The Home for Waifs and Strays
Do you know how awesome it is to meet genuinely nice, personable people? The men that moved me were lovely, and days later I smiled at how smooth and efficient the experience was. Sometimes I forget that the world isn't full of angry, gung-ho people.
I moved. The new flat is smaller and warmer. I still have big bay windows but this time they come with a window seat. I still have a bedroom, that, although bereft of furniture feels like a haven from the world. It'll take time for me to settle, but I've made a start. The day I went back to the old flat to clean, I still felt like I was coming home, it still felt familiar to me.
I know that people don't always understand me, especially when they find out that I still own and use things that don't work, or are broken. It takes time to be able to pour water out of my kettle without it burning the pourer. My laptop speakers have gone bust and I still regularly wear a pair of converse that are more holes than shoe. These things that don't quite work that surround me make me feel safe. I can't explain why and even if I could I wouldn't want to.
The broken, the damaged, it all draws me in to a dark place where I feel comfortable. Which is not bad, it's really not. It's a (metaphorical) place of shade, warmth, and softness. Like burrowing under the duvet on a summer morning when you don't have to get up and do anything.
Friends and family couldn't understand why I was sad to say goodbye to my upstairs neighbour. On the face of it, I can see why. He was a volatile man, prone to breaking double-glazed windows and being arrested. He was perpetually drunk, stoned or a combination of both and I don't think I'll ever be able to listen to Pink Floyd's The Wall or Darkside Of The Moon all the way through again (not after hearing it non stop for a week, day and night). In a strange way I'm going to miss him. He wasn't necessarily a bad person, he had an honesty to him that only those who have very little to lose can have. For all his faults, he did try, and the cats still favour their cat-nip mouse from him over their other toys.
The new flat is very beige, very magnolia, very I-want-to-get-the-white-paint-out. When renting a flat in England you can almost always guarantee that it'll come in a shade of beige, it seems to be the standard that I can't wait to see die out. At first I was going to repaint, to make the walls white, but after thinking about it for a week, I'm gonna stick with the beige/magnolia, because it's not right unless something isn't quite right.