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If home is where the heart is, I haven’t been home for a very, very long time. But I suppose that’s neither here nor there. My mother called earlier to tell me our house has been sold. Every time I type that, or say it out loud, fresh tears well up in my eyes. We’ve lived in this house for 28 years – that’s almost my entire life. I love this house. I love having a bath with the sun streaming in through the large north-facing bay window. I love the bath itself – big and comfy. I have the best room in the house – it has a street-facing window (west)  and a north-facing window. (The only thing I don’t love so much is the wonky little shelf above the bedroom door; last night when I took off one book, all the others bounced off my skull en route to the floor, damaging the books worse than my head, I guess.)

My mom needs this fresh start though. Except it is going to take a little while longer still – however long it will take for her new flat to be built at the back of my brother’s house. Until then we will have to move in with my brother. And his wife. And his stepdaughter. And his son. Six of us in a little three-bedroom house.

Let’s say that I’m not bothered by probably having to live out of boxes for three months (very optimistic estimate that the building will be done in three months, I know), there is the issue that my first alarm goes off at 04:45 in the morning, and because my day starts so early, I try to go to bed relatively early too. Not so sure how well that is going to work when I share a room with a Grade 8 girl. And I’m big on privacy. Not sure I’ll have much of that either.

Yes, I’m probably only considering the bad and negative, but dammit, I’m allowed to. I’m not thrilled about being as dependent on my family as I am, and I’m being realistic about six different personalities living on top of each other. As it is some weekends drive me out the walls when it’s just half that amount, and then it’s when I’ve had the luxury of hiding away in my room.

I’m also very likely to be over-reacting. The last 24 hours have been emotionally overwhelming, and my sciatica is still causing endless sorrow. So I feel very fragile about it all.

About Syllable

A frugal shopaholic called Syllable: Intelligent, skeptic, curious, naïve, passionate, moody, honest, creative, obsessive & obsessed. A dreamer, a worrier, a writer, a reader, a listener, an observer. My little site of fiction: http://www.thesinglesyllable.co.za/

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