Today I became officially homeless. For the past few months I've been wavering around homelessness - surfing kind couches, travelling the 4 hours down to Devon to make use of my parents' house and comfy beds...but I've had my Dad's flat in Richmond as home to my suitcases, even if I wasn't always able to stay there. On Monday, Dad gets outmustered (that's navyspeak for getting the flat and inventory checked off and okayed) and today I moved my stuff and dragged it across London to my Good and long-suffering friends, Sian and Marc.
Pulling a massive suitcase across London is not my favourite activity, although I seem to have done my fair share of that of late. The going up stairs is the hardest - at one point I teetered on a top step, in danger of falling all the way back down when I felt an almighty shove - a woman had taken it upon herself to push me up the stairs (for fear I fall and squidge her I imagine). Going down stairs is pretty hard too, since the weight of the bag threatens to bump my weakling butt all the way down. My biggest fear though is that someone might offer to help, because if they did I'd have to split-second-weigh the likelihood of them stealing my bag and running off with all my worldly goods, which wouldn't do them much good but would leave me very cold. No one offered to help (other than shoving me up the stairs). This is what London does to people - they either don't want to help or they assume I'll suspect them of thievery and don't offer.
Anyway - I was talking about homelessness. So when I arrived at Sian and Marcs, I rang the buzzer and failed to open the door and Marc had to come down to let me in and gallantly struggle with my bag up to their flat. Bad enough that I'm taking up precious Wapping square footage, he has to lug my suitcase up and in. Of course Marc was generous and kind and didn't care, but in that moment, I could have cried. I felt so dependent, so un-independent and a major sponge.
As I walked to Waitrose (trans. super posh supermarket and only supermarket in Wapping) to buy ingredients for yummy please-don't-hate-me-for-invading- your-space food, I realised that this is the beginning of the next 6 months. I thought it had begun already with the EVA, but up until now it had all just been in my head. Now it's in a corner of Sian and Marc's flat and I don't know how long it's going to be until I have a home again (don't worry Marc - I'm out by Christmas - I meant till I move to the states).
I could let it all well up and overwhelm me. Goodness knows, I'm an expert panicker. But my mantra is this: Jeremy and a bookcase, Jeremy and a bookcase...and maybe a rocking chair...Jeremy, bookcase, chair... If I chant that in my head whenever I feel the panic rising, I think I should make it through. Sian and Marc, you can chant 'she'll be gone by Christmas'. And in the meantime, I'll make lots of yummy dinners and will dust the transformers and try not to moan about the preponderance of sport on the TV. Love you guys. You have made me feel nothing but most welcome - I just hope you don't end up dancing with glee when my suitcase and I are on our way again.
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