A few remaining
things. A last wipe down. Tea leaves floating in my cup as the strainer is
packed. Eggs boiled in the kettle – unsuccessfully as a last ditch attempt to
a) eat any food before transporting it 350kms b) amuse myself in the absence of
saucepans. Yes, that’s what its come down to folks. The stereo is packed away,
beers stand around stranded without refrigeration, popping out upright out of
green bags like soldiers looking around for a piece of the inaction.
My nails are split and
the countdown is on before which one breaks. Things needed for a good move:
sturdy shoes, water, caffeine at some point. Newspaper, lots of it. Sense of humour. Check.
Final goodbye to the
local beach at 7 am this morning, all I needed to know about the day was in the
sunrise. Red in the morning Sheppard’s warning. Stormy out to sea, the sky purple over calm blue water like
the sun was setting, not rising. And on the other side, behind the houses to
the east a ball of gold sat fat behind another bank of clouds.
I woke up from a dream
where I was sticking a squash game date and time to the front of a fridge. I
couldn’t decide which night I wanted to play squash, there were so many
options! It was a good dream. One
of many things I am looking forward to. Threads of normality will weave a
safety net underneath me. As I move from this place to the next. The programs I watch on telly, the mates
I speak to on the phone, the newspapers I read, this blog I will continue
writing. The food I will keep cooking and the music I listen to. The sport I play, the plants I tend to,
the love I dream of. I may still
grieve to leave Adelaide, I won’t know until 50 kms north of Port Wakefield.
What’s that tiny place with the purple salt lake and the tyre Lochness Monster?
The one ABC presenter Peter Goers can’t get enough of? Jesus, I’ve promoted
it…driven through it a kazillion times. (Lochiel!)
I’ve washed my face
and tied back my hair, found a stick of deodorant in my squash bag. This is as close to showered as I'm going
to be today. Now I wait, and know what they mean by ‘sitting pretty’. I look forward to living among people I can
relate to, sans Jaguars and huge mansions with unoccupied rooms. When people build these houses, do they
think they will stay there forever?
I now sit and wait for
the removalists. Professionals in packing, box fitting, lifting and securing
objects, the masters of furniture puzzles. God bless removalists everywhere.
God bless my mum who has paid for these guys to move me. Rain is on its way.
I sit still and feel
the early tremors of a new life begin to unfurl and take hold inside me.
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