Wednesday 2 April 2014

The Start of Leading The Dream

Like many of you might already know off heart (in quite a similar way to the die-hard Twilight fans who can supernaturally reprise every single line, facial expression or tone from all of the films), adjusting to change is not necessarily one of the easiest things which we are capable of doing with flying colours. Deep down, we remain true to our nature of being creatures of habit - for example, plenty of us may gain a certain level of satisfaction by living in the same area for the whole of our lives - though there sometimes comes a time when a massive, earth-shaking change needs to occur in order to discover the happiness which everybody is entitled to claim. And, as I've disclosed in most of my recent blog entries, embracing change has become one of my commonly used mantras as I steadily adjust to leading a new, yet heart-racing existence in an area which, despite only moving here a mere five days ago, has already exceeded my expectations whilst offering what I've been searching for so long: a home which I love to bits.

Since making an exciting, if not a slightly dramatic return to doing what I do best - or so I choose to believe - by keeping my cherished followers on the loop last Sunday, each day is gradually becoming easier as I start to quash my beliefs of being stuck in an all-too-heavenly daydream and settle into my new home which, after spending years of complaining about the issues which my family and I used to endure on a daily basis on our old property, does seem a little too good to be true! Nonetheless, I/m taking immense pride in being able to hear myself think and listen to the joyful sing-song of birds communicating amongst themselves in the morning, a sound of which I could never hear without straining my ears painfully in the past, and I keep being somewhat spooked by the nearby flock of sheep moaning rather like myself (for way too many years, my little brother has impersonated my angrier-than-Angry-Birds voice to utter perfection) because I really cannot remember the very last time that I'd ever heard them minus any irritating background noise or exhausted car engines rumbling within a ten mile radius.

Before you even point the needle-sharp finger in my direction, I will confess to my disastrous crime which has obviously been picked up by your watchful, steady-as-my-tap-dance-balance eye: bragging to the nines about my new home is all too resistible at the moment because there is no possible way that I can prevent myself from expressing my passion for it! Despite being noticeably smaller than LB's wide-as-a-baguette bedroom, I literally fell in love with my room as soon as I shifted the positions of my Betty Boop bed and several pieces of furniture; as my dream of having my own private space in the form of a stylish en-suite has come true after several years of keeping my fingers in a semi-permanent crossed position (which I used the privilege of using by indulging my hair in a bottle of apple shampoo earlier this morning), I couldn't care less about the size of my bedroom because my most wished-for fantasy of all is standing a mere few footsteps away from where I'm sitting. Although my eyes may glaze over like a wicked-eyed witch whenever I step foot into LB's more capacious room from time to time, I remind myself that I should remain grateful for what I received after wasting countless hours and indeed my own breath by complaining about sharing the main bathroom with everybody - since hopping in my shower for the first time last Friday, that once-prominent dilemma has all but disappeared!

Possibly what almost knocked me off my feet when Moving Day - which officially took home (ironically) the title of the Most Stressful Event of the Year - came and went last week was that, unlike our previous home which used to literally spill most of our possessions onto the street due to the noticeable lack of space, we are spoilt for choice as to where we ought to store our space items and indeed boxes. At this moment in time, it is fair to say that it will certainly take plenty of willpower - loaded with a sugar-fuelled Mars bar or two to ward off the hunger pangs of course - to shift all of the remaining boxes into the various rooms free of space which, if my catastrophic sleep patterns continue at a similar pace, could potentially take several weeks. Ugh, is worrying about the yet-to-be-uncovered location of the Pyrex dishes what my life has come to? Had I not been so desperate to tuck into a plate of food which had never seen the likes of a deep fat fryer or uncleaned restaurant floor last night, I probably would have thrown a toddler-style tantrum at the prospect of being unable to store the leftover pasta in the usual dishes which I use, which only goes to show how hectic life has recently been - and continues to be so - for myself.

My lie-ins until past eight in the morning must still be making a pitiful attempt to catch up with my missed sleep from a week or so back, otherwise the purple, bruise-like bags beneath my droopy eyes would have diminished into refreshed skin by now. Unless I coat my face in a layer of foundation as thick as a slice of honey-splattered toast, it rings out as virtually impossible to disguise my exhaustion which, despite leaping over the finishing line in relation to completing the most vital stage in moving out almost a week ago, seems unable to disappear or at least decrease until my sleeping patterns return to a normal-ish level.

Without feeling the undeniable need to shout it to the whole of the quiet, if not hushed-into-silence village, it brings on a groan-escaping headache if I dare to recall the last time that sleep-related exhaustion had ever affected me so badly, but at the same time happiness has never appeared simpler to grab my hands on, and I constantly revel in the fact that reaching the end of digging out the remains of a cardboard box or adding more unpacked jars of spices and food to the cupboards is the necessary procedure to take one more step towards being happy. One needn't go on that I've been exhausted senseless through installing an internet connection at midnight, scrubbing the kitchen to an inch of its sticky-coated life and allowing the fear of getting lost to grip me whilst embarking on a five-minute trip to the only newsagent in the village, but all of these efforts were simply not made for nothing other than to achieve the ideal home life which we instinctively crave and are nearer towards having as each day passes.

Although my dad might not have opened the box containing my precious-as-jewels schoolbooks because none of us truly know where its whereabouts are, there have nonetheless been plenty of lessons which I've learnt within the space of a couple of days:


  • Whatever one may choose to believe, a fish-themed toilet seat does not guarantee a trip of a lifetime by actually swimming with fishes. If the smaller-than-preferred size proved anything, one was probably more likely to be swimming on the yet-to-be-scrubbed floor than amongst the likes of Finding Nemo's cousin or Jaws' sharp-toothed girlfriend. 
  • Donning my two-inch heels on a trip to the local playfield is never a bright-as-a-light-bulb idea if your Chelsea kit-clad little brother is ever so eager to chuck his football in your direction, provoking your panicked self to race faster than Usain Bolt across the field in a wild flurry, therefore ruining the one pair of shoes which don't make you look or feel like one of Snow White's seven dwarves. 
  • With nobody willing to offer some much-needed protection or be bothered to roll out of bed before the clock strikes nine in the morning, the risk of a pair of playful, yet secretly menacing kittens jumping onto the table near their new play area as you tuck into slice of wholemeal bread dramatically increases, particularly if sweet-as-their-faces honey dares to make an appearance. And, if the only other available place to sit is near their litter tray, the prospect of trouble is lying ahead - who would ever save the apple-munching damsel in distress in fear of being attacked by a Daddy-loving kitten?
  • Regardless of your inquisitive, I-just-had-to-know nature, never dare ask about the current state of cleaning the house unless donning a pair of protective gloves and getting knee-deep in grime doesn't make you waver in your mud-coated shoes. And, unlike everybody else, I had to clean my shower, sink and toilet bare-handed because somebody hadn't looked hard enough for a germ-resistant pair of cloves - WHERE IS THE SHAME IN THAT?
  • The loud birds who constantly crow near my house sound like my previous noisy neighbours, which is a worrying thought. Unlike the slightly telligible language which I had grown used to hearing in my old town, it would take a person completely fluent in the language in twittering to understand what the birds up north are saying. Which, if you are obsessed with Twitter, is quite a sad thing to admit. 
Whether I've realized it or not, there have been a numerous amount of lessons in which I've mastered since moving here last Friday, though comprehending the dangers of eating my breakfast a mere jump away from my kittens doesn't quite compare to the uplifting joys in passing a quiz featured in my English workbook. As I have all but been forced to learn at an advanced level of late, one can only take life one day at a time and, as circumstances currently are, I'm walking on the right path towards fulfilling all of the dreams which only this move could promise me. And, as I near the end of this entry, I ask this: what could possibly be better than that?

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