We moved house. Again. This time it's just three of us, as my brother has moved out, totes cleared of cancer and with a great job. So yay for him! Seriously thrilled with his outcome. There was a time, two days before Dad died, when he was about to have his surgery before we knew it was Stage 4 cancer inside him, and not just Dad. He talked about changing his life, and his dream job. I said I knew someone who might be able to help him, and he should call her when he gets out of surgery. Two years later he was able to make the call, and he has changed his life and got the job, with a fucking huge hurdle of awful cancer and personal growth in-between.
The eldest kid has moved interstate for University, which is both exciting and scary for her. I spent time with her setting up the apartment, trying to navigate a foreign city I had never been to before, driving a sewing machine of a car on wheels, and tried to ignore the fact every part of my body hurt from carrying stuff and rushing around like a mad woman and that I would have to say goodbye to her soon. We actually laughed a lot. She's so much fun. I like having her as my kid.
And then there were three. A new pad, and exciting times of work and focus ahead. Until...
A week after we moved in the house of drug addicts next door burned down their house and tried to put it out with a garden hose. I called 000 and 6 fire trucks later, they had put out the fire, then one of the inhabitants walked up and down our street for days wearing only ratty pyjama's and was so dirty, the soles of her feet looked like crusts of pumpernickel bread.
Three days earlier, the ceiling of the living room gave in because the shower above wasn't waterproofed properly. This requires a three-week process of fixing from top to bottom, literally, and we are now using the smaller shower in the other bathroom. Here is a photo of Dave in said bathroom.
And the dust! Here's me using my hairdryer this morning.
Throw in illness, and the drug addicts coming back to trash the house in the middle of the night, and then some work pressure and tradesmen being in the house most days for three weeks, then you know you're losing your mind.
I spent every day of February just getting through until the next day. One hour at a time. if I thought about what was coming up the next week, I would have a panic attack.
Move house. Move child to interstate university. Get other child into senior school. Work like a crazy woman. Get sick. Deal with no bathroom. Deal with junkies with a lighter. Deal with police and firemen. Manage daily calls for tradesmen's schedule. Personal issues. Have anxiety attack. Fall into depression. Sleep. Repeat.
So now it's March. I have writer plans afoot. Keeping cards close to my chest but plans all the same. First time in a long time I can have them. Three years of crazy finishing with the sky falling in, and us surviving it, as we always do.
I had a perfect weekend. Enlightening. Insightful. Special. Can't explain it properly on here but seeing the world through different glasses helps. Peace comes when you least expect it.
So now I'm off to work and keeping writer cards close to the chest. I'm grateful I got through February. And to Mel in QLD, thank you. You hooked in right when I needed you. the crystal wall was made. The call to the others to unblock the bullshit was harkened. You, my love, are the best sort of witch. And Cam, your phone call made me cry but you are the sweetest person. Thank you.
Happy Tuesday friends.