Sunday: two days till we fly

Its not even Sunday anymore. Its Monday. And Monday is one day until we fly.

So lets just say its still Sunday.

Its Sunday, and weve just got back from dinner at some dear lovely Brightonean friends flat after a day of hard packing and cleaning and forgetting to eat anything at all. And were back in a very empty house talking about how much weve felt at home here, and how little we expected to leave it any time soon.

We really didnt. Both of us are big on itchy feet and getting up and moving just because new things are exciting – but when we moved here, we thought we might actually settle for quite a good long while; otherwise we wouldnt have got the cats. But then things suddenly changed, and suddenly were off again.

And its brilliant, and its exciting, and Im lucky, and its amazing and its everything Ive ever wanted to do – but right now, the day before, or two days before or whatever; I cant see that. I can only see this ENORMOUS WALL OSTUFF – from the pile of boxes in my living room to the piles of money that its costing for various things; to the friends Im leaving behind in the city Ive grown ridiculously fond of ridiculously fast; to the worry about leaving behind avenues of career to anxiety about how to create new ones; from the moment the first person arrives in the morning to the moment we step off the plane 36 hours later. Its all just a huge WALL of STUFF.

But you know what? All fine. All going to be fine. Sorry, I forget:


Friday there were drinks, and they were magnificent, and I got drunk.

Saturday quite a lot of our furniture set sail into a sea of friends, and that was good, although did leave us watching Lawn’order on Saturday night cross-legged on the floor with pizza on our knees. Then there was pub. That was good.

Sunday my lovely sister and brotherinlaw came down with a car and took many many carloads to the recycly-dump. We cleaned a whole lot more (seriously, how much more cleaning can there be? But everytime we do something else, everything seems to grow dirt again)

Tomorrow there will be someone coming to pick up the cats. Theyll bring carry cases, but the convicts are allowed blankets, so weve set those aside ready to go. The cats, whose primary position when someone knocks at the door has been the same since everything in the house started changing, will need to be prised out from under the duvet in order to go. Except they wont, because the duvet will be packed by then.

Tomorrow there will be someone coming to pick up a storage container worth of books and childhood and precious things.

Tomorrow we will throw away a bunch more stuff that hasnt made the cut, and say goodbye to a good friend, and climb on a bus to Heathrow with a bunch of large bags barely half a mini-kilo less than they are allowed to be.

Tomorrow we will get to a hotel, then do a few hours work each that we both have left over to do, because we are stupid, then we will relax for a few hours. Then we will go to bed and the next day, the NEXT day we .

Of course, I say all this, and its 1am. Today we will do all this.

I dont want to say goodbye to this house. To the cats. To Brighton. To my friends. To my family. To all the things I know and love and hate but just KNOW.
I just dont want to right now.

I want to go – dont get me wrong. I want to live somewhere different. I want to appreciate things for the first time, to be the stranger and the outsider. I want to live somewhere with a different outlook on life, a different perspective. I want to appreciate the things I have at home, and understand why people like their lives that arent just like mine. I want to go. I want the opportuinity to reinvent myself a bit, be braver, bolder, more confident because Im in a new environment with all new people. I want to see different scenery, wake up to unfamiliar smells and sounds in a new place and be different. I want it all. And I want to do it all with my Beloved. I really, really want to go.

But right now? Right now, this second, I dont want any of it.
I want to wake up tomorrow and discover its all been a joke, that we can just settle back into life as weve made it for ourselves, and nothing has to be different.

But that wouldnt be as much fun.

Youll have to excuse me. Im slightly overwineated and just am keeping typing because if I keep typing then I wont have to go to sleep and then it wont be tomorrow and then I wont have to

Oh all right.

Will check in tomorrow night.
Here, I mean. Not to the flight. Ill check in to that in ten hours time (online, god bless the interwebnets). Ill check in here.

Did I say this all was fun?
I was lying.

You know what else is a lie?
People who say you can never have too many socks. Thats balls. You CAN, and I know that for sure because we do. That is all.

My Beloved just let out a loud snore. Im taking that as a protest against typing noises rather than a symptom of the very fierce head cold that is beginning to take both of us firmly in hand. Thats my cue.

Bed then.