a microwave and a rake: where my life is at

Wow … well, the last 6 weeks have been a time of FIRSTS … ricebag passed her first driving test; ricebag had her first fender denter; ricebag drove while-under-the-influence for the first time (although drinking and driving occasions (plural) not related to any fender denters) and a few times after that ( don't blame me - I'd make my boyf drive if I had one!!); ricebag is now paying for her first car rego; ricebag survived her first road-rage incident - not hers but some other FREAK with steam coming out his ass!! What these car-firsts mean is that ricebag can go where she please and do at her ease and no man no woman no mother or brother needs her to beg/advise/request/ask … its all in her own power. This is all basic fundamental to you guys out there in the real world, but some of us skipped a few grades and I am just catching up on the basics right now.

Also, also, the fairly biggest indication of a certain "shift" into grown-up-hood, is that ricebag moved into her own own own house; ricebag unpacked (almost) ALL her worldly possessions …. things scattered from London, from Afghanistan and India, from Blacktown and Neutral Bay, from Suva and Brussels … all those tiny fragments are finding home under one roof as we've taken my things out of STORAGE … so strange and strangely benign, the sensation - I though it would mean all the bits of me might come together at the same time ... instead each box is just another era, another phase boxed away for some future, some distant rendezvous in memory lane - none of it is me now, just parts of the past of me. And there is music that made me cry when I thought I was whole and music that made me whole when I thought I was in pieces. The photographs, the PHOTOGRAPHS!! The clothes, the bags and shoes and scarves and the bags and shoes, the softer than soft 200count cotton sheets and the bags and shoes. The point is … I've been living out of boxes and bags for so long, I wore that itinerancy like some kind of badge of honour or survival - even though I was, every strip of me, was exhausted, weary from movement and weary from limbo. And now, for the first time since I was 3 months old … I am UNPACKED.

I also feel a little UNPICKED … like some of the stitching that held all the "maybe's" and the "might be's" has come apart and a whole lot of gold dust didn’t fall out and mote off to land in some other sweet palm … what I mean is, living in "suspension", living like I was in transit, made me feel like my "real" life was going to be happening soon and somewhere else - it kept me hopeful and feeling ok about my seemingly average self and average existence. Is that unreal? Or even unrealistic? I don’t know. The reality is I have been moving, I was always moving "somewhere else" and I've been living in a lot of different "somewhere elses". (And I plan to move again "somewhere else" and probably soon.) And through it all I was yearning for a final destination - or at the least, a place, one place (not necessarily the place) where everything of mine could sit in the same space, where my Rajasthani rugs and Afghan belts and Fijian tapa and all those things in-between, where they could learn to sit together and belong. Does that sound so materialistic? I didn’t think I necessarily identified myself by my things … I guess its more the symbolism - that all my scattered bits and all my boxed-away bits and all my new bits and my inherited bits … that they could all come together, meant that maybe I was getting my shit together. Meant that maybe my shit was coming together. Pretty far out, man.

So I am living in my house and driving my car and you know what that’s all meant - the end of disposable income! I was SO rich before - even though I was poor - all my money was MINE!! Now my money belongs to the tax-man, the electricity-monster, the water-cow, the car-beast, the kitchen needs to be gutted and redone, my bedroom needs a new ceiling fan, half our external security lights need new bulbs, the solar-heating doesn’t work, the oven is a gas-leaking disaster, the fridge needs to be held shut with a bar stool, the freezer isn’t cold enough to make ice cream hard … see what I mean!! It takes money, man.

But strangely I like being a little cash-strapped. I'm being RESPONSIBLE - really responsible for, like, the first time ever - I've ALWAYS taken care of myself financially, but I've never been responsible for property and people. And now I am. Now my little cousin PrettyGal has come down to POM from the village to be my companion - i.e. my family don’t like the idea of ricebag living alone, so we have a nice niece to play little sister. PrettyGal has a name in my language which literally translates to "pretty girl" - which is just as well because she is pretty goddam pretty!! She is pretty and a pretty hard-worker too. Helping me get settled into the house and clearing the overgrown garden and helping me get on top of my growing-up binge, is keeping her busy.

So yeah.

Now I have to go and buy a microwave and a rake. This is where my life is at.