If life were one big holiday I’d sleep in every day,
Make sandcastles and cocktails,
And drink the day away.
I’d read and eat,
And lay about,
I’d ignore every call.
Because when you are on holidays – why worry about calls at all?
Life would be so lovely,
Not living by the clock.
Dips and chips and olives galore,
And eating cheese by the block.
If life were one big holiday,
I’d never wear a bra.
People would scream and run to hide,
But my breasts would be just as they are.
My mind would love nothing more,
Than to turn to wobbly mush.
And plod along each day,
Without the stressful rush.
If life were one big holiday,
I wonder where we’d go?
If all things were possible
And the world never told us no.
House hunting sounds joyous but really can suck quite a lot of balls cos the perfect ones just aren’t out there. Move to the country I say.
Ahhh the Aussie dream. Owning your own slice of domesticity. Why do we yearn to be in debt? Why do we allow a place to forever cause us stress?
I know why.
The feeling of driving home from work knowing that you adore the home you are going to is irreplaceable.
That emotion can not be fabricated or faked.
I have never owned my own home, but I’m certain that you have to enjoy the space in which you live. An element of pride and the ability to trot out some delightful tea cups and the like, are what I imagine is needed when you own your own home.
Oh the abundance of guests you would have! A housewarming party perhaps. A kitchen tea. See, tea cups… fine china even… would be required momentarily.
I hope to have a spacious place to live when I eventually decide to purchase. I am not a fan of living in the suburbs so close to your neighbours that you can hear their dog scratching its fleas.
No thank you.
Have you ever house hunted? What was your experience?
Yesterday the year 2025 was mentioned.
Whoa, 13 years away.
I’ll be 41…. What the fucking fuck? I can’t even contemplate what or who I will be at that point.
What I’m hoping by 2025 is that:
I’ll have a tribe of kids;
Be happily married;
Live somewhere spacious;
Sew, knit, crochet and bake;
I’ll love cups of tea with friends.
Little baby godson will be turning fourteen in 2025. Just stop growing up. Stay a wincy baby that likes repeating every word adults say.
What age will you be in 2025 and what are you hoping for?
You know the heavy smothering feeling you have on your chest that feels like you are being squashed when you aren’t? I have that.
I have it so bad that I don’t know if my breathing sounds normal to other people.
I’m generally not a sook. I do like the occasional pessimistic comment but life can usually be positive no matter what.
WHAT THE FUCK?!
God, big guy, the boss of Heaven… whatever you’d like to be called….if you are reading… This is where it gets serious.
Why me? I try to go about my business. I try to remain a source of light entertainment for those around me but WHAT. THE. FUCK.
You screwed me this week.
Life wasn’t that splendid but it was bearable and then suddenly I’m homeless. And quite possibly unemployed.
Like walking along a path on a sunny day and BOOM, you are swept away by a pterodactyl. Thought that wouldn’t happen to you? Well, you were wrong.
Silver lining? My best friend is now my unofficial landlord.
More silver lining? Ahhh, I’m still searching for other things.
Maybe zucchini slice. It’s pretty awesome.
I officially give up. Whoever is in charge… YOU WIN. Fucking have the trophy. I don’t want it. This game/race/battle absolutely sucks and I don’t want to participate anymore.
Just to put it in perspective for you; Mum got sick and died, I got a teaching job at the most disadvantaged public school in the history of the universe with the naughtiest kids, my brother broke what was left of my family, I had to leave my home under protest and I may not have a job for 2013.
Imagine how awesome my life is for one second.
The age old debate of control crying.
I’ve thought about it a lot this week. To implement it? Am I the instigator of trauma? The guilt. The disturbance of noise. I hear the confused mumbling of readers saying “But she doesn’t even have a child!”….
The control has come from the dog… It’s meant to be from me but the dog is clearly in control of the situation. Aaaaaand the crying has come from the dog. Oh the long periods of high pitched whinging and wolf-like howling! It has made me want to play the bongos on my own head. So, to sum up; the dog is winning this battle and I am apparently making her stronger emotionally but I am doing nothing.
I got so sick of the whole charade that the dog is now residing back at her usual abode.
I don’t know how parents of children don’t go mental and get them sleep trained by someone elsewhere and get them back when all is calm and serene. It would be much more peaceful.
I love you dog of mine, but you need to shhhhhh.
Cleansing – verb –
Rid (a person, place, or thing) of something seen as unpleasant, unwanted, or defiling.
It’s been two days and I am still collecting my thoughts. The best I could come up with was the definition above.
My life has been condensed. My belongings are gone.
I have a Dad. I have a dog.
I’m appreciative of meals that come my way and a bed for the night. Might sound melodramatic but it’s true.
I don’t have a home.
You know that anxious feeling about not knowing what is in store for your future? Multiply it by about forty jillion then maybe you might be me. Maybe.
Thank you to those that have shown grace and compassion by sharing their home with me.
You know the feeling when you can’t be bothered cooking? Well, that’s me tonight. Tuesday night, past 6pm and no dinner. Do I even want to eat? Nope.
Not hungry. Not interested. Not worth thinking about. Let me however, bore you with a blog post about it.
I know some people, who will not be named, that announce with every ounce of drama they have in them, that “after cooking the family meal they couldn’t possibly eat at all!”.
Oh puh-lease. After cooking a meal, I better damn well feel like eating it or I should be punching myself in the face.
Or what about other people that must keep offering you food.
Are they thinking “Well she is rather large… Maybe she wants that last piece of chicken….?”. Never mind that it might actually be my third helping! Sheesh! Nice but no thanks.
Do you know people that will criticize the meal they are eating, even if the person who made it is present? “Oh, this steak is so dry!”.
Cue me: “COOK YOUR OWN FUCKING STEAK THEN!!!!”. Never actually happened on my house but I wait with baited breath for the day they dare to try.
Dinner shouldn’t have to be an issue. Unless you live with a toddler. But that’s a whole other ball game…..