The Universe tells me its time to leave

I have been planing on moving house for a couple of months now for a few reasons, mainly to do with the fact that the house we live in right now sucks and the owners are not interested in doing anything, however small and cost effective and contrary to their promises, to relieve some of its general suckiness. So after 18 months of waiting and hoping, I am not interested any more in faithfully paying their mortgage every bloody fortnight. I am also bored of this neighbourhood and should probably never have moved here in the first place as it is 30 minutes from my old stomping ground where I grew up and where I want Anna to grow up. Half an hour is a long time between friends, and petrol prices are not looking like coming down any time soon. Again, nobody warned me about this. Every time a woman gets a pregnancy confirmed, they should be given a pamphlet telling them that they are not allowed to move while they are pregnant or for at least six months following the birth. Their hormones are all up the shit and they get an obsessive nesting instinct which compels them to make ridiculous real estate decisions not based on any known laws of common sense. I had a perfectly nice share house in a perfectly lovely inner city suburb close to absolutely everything and as soon as I knew I was up the duff I threw it all away for an enormous run down fibro box out in the boondocks with sand and weeds in the place where usually is found a back yard. Sheer madness.

My decision to move was altogether compounded the other night when I arrived home after dark, and noticed that I had inadvertently left my bedroom lamp light on. One of the things that doesn't work in this house (apart from the obvious: my brain) is my bedroom blind, which is an old crappy plastic Venetian thing with a broken wand so I can't close it all the way to shut. When I moved in, as well as accepting in good faith the owners' promise to replace it, I checked from the outside to make sure that no one could see in and because they couldn't I reasoned that it wasn't too bad and I could put up with it for a little bit until a new one arrived. It didn't occur to me to go outside and check it after dark, which is a shame, because the other night as I drove up the street and saw my lamp light blazing through I realised that I could see right into my bedroom. My mirror, the clothes rack, the bedroom door, the whole lot. The only thing I couldn't see was me, but only because I was at that moment stopped dead in the street behind the wheel of my car, mortified, trying to work out how many actual open-to-the-public nights there are in the 18 months I have been here, undressing and dog arranging and doing other night time ready for bed things. I was in such a state of shock it took a while for me to realise that I can't do maths and so can't come up with a definite answer but the point is, there are lots.

I asked my neighbour the next day, she whose kitchen window is - unfortunately for her – right opposite my bedroom, if she realised that my useless broken blind was as thin as a tissue, and she suddenly got interested in some fascinating thing on the ground near her foot and said that, actually, she hadn't really noticed. In other words, YES, the poor woman has been trying to not look out her kitchen window for the past year and a half. Most importantly: WHY didn't she say anything? Did she think I was displaying on purpose? What do they think of me around here? At least now I know why the Christian charity mob doesn't deliver free milk to my door any more.

So. It's time to fly this crazy coop. I haven't been updating the blog for a while, partly because I've been grumpy and also because I have been stupendously busy not packing or organising removalists or, oh yeah, finding somewhere else to live. Hee hee. It's all happening next Monday and I have packed not one single cup, not one single sweaty fat man with a truck has been booked, and my forwarding address is the spare room at my mother's.

I have a Gold medal in procrastination and eleventh hour panic attacks.