It isn’t often I am known to gloat in written form, or indeed any form for that matter. If I do, it isn’t because I know I’m doing it, but probably because I’m too happy or pleased about something that I struggle to keep it contained in my head (or mouth) and so I have to waffle on about whatever it is to whoever will listen without falling asleep. I can’t help it – if something makes me happy I have to tell someone, anyone about it. That’s one of the good things about blogging, even though it isn’t telling someone face to face, someone out there will be reading the news and hopefully, if the right kind of rain is falling and there is a stiff breeze blowing in the right direction, my happy news will make them/you smile too.
When we were still in the planning stages of moving house, I had a “vision” as it were. I’m not talking about actual visions or prophecies, nor do I believe in the hokum of fate or destiny. I am perfectly happy admitting it was a day/evening dream and not a scary flash of insight into the future. I was imagining how my life in the new house with Tom was going to pan out – and while I was imagining this, Tom was on the turbo trainer and I was wrapped up like someone from “On the Buses”. My daydream was something vague and mundane and ordinary – nothing fancy or obscure. We didn’t win the lottery in my dream, or become famous overnight. Nothing changed other than where we lived. And while such dreams are obtainable, I didn’t think it would happen. Oh her of little faith.
Last weekend, it happened. The Move. It wasn’t the best move I’ve ever made in my adult life, nor was it the worst. The worst was in uni – a midnight flit from a shared house and some rather nasty characters calling themselves my housemates and into my girlfriend’s shared house. Where I spent 6 months pretending to the landlord (if they ever came round) that I was “just visiting”. It was never going to be my greatest moment. No – this move was considerably less dramatic, although there was an incident of the removal guy being a chauvinistic ass who managed to smash the window pane in the communal front door…guess who picks up the tab for that repair job? But on the whole it was a good move – one that I have been looking forward to since about September.
Fast forward through the week, through starting a new job, through meeting new neighbours, new neighbour’s cat thinking she belongs in our flat, through early nights and early mornings to the first Friday night in the new home. Dinner of left over enchiladas (made from left over chilli), in pjs and chilling out on the sofa with Magic radio on the TV (radio on the TV still impresses me…it really doesn’t take much) and Tom decides to make cupcakes. So he does. And then washes up while I talk to a friend on Facebook. We read in comfortable silence, each on a sofa, content and calm. Cupcakes with coffee and tea, a dropped kiss, a gentle caress. This is what I meant by my day-dream. That was what I was hoping for, what I’ve wanted. Safety, security and love no matter what we do – whether its racing together or relaxing together.
I used to dream big as a child. I wanted to be Kylie. Yes, actual Kylie Minogue. My mother has a video tape of me on holiday in Spain giving an interview as if I was Kylie, hamming it up for the camera. How dreams change – I like my real life day dreams. So, if this appears to be gloating I’m very sorry – I am just very happy with how my new start is shaping up. Dream big….but dream real.