Vomit.

Emilie's house

To write or not to write. That  is a question currently ruminating in my head.

I also feel like vomiting. I think perhaps it is because yesterday it got to 36°C here, and the night-time was not much better. My body is not good with heat and sun and today it’s probably having a whinge. Vomiting and thinking are sometimes are difficult mix. Although I’m sure if one did both often, one could marry the two together nicely. I’m not that fond of vomit so I don’t do it that often.

I moved house a bit over a month ago. This is my first ‘bought’ house – I don’t really quite feel like I own it, I own a small portion of a few dollars of it at the moment legally and only while I’m alive. So, yeah, I don’t feel like I own it, but I do feel like I have rights within it. It was one of the cheapest houses on the market when we bought it (with a very long settlement, one large earthquake and a lot of stress between!). It probably still would be one of the cheapest houses on the market. Maybe even cheaper – I don’t know if ripping the bath out and exposing the rotten floor, or putting in a whole lot of good ceiling insulation where none existed balance each other out. I don’t feel ‘not at home’ here. Sometimes it feels odd; doing my makeup in a sink in the laundry where half the floor is missing because that is the only decent mirror with light in the house. Sometimes it feels frustrating; trying to cook a meal for several people (or even two) in a tiny kitchen with no bench space and no dishwasher and no pantry space. Sometimes it makes me anxious; hearing the sirens for the 7th time that day racing down the street and getting really Really pissed off with the stupid howling Alsatian (German Shepherd) next door. Sometimes [read: often] I feel overwhelmed; when I think about all the renovations we are doing and how we are going to manage them and live within them and pay for them.

Then I feel contented. That this is my house (kind of). I can dig wherever I bloody well want to. I can knock a hole in a wall because I know we’re going to take it down anyway. I can take the curtains down and chuck them out. We can pull a bath out. Rip the carpet up. I can plant stuff and watch it grow. I can have whatever animals won’t annoy my neighbours too much that the council will allow me to get (although it’s tempting to get a really annoying animal to contend with the really annoying Alsatian).

I still feel like vomiting.

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