few weeks of unsustainable work hours have been crammed in alongside the sweaty frustration of packing and cleaning and the nervous argy-bargy and paperwork avalanche of the BiggestImpulseBuyEver. I was starting to feel compressed, cramped up, not enough space to breathe. So today, with the excuse of the phonefixerperson coming “any time between September and 2011”, I took a day to myself. It was bliss. I sat on the grass in the backyard*. I went for a rambling walk around my new suburb and came home with aching calves (it has hills) and some basil in a pot. Brisbane put on a glorious mild sunny day for me, with the breeze from the river telling me I made the right choice.

Back into the maelstrom of mad work, after this short break. I’ll try to be around a bit more, now I’m feeling settled, and I’ll catch up with those of you I’ve been neglecting (I’m very fond of you too!).

* Common area backyard. So I only sat on a percentage of the grass.




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