Adjustment, Unpacking and a Serving of the Mad Dutchmen's Chips: My Week in a Chicken-Sized Nugget

Purely judging by the longer-than-my-sausage-sized-legs title alone, this particularly crazier-than-a-One-Direction-concert week which I have endured - and, if my eyes can muster the strength to tear away from the oh-so-obvious pile of boxes in my bedroom, is still on-going - is one that I will definitely not be forgetting in a hurry, for both good and bad-as-corrupt-politicians reasons.

On the off-chance that you have been blessed with the priceless gift of avoiding the previous whirlwind of entries which I've posted in recent days, let me get the facts as straight as Little Miss Lucky (a.k.a French-speaking moi) can achieve frizz-free hair without even lifting a honey-dipped finger. Last Friday - otherwise nine days ago, if you make the most of your mathematics and counting-to-three-thousand-and-sixty-two skills - I moved out of the property which I reluctantly referred to as my home after spending seven years of fighting battles against leaks, nearly freezing to a premature death courtesy of a broken boiler and being swept into a wave of contagious misery.

Driving past the county border was undoubtedly one of the happiest moments in my life because a chapter - one of which which had been the source of needless pain (both emotional and physical, if slipping onto the rock-solid floor counted as proof) and almost drove me to losing my hormone-meddled sanity at times - had reached a close, and the place to which I'm now living offered all which many of us wish to obtain during our lives, though it is often overlooked because some people don't recognize the value of being blessed with it: heartfelt happiness entwined with a protective layer of security. As soon as I walked into the doors of my new home, I instantly knew that this place would tick all of the boxes in the imaginary questionnaire with which my previous house failed to comply.

For reasons yet revealed to me, my gut instinct has ignited a long-ignored signal to release all the fear which once controlled me as it is no longer needed or, as my ever-expanding mind has learnt in recent weeks, wanted because all of which I've ever longed to obtain is merely lying around the corner, awaiting to be appreciated as I've always intended to do so. Why, as the words are probably dancing on the tip of your tongue, did I feel petrified of what the future held for me, allowing sweat-inducing terror to trickle down my face as a constant reminder of my ever-so-poor weakness? As everything I used to latch my hands upon suddenly was snatched away and twisted my world into a manic blur, I couldn't resist falling prey to my initial feelings of fear because I struggled to hold onto the ounce of hope which, after weeks of searching for a new home and crossing my fingers at any spare moment, restored my faith in humanity and life itself due to having been a victim of disappointment in the past. Like those who only know far too well about getting caught up in a violent game of pain, one never wishes to undergo a similar treatment again - after all, who, regardless of their past history or associations with hope-destroying disasters, would have such an eager desire to be caught unaware by an emotionally damaging blow to one's hopes?

As I can proudly tell you right now, I'm writing at my desk for the first time since moving into my new home last week - for several days, snuggling into the fluffy, comforting embrace of the pillows on my bed have become my go-to place for getting my knees deep in some serious writing tasks - and happiness hasn't quite shone as vibrantly as it currently does which, from time to time, can be almost as blinding as the bedroom's main lights. Considering that moving house has long been embraced as one of the most stressful events which we are likely to undergo throughout life, this move was indeed far easier than all the past ones combined because I didn't experience the usual emotions of loss, grief and longing to return to the town which, in a way, has been the making of myself as the person whom I'm currently on the path to becoming.

Apart from the Chinese takeaway which played an important role in creating my passion for Asian cuisine - come on, who could not fall in love with chicken balls if fried in a mouth-watering batter? - I don't miss anything about my old town because it never flowed with my way of thinking or views of leading a good-natured life, though many may potentially disagree with my opinion of the place. Everyone has a right to express their individuality because, like having free speech and stocking up on as many bottles of foul-scented hair gels as one likes (my James Bond-inspired brother, not me), it is a basic human right as the matter of Law will forever remind us, but were the residents truly obliged to don every single pair of striped tracksuit bottoms wherever they went?

So far, my experience in a village over one hundred and fifty miles away from my old residence has mainly gone smoothly, despite getting caught out by the lack of copies of The Daily Mail sold at the one-and-only newsagents' located within a reasonable walking distance on several occasions this week. Waking up to the baaas of sheep yelling at the newborn babies to have their breakfast in the morning has become somewhat of a revelation because, over the space of seven years, I've adjusted to the ground-shaking thump of cars speeding around what was deemed to be a 'quiet' housing estate, yet I appear to be settling to this new change within my life by extending a typical weekend lie-in to thirty minutes which would probably have been unachieveable in my old home.

Simply by popping my head into my bedroom every so often, it would take the mind of an underwhelmed genius - a genius purely by keeping his or her head's screwed on tight regardless of the sight before them - to avoid feeling overwhelmed by all of these changes which have tossed the once fairly peaceful life of mine into the air, especially as my dream of moving all this way seemed extremely likely this time last month. As I persistently ask myself, when will LikeATeen return to what she does best - live life as a modern teen? Right now, I may be taking the same amount of breaths as normal and living doesn't count as a problem for me, but I'm not quite out of the wilderness thanks to holding onto my beliefs that everything is an overly realistic, yet not real-as-you-would-expect dream from which I ought to have awaken days ago.

Even though my brother pinched my arm rather painfully whilst taking a stroll in the park the other day, it is fair to say that I'm still a thousand miles or so away from accepting the truth which is so obviously lying in front of me: my life has changed forever. There is no turning back, unless a six hour+ walk down the nearest motorway doesn't make me waver in my mud-splattered high heels. And you know what? I cannot express my relief at the prospect of having waved goodbye to a time when hope had all but been diminished like a dying flame - beneath my poorly applied layer of powdery foundation, deep down I always knew that a change as dramatic as this one was needed, otherwise I would have remained tangled in the labyrinth for yet another unwanted moment. Like getting my head around the meaning of pie (unless it refers to my mum's fantastic apple-flavoured variety, I don't understand it), it is bound to take some time until I've fully settled into this refreshed life which is waiting to be explored by the disguised, yet alive explorer pounding within me.

Before I lose track of my original intentions, there are bucket loads of news which I've been bursting like an over-pressurized water meter since my family and I officially became the new tenants of our lovely home last Friday, some of which I've mentioned in more recent posts. For example, I once reserved a passion for indulging on a rare takeaway, you needn't question my loathing of fast food after tucking into battered fish and chips (one lesson I immediately learnt was to never get the chips from the Mad Dutchman in the village; it was impossible to know what to expect!), supermarket-bought pizzas and purse-draining, yet disappointing meals at the local pub within the space of several days. Unlike the millions of teenagers who confess to treating themselves to such lavish delicacies like those I just mentioned, I grew sick of it after one single serving - and good riddance! What with precious time being dedicated to cleaning our new home and starting the seemingly endless task of unpacking the boxes, cooking a meal at home has been the least of our thoughts, but even my little brother - who eats like there is no tomorrow at the best of times - have developed a longing ache for a meal which is neither fried in thousands of weight-gaining calories nor become allies with a freezer. Just don't mention the weighing scales unless you wish to wreck the closer-than-ever bond which we have formed throughout the lifespan of my blog. Please.

On the topic of unpacking all that I hold dear - from mood-relaxing CDs to the copy of The Vampire Diaries which my dad has so far failed to find, I'm not joking when I declare the task of unpacking as more stressful than the move itself - I'm beginning to breathe more lightly and smile for probably the first time in weeks because my trustworthy hair curling tool now resides in the bottom of my wardrobe, instead of an unreachable box which merely contributes to the recycling phenomenon. Last night was a particular highlight because Wonderwoman - otherwise known as my can-do-anything mother - installed a plastic cabinet which now takes pride in my en-suite, enabling the usage of my storing half of Superdrug's toiletries section in a few drawers which have already been crammed to an inch of their life; although you may not take a moment or two to think about it, the small things in life truly matter because they are essential to our functioning like normal, sleepy-eyed people. And if cluttering my cupboards with piles of papers and unused dandy brushes is a requirement to achieving the satisfaction which comes with fulfilling such a boring, yet necessary task, so be it. Oh wait - did I really mean that?

Hopefully, I'll stop obsessing over the state of my bedroom and Bart the Kitten's habit of rolling onto the unclean kitchen floor which has probably never befriended the likes of a hoover for several years as the days pass by, which will reflect in what I choose to discuss on my blog in the future. So, this is my new, improved life and it has taken me one exhausting week to reach where I am, constantly on the search to climb higher than I ever believed imaginable.

Now, is discovering the long-lost Pyrex dishes high enough a task?