Yes, you can pretty much declare that I almost had a panic attack when I realized that my family had only brought along the half-eaten remains of a Christmas cake, leftover soda bread and roasted monkey nuts in the car on Friday, the day of which we moved over one hundred and fifty miles to our new home; however, the food-related issue has just been sorted out thanks to a late night trip to Asda where my starving hungry (and mad, if you cared to glance at the deep purple bags beneath our drooping eyes) brother and I piled as much food as we could find, determined to avoid another day with hardly anything remotely hunger-quashing to eat. Even the salted pretzels which I stopped buying several months ago returned with a vengeance - despite proudly declaring that I have a rather small appetite (weighing out my muesli is proof of this, though the weighing scales have yet to be discovered in one of the kitchen-titled boxes), I couldn't bring myself to resist the giant size variety because they always satisfied my hunger pangs within a single mouthful - but I'm already starting to settle into our new home, having gone for a walk around the village with my brother yesterday afternoon.
As I've only just gained internet access on my laptop and am dying to test the much-discussed theory that broadband speeds are significantly slower in more rural areas - unless you got the idea into the head that I'd just become of the many inhabitants of a loud and constantly bustling city, I'm living in a village which greatly reminds me of the British TV soap opera, Emmerdale, minus the farm and once-a-year whodunnit murders - I won't chat nineteen to the dozen for too long, especially as today is Mothering Sunday after all. Although rifling through the boxes and rediscovering our possessions has claimed the title of being main priority at the moment, even moving into our new home two days ago would probably not be accepted as a valid excuse in order to avoid peeling a bag of parsnips in preparation of today's roast dinner, but after several days of indulging on spicier-than-aromatic-gingerbread takeaways and almost chucking up the small remains of a horrible meal at the local pub, I just know that I will never ever take home-cooked meals - and treats, if my sudden dislike for packets of supermarket-bought biscuits proves my beliefs - for granted in the future.
Even before our marathon of dining in McDonald's and getting our first and last taste of the Dutchman's chips around the corner began, I have always appreciated my mum's out-of-this-world cookery skills, which I envy to hone to the maximum level as I get older. Yet getting my 5-a-day hasn't counted as one of my daily missions for the past week or so because I've been struggling to keep my stress under strict control; but, as my bedroom's appearance shifts into one of which I proudly admire and the stack of boxes start to decrease into a square of valuable space, my ability to breathe and forget my issues is becoming more natural and easier for me which, as my skin has significantly suffered thanks to my lack of beauty sleep (and vitamin-rich vegetables), will help me return to a sense of normality within no time.
And, whilst I bend my legs into a position which even the most experienced gymnast would struggle to perform to an Olympics-style level on my bed, I feel all the more happier by simply jotting down my thoughts in one of the few outlets where I can truly describe my current state of mind and find a comedian-inspired quip for every single hassle and dash of pure-as-fresh-air happiness - spitting out an overcooked chunk of expensive steak included - which I've come across since uploading my last blog entry on Thursday.
Without being compelled to sit on my bed and get spooked by birds swooping past my window every five minutes - whether I still have a long way to go until I completely catch up on my precious beauty sleep, it is still unclear as to whether these birds are a figment of my overused imagination or not - down below is a list of almost all things I've done within the space of three days, which ought to give you a fairly accurate idea of how hectic my life has recently been. As a token of my appreciation for my cherished-as-Cherished-Teddies readers, I've specially left out my chore of scrubbing my new en-suite bathroom because, whether you spend almost half the day in there or not, hardly anybody is willing to hear about how and when you scrubbed it to an inch of its life. And the fact that I cleaned it all without a pair of protective gloves to hand would not be music to one's ears in the slightest...
- Thanks to the removal firm arriving to take away the majority of our possessions the day before we moved, my spaced mind forgot to ring any alarm bells until after my coat and scarves - which, despite Spring having recently arrived on our doorsteps, I continue to wear on a constant basis due to my lizard-like body temperature - were added to the removal van and driven away, which opened an unnecessary and deeply unwanted can of worms for everybody. However, Little Miss Forgetful (a.k.a me) shortly discovered the true meaning of Daft Punk's Get Lucky when my mum bought a new beige Burberry-style mac and a warm leopard print scarf for me whilst visiting the supermarket. Hurrah! And my much-regretted mistake didn't prevent me from washing my hair for one last time in the bathroom, either, so I really cannot complain about having an extra and more Spring-suited coat to wear as of when. So, along with gaining an en-suite of my dreams and a satisfactory broadband speed, I well and truly got lucky!
- I almost danced with delight (as much as one typically could whilst being squashed by a basket containing two wide-eyed kittens and my handbag which weighed a tonne) when the car drove past our old house one final time, relief flooding through me as I realized that seven years of leaks, broken boilers and endless problems had reached a close. Unlike a lot of people who often break down or wipe away a tear of sadness when moving away from a much-cherished house, it was absolutely the opposite for myself which has made this move a lot easier to deal with - and who, if one had been placed in my position, wouldn't complain?
- My newly-reignited passion for the lemon-flavoured fizzy drink 7 Up returned when my family and I stopped off at a service station over halfway to our destination, which provoked me to gulp the larger-than-my-leg bottle with an excitement which I'd never quite known. And my brother and I got another taste of KFC at the station for the third week in a row, though this recent establishment is likely to cease as three hour car journeys (one of which included Bart and Benny, who never uttered a single cry nor cowered in the corner of their Kermit-green basket) will be reserved to when we return to our dentist for appointments every three months. Kentucky fried chicken can only been appreciated so many times, do you not think?
- On our very first night in our new village (just when will everything stop being so new?), my family and I learnt a valuable lesson which will definitely not be forgotten in a hurry: regardless of the monster-like groans which your stomach makes and an out-of-the-blue to consume anything remotely swallowable in sight, never eat in a pub. As it is often referred to in England, there surely must be a reason for which food served in a pub is called pub grub; just like the name, the food doesn't taste as good as you hope. And, unlike a Big Mac or serving of fries, pub grub leaves your pocket emptier than an unfurnished house - so yes, tucking into a bland and unsatisfactory meal at a pub really is a mistake which one ought to avoid at all costs. Believe me, I'm not kidding!
- For the first time in years, I have woken up to the glorious tune of birds singing for joy, which has so far not failed to put me into a good, ready-to-do-anything mood. After growing used to the headache-inducing rumble of cars racing past my old house and local residents barking as loudly as their dogs, it is undoubtedly going to take some time until I adjust to this new change, which has already been welcomed by the rest of my family.
- Instead of stumbling out of bed for the pure sake of doing so (and calling dibs on the box of cereal before my brother latches his unwashed paws upon it), I'm now itching to get up because I cannot wait to experience the day and happily get on with what needs to be done. OK, cleaning out the remains of what I believed was either a Cadbury's creme egg or caramel bar in a cupboard wasn't exactly my idea of fun - in fact, I feel as euphoric as one would in nightclub by writing here right now - but nothing can possibly beat the wave of satisfaction which hits you after finishing something which played a role to gaining happiness. I'm happy now that my family can put away the plates, food and yet-unopened bags of pretzels into the cupboards without fearing that they will come into contact with nasty germs or stomach bugs, and helping others out during a highly erratic time makes me feel pretty proud of my ability to offer a helping hand whenever it is needed.
Within the space of less than a week, my life has been caught in a whirlwind of change, yet I've come out on the other side with my lips curved into a smile which displays all the excitement, thrills and indeed happiness that I'm currently feeling. Erratic and stressful this move has been, but it hasn't been different in the slightest to anybody else who has found him or herself in this position, and I'm eternally grateful for the opportunity to turn a new leaf which will inevitably start one of the many chapters in my life.
As for my skin starting a new routine, I'm not quite so sure, but it definitely helps that I'm in a happier state of mind - so long, cardboard boxes and all the stress which goes into moving away!
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