pallas_athena (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pallas_athena) wrote2011-02-19 10:10 pm
pallas_athena) wrote2011-02-19 10:10 pm
Entry tags:
Shadowboxing
Right now I am not packing boxes.
I really should be, but I'm finding it difficult. I'd always thought of myself as the sort who could up sticks and move on at the slightest notice. It's a bit chilling to look around and realise that ten years have gone by and, without necessarily meaning to, I seem to have put down some roots.
There was one year when I was a music-college postgrad when I lived in a very nice flat-- one room, but big, with high ceilings, Art Deco touches and a dishwasher. The day after I moved in I discovered why it was so affordable: the downstairs neighbours were psychopaths, given to pounding on the door and screaming. Slightly later, I discovered the cockroaches. Or they discovered me; I forget which. I lived there for six months and didn't even bother unpacking; a small ziggurat of boxes lay between the sofa and the TV, to be negotiated around and occasionally jumped over. Moving out of there was pretty easy.
This is harder. I think it might be easier if I could pin down why. It's a tiny, messy flat in a neighbourhood I've always felt uneasy about even admitting I lived in. It's messy because, not knowing how long I'd be here for, I never properly schematised where stuff should go. Now there are several strata of oh-god-company's-coming-shove-the-clutter-in-the-bedroom, and having to actually excavate all the heaps I've been avoiding dealing with for literally years is freaking me out a bit.
I can manage, obviously. What is life but the management of a panoply of shit that freaks you out? If one of my friends were where I am now, I'd choose some encouraging loud music, shake them gently by the shoulder and say "You've got this. Go and be badass." A solitary beast such as I must know how to be her own best friend, and I think it's that skill that I need to draw on now.
So. I've got this. I shall now put on some loud music and go and be badass. Either the behind-the-sofa clutter or I must die tonight. (I'd draw my sword at this point, but it's in a box.)
I really should be, but I'm finding it difficult. I'd always thought of myself as the sort who could up sticks and move on at the slightest notice. It's a bit chilling to look around and realise that ten years have gone by and, without necessarily meaning to, I seem to have put down some roots.
There was one year when I was a music-college postgrad when I lived in a very nice flat-- one room, but big, with high ceilings, Art Deco touches and a dishwasher. The day after I moved in I discovered why it was so affordable: the downstairs neighbours were psychopaths, given to pounding on the door and screaming. Slightly later, I discovered the cockroaches. Or they discovered me; I forget which. I lived there for six months and didn't even bother unpacking; a small ziggurat of boxes lay between the sofa and the TV, to be negotiated around and occasionally jumped over. Moving out of there was pretty easy.
This is harder. I think it might be easier if I could pin down why. It's a tiny, messy flat in a neighbourhood I've always felt uneasy about even admitting I lived in. It's messy because, not knowing how long I'd be here for, I never properly schematised where stuff should go. Now there are several strata of oh-god-company's-coming-shove-the-clutter-in-the-bedroom, and having to actually excavate all the heaps I've been avoiding dealing with for literally years is freaking me out a bit.
I can manage, obviously. What is life but the management of a panoply of shit that freaks you out? If one of my friends were where I am now, I'd choose some encouraging loud music, shake them gently by the shoulder and say "You've got this. Go and be badass." A solitary beast such as I must know how to be her own best friend, and I think it's that skill that I need to draw on now.
So. I've got this. I shall now put on some loud music and go and be badass. Either the behind-the-sofa clutter or I must die tonight. (I'd draw my sword at this point, but it's in a box.)
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