The Last Goodbye

Despite the title probably send chills of panic down your spine in fear of my declaring an all-final goodbye on here, I plead that you stop hyperventilating like an overwhelmed fan at a Lady Gaga concert and take your first steps back to Planet Earth: although my temper has flared more dangerously than a live flame in recent days and it still amazes me how I've even found some precious stress-free time, there is no possible way that I'm quitting this blog because it has all but been a lifesaver as I've fought a hair-raising battle against dealing with the hassles of moving away and starting a new, yet happier life.

If the bags underneath my eyes drop a hint over my current state of emotions, I am both physically and mentally exhausted from putting almost all of my possessions - books, make-up, ornaments and sadly my copy of Lorde's Pure Heroine whose true-to-life lyrics accurately describe how I feel right now - away into a ton of cardboard boxes, along with getting my head around the fact that a larger-than-imaginable change in my life is on the verge of taking place, especially since this week began. Beneath the puffy eyelids and nail-biting frustration which provokes me to lose all sight of my sanity within a moment's notice, I truly am euphoric over my upcoming move to a lovely village because I've been dreaming of this move for years, yet everything - such as piling the remains of your jewellery box into a box and creating a schedule relating to how moving day will pan out - is easier said than done, an expression of which I've literally learnt inside out over the past month or so.

Once again (in case I've mentioned it in the past, though my memory is remarkably similar to a goldfish's of late), I apologize if you feel disappointed due to my failing to discuss anything completely unrelated to cellotape, bubblewrap and continuous trips to a service station in the middle of a motorway where I had my very first serving of KFC; on a normal, sunny day unlike this current damp one, I would probably talk about my newly found penchant for a 'magical' eyeliner or explore my views on the issues surrounding modern day culture. However, would you personally feel capable - or at least make an effort to do so - of engaging in a particular conversation whilst your mind wanders as far as the Atlantic Ocean, focusing on anything but preparing for a fresh-as-newly-cleaned start in an area ever so different to your own?

The adjective 'stressed' has become as useless as the Xbox which was placed somewhere far away - where else would it be apart from a box? - could entertain my bored-out-of-his-mind brother because I've gone way beyond the usual realms of stress, reaching full capacity in my imaginary bottle which has somehow contained an abnormal amount of anxiety and tensity ever since my family and I received notice of our move over two months ago. Like a bottle of Diet Coke (which, as the fridge looks emptier than I've ever seen it, would go down as a spirit-raising treat at this time) being mixed with a bag of Mentos, I'm extremely close to reaching breaking point and, unless all of this move-related stress magically disappears overnight, the only way that I can return to some sort of normality is releasing the exhaustion, stress and jittery butterflies swarming around my stomach into the open air. Yet as I'm being further contained by a warehouse amount of boxes within my own home - therefore giving me absolutely no freedom from the life-changing event set to go ahead in two days' time - how can I free myself from the recyclable objects which are threatening to unsettle my mood to an all-time low?

What irritates me the most - thanks to my recent lack of deep, nourishing sleep, seeing red is never more than a heated complaint or blood-boiling article featured in The Daily Mail away - is that my mind can visualize an image of my new bedroom being free of boxes, looking even more immaculate and tidy than it has in the past here. Of course, such a pleasant sight as the one mentioned shouldn't truly anger me like the dreadful news of the Hobnobs being scoffed by my brother, but being stuck over a hundred miles away in my current home leaves me falling prey to the clutches of frustration because it is impossible for me to achieve that heavenly image as the countdown towards Friday creeps closer and closer. If there truly was a time where my impatient trait wasn't needed, now would definitely be it - otherwise, all of my problems would probably diminish within the click of a finger!

By now, I wouldn't be too far off by assuming that you are beyond desperation for me to take a chill pill and sink into one of the leather sofas before it is taken away by the removal firm soon which, if all goes to plan, may be the case tomorrow afternoon. In an ideal world, I would have swigged a whole jar of stress-reducing pills within a single mouthful but this fantasy of mine doesn't stand a likely possibility of occurring in this hard-hitting reality; does being so tired come as such a massive shock to you, or am I simply one of many who struggle to reach beyond stress's gripping clutches? Despite my mind wandering elsewhere of late, one of the many inspirational lines from John Green's fantastic Looking For Alaska continues to spring to the centre of my mind, particularly as it is so relevant to the way each of us lead our lives: like Alaska Young continuously said (a character of whom I wish to emulate more often), how will I ever get out of this labyrinth of suffering? At times like these, I face an all-mighty struggle against dispelling my fears of venturing a new path and seeing beyond the pile of boxes which almost tower over my 5ft 4in (gosh, how I wish that those digits would increase!).

Anyway, I ought to stop complaining about this move because, in many ways, I've been preparing for it for a long time; avoiding the task of painting my bedroom's walls is solid proof of my thinking because I have never felt particularly comfortable in what I somewhat reluctantly call my home. This entry is, as I intend to be, the last that I will write in this house before moving away because it seems rather impossible as to finding some time to write here tomorrow - preparing the last of the boxes and getting some valued rest before a long car journey will be at the top of tomorrow's priorities before Friday rolls around at 5am, the time of which I plan to get up before the removal firm arrive two hours later.

This house, despite its faults and lung-infecting levels of dust, has been an area in which I've grown (surprisingly in height, although I haven't grown for around four years or so) into the person I am now, and my heart would have to be as hard as a soil-covered stone to avoid becoming nostalgic over the memories which were created since moving here seven years ago. In this house, I realized my ambition to pursue a career as a journalist - an aspiration of which I continue to work towards, as this writing haven of a blog has proven - and learnt the true meaning of family whilst being educated at home by my parents, who have always performed their best for the sake of my brother and I.

My first furry pals - Tom and Jerry - forged a closer friendship with me here due to spending more time at home and inevitably themselves, which I felt absolutely relieved about when both of them sadly passed away last year. Strangely, Tom would have died a year ago on Saturday, but I feel like I've been ignoring that anniversary due to everything else going on - maybe, in his own unique way, Tom decided to leave a gift to all of us on a date which has held a Kleenex box of grief since he left us last year. Who knows whether it is true or not, but I find it a comforting thought nonetheless; Tom had plenty of fun times whilst playing in a box, so perhaps he wished for us to get our hands upon a few! Our new kittens, Bart and Benny, will be sitting in the back with my brother and I for a car journey which will last around four hours, so I'm interested as to how they will react on their second outing in the outside world; their previous and first time in the car with us was an awkward one to say the least because we were mere strangers to them!

Even if I was offered the opportunity to stay in my current home in order to steer clear of this moving-related stress, I would still go ahead with the move because I don't make an effort to dust my wardrobe and pack away my cherished copy of Twilight without obtaining a reward at the other end; why stop if one has already started? Once we have arrived and I have hopefully got a semi-decent internet connection, I will finally exhale my long-held sigh of relief because all of the suffering - and lack of toilet stops whilst travelling on the motorway - will be worth it. That moment is quickly coming, if my gut instinct is getting a positive vibe, yet I cannot drop everything and wait for it to come because I have to carry on until everything is sorted out, don't I?

Farewell, my current home. From the three leaks to broken window handles to the three weeks of no heating and hot water last November, there are plenty of memories which needn't be forgotten in a hurry as I pack away the remains of my bedroom and take one final look around the house. So many things were created here - my blog is fighting for the top spot on my list, by the way - but I will be creating something better in my new home, where a brighter future is potentially in store for my family and I.

Ah, the last goodbye: where will the farewell take me? To an area offering good schools, a better prospect of jobs and a couple of decent-looking Chinese takeaways. And, uh, poorer broadband speeds.

See you whenever I can find time (and load this page)!