Thursday, 18 May 2006
@ 10.52 pm
He's moving home, bye bye...
When I drive my car (big, white, automatic) it often makes me feel like I'm a taxi driver. It's an impression that is magnified immensely when I drive leisurely round a corner, forgetting to indicate.* Unfortunately the illusion is diminished somewhat when people get out and don't hand me a twenty dollar note in payment.
Of the songs I've listened to tonight there are three that have resonated. the professor & la fille danse - Damien Rice, Anna Begins - Counting Crows, and Fever Dream - Iron and Wine. Don't know if that's particularly earth shattering information or anything, but it does sum up the mood somewhat.
Think I'm coming down with something. Or getting over something. Or something. Fuck it, I don't know. Whatever it is, there's definitely a feeling of intense dissatisfaction about me at present.
What I'm definitely coming down with is an attack of moving-home-itis. I've been fighting it, but I think the growing recognition that I'm not saving enough money right now for future travel purposes has pretty much made the decision for me. It's a bit pants, as while I don't mind living with my mother (truth be told, we live at such different hours we've tended to see each other less when I've lived at her place in the past than during the times when I've been flatting and actually make an effort to go see her regularly) it does represent something of a retreat in my mind (bruised pride, perhaps?), and it stings a little to realise that I can't live as I have become accustomed to and save as I need to. And also, the title of this blog is a little misleading in that Mum's house is definitely not "home", well, not my home anyway. So it really does feel like I'm moving into someone else's space.
So yeah, once we get through the 48 Film event o' doom in a couple of weekends, I'll begin the bloody annoying process of getting ready to leave my little flat. Ah well, it's getting cold and damp in here anyway. And there'll be cats to cuddle.
Hmm.
* Not that I really ever do this. In fact I tend to hurl abuse (in my mind) at people who don't indicate when they go round corners. Unless it's my Mum or Dad and I'm in the car, then I'm faintly embarrassed by the whole thing. Oh, point being that the corner in question wasn't such a bad one to not indicate on, as it's that one that turns on to Rastrick Street from the back streets of Carlton Corner... ooo, see, I even get *guilty* when I think about not indicating.
