As a warning, there is a major possibility that I may not find any spare time to catch up with you the very best way I know - complaining about my stress-related breakouts (if Google suggests it, then I'm all for worshipping the fact) and running away to the ever-decreasing comfort of my bedroom to write on my blog has become as much of a cure as a dose of Calpol whenever a sniffle is spreading like wildfire amongst my family. For the record, I'm moving away this Friday - can anybody tell me how this date has suddenly gotten nearer and nearer without any warning? - and bearing in mind that yet another three hour car journey is inevitably in store for my still-exhausted self, any spare moment which I can find whilst rummaging through my semi-empty wardrobes and finishing off the last bag of roasted pistachio nuts lying in the cupboard cannot afford to be wasted, although I would love to keep you updated (and give myself something more entertaining than listening to Bart's cries for an hour or so) as often as possible despite these current circumstances.
Before my eyes flutter shut for the one hundredth and sixty second time in an hour, I am indeed more exhausted than I can possibly remember because the stress of adjusting to leading a new life and obviously getting ready to leave my old one behind - as I speak, my seven year tenancy in this house is drawing to a close - has been threatening to tip me over the edge, especially as I hadn't truly allowed myself to place a bit of faith in securing a lovely new home in an area of the country from which I obtained my happiest childhood memories. Considering that I could squeeze half an hour of my tighter-than-size-0-jeans schedule into returning to Nostalgia Lane on either Wednesday or Thursday before the broadband is officially switched off (how will I live without my Sky News app if WiFi is no longer available?), I'll skim over the tiresome-to-write facts regarding my exhaustion and the thousands of spots which have appeared out of nowhere on my chin which, as I mentioned to my mum last night, could be related to my up-in-the-air emotions at the moment.
However much I try to push myself into forgetting these house-related hassles and appreciating a rare moment which is completely free of worrying about what to pack into a half-full cardboard box and the manner in which I intend to handle the distribution of my clothes (to my delight, all four of my family's wardrobe - yes, including mine - will be taken away tomorrow as our new property already has enough built-in closets), I am always a slave to the tightening clutches of anxiety because my mind seems to be incapable of switching off from what is happening around me. From the moment I awake to the time that I go to bed, moving away - and turning a new leaf which, despite sending thrills of excitement through my veins, provokes a stream of butterflies to rest uncomfortably in my stomach - is near the top of the pile within my thoughts. As each day passes, I'm growing more impatient than an easily-angered Incredible Hunk caught up in a massive queue because, like many of the things which I don't particularly like, I prefer to get the worst over and done with as soon as possible; if the option was available, I wouldn't think twice about sending half of my bedroom to the new house and getting my bedroom ready in time for Friday.
If the internet connection was abruptly turned off which would therefore prevent me from posting new entries onto my blog, no words would put my devastation into words. Without my blog, I would place an accurate bet on my gazing at the sea blue sky from the window or allowing frustration to get the better of me whilst anticipating the day which was confirmed as the end of our tenancy over two months ago: Friday 28th March. Once I've reached the finishing line, there isn't any doubt as to my feeling like the winner of the London Marathon because the achievement itself discloses how I fought a long, tiresome battle to make my long-lost dream become a reality - is it any wonder that I'm so eager to lick the sweet, satisfying taste of victory sooner than later? Beneath all the panic and my blocked pores (as if I wish to be reminded about that problem), I know that life - and all its gifts, if even they don't appear to be so - will settle down and resume to normality after a while, but reaching fever point is more than enough to stress me out a little.
Anyway, as I mentioned several paragraphs ago, move-related stuff and sweat-trickling anxiety will be mentioned in a few days' time before I move away, so today I hope to appreciate this sunny morning and the day Monday itself. Unlike Garfield the Cat, I quite like Mondays because nothing springs me back into action like the beginning of a new week after two peaceful, if not overly docile days at the weekend - and if my mum whips up such a tasty homemade pasta sauce on this day, what is there not to like about Mondays? Today's topic is a break from heavy-loaded drama and extensive usage of 'major' words, so do sit back and relax as I explore my views on whether I would do particular things. Hmm, I already know what my answer to giving up chocolate for a month would be...
What would you do if... your brother stole your smartphone?
Well, what would you do if you were in my shoes? A Buffy-inspired kick in the you-know-whats and a hysterical complaint to my parents would undoubtedly secure the return of my beloved Nokia Lumia 620, which hardly ever leaves my side. Unless my skirt fails to have a pocket, that is.
However, I know my brother as well as the lyrics to Royals and despite owning a cheap, Wi-Fi-less model, my brother wouldn't scoop so low as to stealing my phone. Surely he would realize the consequences if I took away the frame containing his cherished Spider-Man issue? I can't even breathe near it, let alone to grab it and run for my life across the upstairs landing. So, unless Jack was possessed by the Mean Brother demon, I doubt that this incident could ever possibly occur anywhere else apart from my wildest dreams.
What would you do if... you obtained tickets for a One Direction concert?
Finally, an easy question! Like Aleksandr Orlov says, that would be simples: within a moment's notice, I would put the tickets for the concert onto eBay and keep a steady eye on the banking app as a month's worth of precious wages enter the account. Done and dusted.
What would you do if... you were left home alone for one whole day?
As I can precisely recall, staying alone at home for just a few hours nearly bored me to a premature death as I struggled to find something remotely entertaining to do. And as the kittens would be leaping over the kitchen gate every five minutes, I wouldn't truly appreciate the once-in-the-lifetime experience like many teenagers would.
However, if the kittens had been taken to a pet spa (as if it would ever stand a chance of happening; my parents would immediately taken to the local court because of Benny the Hissy Kitty chewing somebody's finger off) and my brother was somehow dragged away from his Xbox 360, I would put on my favourite dance tracks - my mum's fantastic collection of 80s cassettes is visual proof of this - and get a real vibe of what it feels like to be hanging out in a nightclub. In the privacy of my own home. Without any messy litter trays to clear up. Whilst wearing my pink Aristocats pyjamas.
Bliss!
What would you do if... an ice cream van turned up on the front door?
I'd yelp like an overexcited child if my favourite flavour - a Cadbury's Flake cornetto - was available, before starting a slanging match with the driver for hiking the prices of a single cone through the roof. Ice cream just doesn't taste as sweet if it leaves you out of pocket, you know.
What would you do if... your spots became a thing of the past?
So many things at once! I'd smile, burst into tears (which, bearing in mind that tears produce germs, wouldn't really be a wise idea) and gaze at the wonderful sight of a clear complexion in my mirror. Despite my current setback and low esteem over my traumatic breakout, I still visualize the day when I'm free of hormonal-related acne which keeps me going during those moments where I lose all faith in ever reaching the other side of the dark, pimple-covered tunnel.
What would you do if... only one type of food - e.g. sweets - could be eaten for the rest of your life?
Without variety - like the now oh-so-predictable TV schedule - wouldn't life become a bore? And as sugar is further linked to causing obesity and irritating acne, my fear is sugar is almost on a par with my childhood terror of buzzing flies and ugly insects. Just stop making me think about my very worst nightmare!
What would you do if... all your dreams came true?
Gosh, wouldn't life be such a breeze if all our wants and desires suddenly morphed into reality without having to lift a single finger? Although I have often complained about struggling to make the best of things in the past, achieving something independently secures a happiness which nobody can take away from you, but it is usually all too easy to give up when the going gets tough. My dream of moving away to a better place is on the verge of coming true, yet in order to succeed, a bit of elbow grease and pressure is needed because no magical fairy godmother to going to prepare everything in advance for me.
As an answer to that question, I would indeed feel happy at the prospect of not having to work in order to achieve my wishes because hard work is extremely exhausting, but life finds a way of settling itself within time, and I have maintained that view for as long as I can remember.
No comments:
Post a Comment