You CAN go home again.




Photo: Hannah Millard Photography



I've been feeling all a bit funny these past few days.




I think it might be because I've been in the House of Pastelle for nearly two whole weeks. Two weeks is about the length of time I have spent in any one place for the past four months. I can't help but feel that despite the Victorian-style windowsill decor and the spotty tablecloth; the star-shaped hotwater-bottle and the "LAURA! SORT OUT YOUR LIFE!" to-do list on the side of the wardrobe; the "Lie back and think of England" posters and the bulging dirty laundry basket that all declare this little boxed room as my own, that there will be a knock on the door any moment now and an Italian-accented voice will ask me, "You-are-ready-for-to-go-train?"



It feels like a trick to see people I know and people who know me every single day, and sometimes when I am still wearing my (inside-out) pajamas.



I went twenty-four hours without seeing Calum and when he came over for a cuppa we both marvelled, "And to think normally it is nine months between cups of tea! We could drink three in a row right now and do it all again tomorrow!" It was a celebration worthy of chocolate Hob-Nobs, but I didn't have any in. We drank cider instead.



I wouldn't change this whole year for anything. All the new boys people and places and THOUGHTS I have had. It's been bloody brilliant! But it's all a bit different for me now. These relationships are for realsies, this is a reality now. The same faces, the same places, day in and day out. The schedule, the timetable, the responsibility.



I didn't even mind when the fire alarm went off and I had to stand outside in the cold wearing pigtails. It doesn't bother me if I have to wash up someone else's cereal bowl because it is the cereal bowl of my FRIEND who I LIVE WITH and WHO CARES IF I AM STILL OUT AT 2 A.M. WITH A BOY SHE HAS NEVER MET. That is what it is all about, isn't it? I don't think I knew that. You forget that people care when life is forever on the road.



But I do have one small problem. A little concern. What worries me is this.



If everything is so fucking rosey, what on earth will I blog about?

Comments

  1. Calum Karczewski1 October 2010 at 06:47

    When I get a mention, it's like being mentioned by a celebrity. It really is!

    I can pull your skirt down in front of a group of hot boys if you'd like, surely that would be blog worthy.

    Be warned. If you go more than 10 days without posting now you know what will happen. x

    ReplyDelete
  2. Brother Tobias2 October 2010 at 01:49

    The inside-out pyjamas are nagging me (I hate being nagged by pyjamas). I hope their inside-outedness is the result of haste/ cider/ someone else putting you into them whilst insensible/ or an attempt to mute a bad colour choice, as opposed to the male pants rotation principle.

    (Sorry; I had to delete my first attempt following an unforgiveable 'they're' 'their' error)

    ReplyDelete
  3. Laura Jane Williams2 October 2010 at 04:12

    Cal- you are a cold, hard man my friend. And just out of curiosity where might these said hot boys be. Just. Well. You know. For a friend... x

    Brother- If I knew why my pajamas frequently end up inside out I would absolutely let you know. Sometimes it is almost like I just have a bit of a re-jig in the middle of the night. I go to bed all the right way round, and I wake up... dishevelled. I should probably start locking my door.

    ReplyDelete

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