I haven’t blogged very much lately. My computer was in the repair shop for a couple of weeks but I had use of Bean’s old lap top so I could have posted if I wanted to. Truth is, I haven’t really felt like I’ve had very much nice to write, so I haven’t bothered to write anything. Everything I’m feeling is so priviliged and whingey, which is pretty much what this whole post is about…

Right now I feel that our life is in limbo. We are suspended in time, just waiting for the life we intended to live to begin.

Here we are, stuck in a town we never meant to live in. Even though we chose to move here as a stepping stone to moving to a town nearby (but too far to be a part of right  now) it certainly wasn’t part of the plan to stay here for a year. You see, we were just passing through.

Now, it’s been a year. We still don’t have a friendship group. We have a couple of friends, but we really need more than a couple of friends because friends get busy with their own lives and can’t possibly be expected to meet all our socialising desires no matter how nice they are. I sort of know my way around here now, and I know lots of places that are really lovely, but at the same time our visits to those places are tainted with an impatience on my part. I’m not suppose to still be here you know?

The thing is, the longer I stay here the less sure I am that I know where I’m meant to be. A year ago I was sure it was in that nearby but not near enough town, and now I’m quite unsure that’s the place. I’m left wondering if I’ll ever find my place in this world.

Our house, it’s not a home. It’s just a place we’re staying right now, while we wait for real life to begin.

I try so hard to view it as a home… it’s just that (aside from the location) the double garage, laminate benches, cheap vinyl floor, cheap carpet, aluminium window frames, the boxy legolandness of it and lack of hanging hooks on the walls make it hard to view it as my home.

Meanwhile, pinterest is like my virtual glory box. Bookmarked pictures of wooden floors (some painted white, some clear coated or oiled), porcelain sinks, weatherboard homes, stained glass windows, wooden window frames, claw foot baths, ornate doors and lovely little DIY projects wait for the day that we have a home of our own again.

It’s not just the look of this place, or the location though. Renting is getting me down. The temporary nature of it just goes against my strong desire to put down roots, to anchor ourselves to a home, a patch of earth, a community. We have a rent inspection next week too, and while I understand a desire to make sure the tenants aren’t destroying the ever so important investment property I just can’t help but bristle at the invasion of my privacy. I keep a very clean and ordered house and I feel irritated that someone else (who may or may not keep a clean home) has a right to come in to my house and judge whether we’re clean enough, good enough, to live here. I’m confident there’ll be no problem, the house and yard are in better condition than when we got here, but it’s still awful. The worst of it is that the day of the inspection is Bean’s birthday and we’d much rather be enjoying a lunch time roast than making ourselves scarce lest the sproggets strew their toys around the house as they do when they’re home.

I have seen lots of inspirational pinterest quotes lately that say things to the effect of home is where family is, or the best thing about home is the people we share it with, and while it gives me a warm glow in my heart to read things like that I find it harder to really believe it when I see the damage that here is doing to my family.

The sprogs don’t have friends to play with regularly, they’re very isolated which is terrible for them since they’re so social, much more so than I. Seeing them so lonely breaks my heart more than my own feeling of loneliness ever could. Not only are they lonely, they’re bored too and they are harder to get along with when they’re bored. They try to stir each other up and generally cause mischief.

We’re still drowning a bit in financial obligations too. The simple maths is that the repayments and other general outgoings exceed the income, and that leads to a lot of stressing for me and Bean.

We still haven’t been able to afford a new mattress (even an old one), so we’ve been sleeping on a foam egg cup mattress topper for 7 weeks now. Oh how my body just hurts. I’m feeling tired and sore, every night that goes by without a proper mattress is compounding those feelings to a point where I’ve felt that I’m spiralling down into a dark headspace, unable to see positives where they definitely exist, unable to find joy in the days spent with the sprogs. I’ve been snappy and cranky, generally a pretty horrid person to live with really.

Thankfully my dear Mum has offered to buy us a mattress, she thinks she’s just giving it to us, but we’re just adding it to the list of things we owe her for. We hope to pay her back very soon actually, because we’ve got some great plans to get us out of debt and to the end of limbo-land fairly quickly. It’ll require some hard work and sacrifices but we hope it will pay off, hey we wouldn’t do it if we didn’t would we?!

Stay tuned, when it’s official I’ll write about it…


posted by wildecrafted in journal and have Comments (6)


I don’t have a home.

Of course, I have the shed, that’s where I live right now. I have a roof over my head, but I don’t feel “home” anywhere. No where feels like that place where I just belong.

If I do have a home, I certainly don’t know where it is and I’ve spent most of my adult life searching for “home”.

It’s definitely not where I grew up.

One of the many places I’ve lived at since leaving my Mum’s place 10 years ago came close to feeling like home. I had community, I had a fabulous social life, I felt like I belonged there at that time.Now? I don’t know. It’s still a beautiful place. My community have long since moved on. Perhaps there’s community there now who are more relevant to my lifestyle now? (read: not spending my nights knitting scarves and playing pool poorly while drinking pints of water (I’m a non-drinker, remember?) at the local pub then walking out to the carpark where my kombi was parked & crawling in to bed)

I’m loathe to keep moving around trying to find home. I have young children, one of whom has made it quite clear to me that she’d like to stay put somewhere, she’d like to make some friends and not move away from them.

I’ve just  spent the last two weeks “back home”, you know, where I grew up.

Being in Albany these last few months I’d begun to think that where I grew up could actually be my home, since Albany so plainly isn’t.

All it took was two weeks back there to remind me that is fool’s thinking!

So, we’re back to the drawing board. Luckily we’ve got a few half devised plans still scribbled on the drawing board though and they’re worth revisiting.

We’ll stay put, for the time being, in “not-home”. We have to, Bean’s got to finish what he started here. It’s nice, in a way, having something that anchors us to this place for now. We can’t run away before we’ve formed a new plan and thoroughly researched it before acting on it.

I could view it as being trapped, and I’m certain there’ll be days when I do, but I think I’ll just spend my energy viewing it as an opportunity to pause and reflect for a while instead.

The bed on wheels that was my “home” for several months


posted by wildecrafted in home and have Comments (2)