I am seated on a supple cream leather couch, my feet uncomfortably rested on a hemp woven rug and by one side sleeps my sidekick, the other a small bowl of delectable berries awaiting their termination. I’ve been staring out of the window for some time now, observing small beads of rain trickle down the window pane and the banter of two birds dancing on a saturated cement driveway. I have been house sitting for over twenty-four hours now and I can’t seem to conjure up sufficient wording to describe just how amazed and incredible I feel right now.
I feel like there are no words resplendent enough to do justice to the extreme bouts of happiness vibrating through my entire being. I feel like I have a whole new outlook on life itself and at this moment in time, everything just seems to be going right.
The home itself is rather charming; the retro home of my dreams actually. Sun-drenched and fancy-free. And despite the obnoxious traffic noise from the main road out front that manages to engulf every nook and cranny, despite the air traffic noise from above that comes with being situated in close proximity to a small airport, I am content. And despite my roommates being a little too messy for my liking, despite my mattress being far too soft for my approval (thank heavens I brought my own pillow), despite my room lacking adequate fly screening on the window panes and even though an earwig attacked me last night in bed, I feel as fresh as a daisy.
I feel like everything is coming up Milhouse!
I feel like a new me, or rather the me I’ve always envisioned and yearned to become. Like a caterpillar transforming in his cocoon then breaking out into sweet, sweet freedom. Or like a flower blossoming, the explosion of colour that took months to become; slow but worth the wait.
My surroundings are becoming more and more familiar with each passing breath even though I’m not entirely comfortable and at ease just yet, like the unfamiliar smells and sounds, the general workings and placement of things and the cobweb infestation. But the house itself seems to be adopting me. Like the way the floorboards seem to bow in acceptance every time I tread upon them barefoot. And how the summer sea breeze kisses my face every time I step outdoors, like an old Italian acquaintance overly pleased to see me once again. I feel like it’s embracing me wholeheartedly. This stranger, this vagabond and her canine companion.
Everything feels so brand new and exciting, like man first setting foot on the moon. And I know to most, this experience of moving out and being completely independent must seem rather foolish. To be ecstatic and overjoyed for something so mundane, for something that comes effortlessly to them, something like this is hard to articulate properly to you. Because to those fortunate enough to have a roof(s) to shelter their heads under and walls to encompass them from the elements, a space were they feel safe and secure is easy to come by. For me this has been all I’ve dreamt about; my entire life. It has been and continues to be the one thing so horribly out of my reach, living on my own, having my own place to just be me. For me this is so new, so wonderfully new, even if it may be short-lived.
So this is freedom then,