My friend is missing in Iraq and I have done every damn thing I can short of calling the authorities.
I will give it another day or so. I know if I make the call he will in turn call me a fool for making him look like one.
I am going away.. I may be sometime. Actually I may never be back, but we will.
The only adventure open to the cowardly?
Who said that?
It seems that for some of us we start in one room and work your way around the house until we get back to the first room we played with. Then we start all over again.
I am guessing this continues until your walls hold enough cd’s, dvd’s and trashy ornaments to earn a steady ebay income for the next 12 years.
Others do the house up till it is just how they want it… Then move.
Perhaps I belong to the last category. Kind of the very long term property developers approach. The only difference being that this home is being done up with personal tastes in mind and not that of any potential purchaser.
For some, the improvement of the house and the space inside the four walls directly correlates to maintenance of the soul.
This I think is a very dangerous mindset to fall into. I think the more we clutter our house, the more it clutters our soul. I am not saying we all have to live in a white space minimalist box. I just think we ‘the consumer’ tend to get carried away with all the pretty things we are told will make our lives fuller, happier… better.
Right, that said I am off out to buy a compost bin, a door bell and other ever so practical objects to clutter house and garden.
I am moved… Not emotionally, physically… well, ok, a little remnant stress connected with another very ordinary house move.
It is hassle enough for me to contemplate burning the house down and starting again rather than to cram my cluttered life into boxes. Why do we hoard so? I have a pretty good idea but I would rather not go down the road of admitting those particular insecurities.
I won’t bore you with a breakdown of the chaos endured during the homestead reassignment.
As far as the one small job of trying to get reconnected to the net goes… Jeeeeezussss… There are some severely dense individuals out there, bound down with so much bureaucracy that even a simple action nearly results in a brain meltdown and the deforestation of an area the size of French-Indo-China.
Still.. moments ago I managed to get reconnected 13 long days and 124 emails after the plug was pulled in the last house. Five minutes in and I have almost forgiven British Telecom and their incompetence…. almost.
The bliss of sitting with a glass of wine and browsing a 2d version of the world. It is so easy to get lost in it all and yet strangely, these last two weeks have seen me fall back in love with the 3d touchy feely version.. ‘The Real World’. In fact I think I will go immerse myself right now…………….* (Don’t be surprised if there is another ice age between posts)
