It feels like the weeks are flying by, at the same time that time is standing still. It is such a strange feeling. I look back, and think “Whoa, it is mid May already”, and then the days pass as if walking through syrup. “Where did the day go?” compared to “Christ, won’t this homework ever end!”.
It’s Friday afternoon, and Mark isn’t coming home until after six because he’s up at his parents. That means I don’t have to cook today, because he’ll stuff himself on his mum’s cooking. I’ll just grab some sandwich. If I can find the fridge… The flat looks absolutely gutted, and most of our life is in boxes, both here and up at the house.
I’m actually writing this sitting on the edge of the sofa, with the laptop resting on a box, because other boxes cover the sofa table. We’re going to move all this crap over tomorrow, then on Sunday we’ll come here and dismantle the big bed and replace it with the one that was in the flat when I moved in.
We’re also going to clean it thoroughly, as best we can, and then next week Auntie’s clutch of professionals are going to come and apply their super-cleaning to remove every little remaining biological trace of the dogs and of us.
We’ll probably sleep our first night over at the house tomorrow. And let me tell you, that actually feels utterly strange now.
About the dogs, Lady is taking everything in stride, but Watson seems stressed now that we’ve turned everything in his world upside down. We probably have to bring the dogs over tonight, or they won’t get any peace. A bit of spoilage from Mark’s mum should calm any frayed nerves.
Lady has found that two of the boxes make for an excellent resting spot, so maybe she will object to being taken out of the cosy spot. Watson is running around sniffing everywhere, and then coming to me to find out what the hell is going on.
Auntie was down here last evening for a bit, and found out that we’d set a date. Today when I carried things I’d borrowed from here garage over the year I’ve lived here, she came and told me that she’d be remiss in her duties if she didn’t tell me to concentrate on getting into university, first and foremost. This must be my only focus, she said.
I agree, but I can’t see how that effects our plans. We’ll know if we get into University by the end of January, and our big day isn’t until next summer. Next summer will be a huge anti-climax. The A-levels will dry in our drawers, and we can forget about them, apparently, and focus on the next degree.
“You have to be sure,” she tells me. As if I haven’t told myself that over and over and over again. I have used every angle imaginable to rationalise wait and see over this year. I’ve spent sleepless nights tossing and turning to understand whether I’m just a tosser and a nutter for feeling this way. And of course, there’s the can of worms about how he feels about me.
I know I’m only seventeen. I’m supposed to not know anything. I know we’re supposed to be twee and declare undying love, only to change partners by next Tuesday. Everyone tells us that, directly or indirectly. But it just does not work like that for us. We’re not those people, I suppose.
I love him, and I want to spend as much of my life with him as I can, and I actually thinks that he feels the same way. So, yes, Auntie, I’m sure. One hundred percent positive. I hit the jack-pot and met the man I want on my first attempt. I wish the world would just deal with it, sometimes.
Now, there are these hideous flower pots in my little five square feet garden; red earthenware and with bright sunflowers on them. I suppose I could accidentally drop them, and save Auntie the excuse of getting rid of them…