On being in a new place...

First night in the new place - so much space I decompress. Upstairs floor squeak, the angular chirp of these hoops is like some alien language, long circular dolphin scales. I go out to dinner, glad for the escape, at a friend of a friend of a friend's and the networks loop around and connect us all tangentially. I've bought bread from you who work with the girl who did a mosaic course with the girl I was living with. You work with the partner of the guy who jobshares with the girl who employed me. You two know each other because he rents your shed out and uses it to paint and pays you in bread and yesterday's cakes.

Back here in the 'apartment' my toes chill and I am bare legged on clean sheets I bought to commemerate my first night and safegaurd againts the uncertain contents of as yet unpacked boxes. I washed with a flannel at the basin tonight -a sink full of kettle water - gas guy comes to connect me tomorrow (at earliest) so no shower till then. It was a lark like some reenactment from a book set in 1960's London or Sydney. I unpack bit by bit in complete disbelief that I am actually here, that I have a place of my own, for now and for here, and I can fill it all up with my things, spread out, take up space.

Day two - the inevitable post moving exitement come down?? Also premenstrual, teary, disillusioned with living in an empty quiet space amongst boxes. No chairs yet so I wandered from room to room a bit. Fuse blew and so had no kettle or heater. Phone still not on yet. Things seeming rather shitty. Hands went wrinkly from washing crockery, fingers went purple from cold water. Drank gin to keep warm. Medicinal purposes, purely.

Tonight, a few nights in, warmer, slightly more unpacked, new 'desperate times call for desperate measures' brokenish but still ok chair* from skip bin next door (seriously, I was so excited I almost fell over), this new nest starts to feel like home.


I have a phone number, a new quilt, room for a desk, plans for dinner parties. It is like the physical manifestation of reassembling a life after having disonnected the fragments of habit and history and expectation and circumstance, living in the blissful empty space the fragments used to take up and then slowly piecing them together again. It sounds like something awful, don't worry it hasn't been, just so far I've been putting back the pieces on an abstract level, now it's playing it out on the material plane.


Actually feels something like 'Rear window' or 'Delicatessen' - think amusing squeaky noises, think twee kitchen windows over sinks with little curtains strung across, think looking out and being able to see 8 windows and them see you. Only if it were Rear Window, what character would I be? Pervy on the neighbours out of boredom, drunken girl entertaining sailors, grouchy shrieking permed wife? And if Delicatessen there'd be more amusing, well lit, colour coordinated amorous action taking place to make the floorboards and bed squeak, something there is rather a paucity of so far. That aside it is a very cute little abode. The building even has a name - all pompous and important sounding. Hard to drag myself into work this week. Like the fishing stickers I need one that says 'I'd rather be rearranging my crockery and hanging up pictures'...**

* I actually have chairs of many varieties, they're just not here yet due to poor planning on my behalf
** (Only where would I stick it as I don't drive a car?? Hmm did I just ask that? Be polite with your answers ploise)