Back Home Again

Back in Sydney, back home, hooray!

My apartment is very small, and made smaller by the excess of furniture I have (a giant ottoman, named Otto from the Ottoman Empire, that folds out into a bed), a resin cow named Valencia, my desk and desktop computer set up, bookcase, couch, coffee table… the list goes on. And it’s kind of dark – dodgy lights, bottom floor apartment. But it’s my happy place. It’s my sanctuary. And when my mum was staying last week (I was at her place), she tidied up. It’s lovely. I could lie on my couch for hours, reading.

But my iPad battery is flat.

And I do have class tomorrow morning, then I must brave the crowds to grab some groceries (and, um, perhaps a stop at Gorman :oops: I think I have a serious problem. But a girl need her matching scarf and gloves setsĀ :love: )

But right now, I have a bag of broken Easter chocolate, my laptop has 34% battery and it’s only 9:19pm, so everything is good.

Time Flies

So, radio silence around here. A lot of drama and tension and relief and frustration because my family has a lot of issues.

But the good part of the silence? Well, I kind of got into my first choice university, studying Media Arts (thinking about it still makes me feel kind of ill, honestly.)

However, the university in question is in Sydney. Two hours away.

And I had no money to find an apartment. Now I have money… there are no apartments left, unless I happen to win the lottery. So the plan is commuting, at this point. It’s going to be dreadful and awful and miserable, but I don’t have a choice. I worked out that renting in Sydney will cost me around $20k for a year. If I am committing to that much money, I want to be really happy in that apartment; I want to love my days off because I’ll get to hang out there. It has to be – or have the potential to be – home.

So I start Wednesday.

Seven years older than most of the students, and I’m me. A lot of people, family members, have told me I’m scary. Because I’m so serious-looking, I guess, when I’m the goofiest person you’ll meet. I am crazy, silly, happy and so utterly, utterly childish, I should fit in great. I laugh all the time, loud and stupidly because the tiniest things are frelling hilarious.

But then, I’m also kind of a so-done-with-that snarky, judgemental bitch with trust issues that we can thank my final year in high school for.

So this is going to be awesome, mind-blowing and the happiest I’ve ever been in life, so far…

Or an unmitigated disaster.

Luckily, with a new laptop and iPad pending and a lot of commute time waiting for me, I’ll have a lot of time to blog all about it.

Long Days

Every year, I think to myself that life has to get better. That I can’t be more unhappy, that my home life can’t get more miserable, than it already is. And every single damn time, I am wrong. Things can get worse.

In August, we lost one of our rabbits, Domi, but also our 18 year old beagle, Molly. That was like a suckerpunch, honestly. I’ve lived more years with Molly than without her. She came to us this sad, neglected little two year old beagle who didn’t understand toys, bones or why there were three excited little girls crowding around her; she arrived the day after my 11th birthday, and one of my friends was staying over.

And she came with us, across two states and at least half a dozen moves, if not more. She was a beautiful, wonderful dog and she just… wore out in the end. She had various medical problems but in the end, she was just old.

Plus, my dad is living with us at the moment. He is really hard to live with. Like, he gets really angry and nasty when he can’t find specific things to eat. He doesn’t ask us to buy them or buy them himself, he just expects them to appear. It’s sure as hell not helping my depression. I’m getting worse again.

And my sister moved home from Sydney. Wow, that’s been a shock to the system. On one hand, we are really similar, which causes us to clash but also bond. So similar, I find myself saying things with a similar inflection to my sister and not realise it until I’ve said it. Or I’ll make a gesture that she makes.

On then other hand, we’re different. Very different. She’s lived away from home for five years – two years at boarding school, three years at university – by herself. We’ve both got different experienes, different ‘codes’ of behaviour, and I just feel very hunted and crowded with her home. `

So, yes, August has been hard. And my sister is home indefinitely, my father has no jobs coming up that will take him away from home, so I’m stuck in this horrid environment, making me sick and sadder.

On one hand, I’m so ready to live by myself, by my own rules and have a life after being stuck in an unhappy place for so long. On the other hand, I am so goddamned terrified. I like to plan and outline and prepare myself and every little detail. That’s way harder to do when it’s just me by myself.

And right now I’m tired, angry at my father (it has been a very long night) and waiting for my mother and sister to get home and waiting for my naughty, evil little cat to come home.

Tomorrow’s another day, I guess.