That everything would click into place, and the awful rental unit would become less awful; the neighbours would be less crazy; the bills would be paid with money left over. That we would find that 'happy' that we were supposed to be living. Surely it's better to write about having fun at the beach on the weekends, cooking and enjoying locally sourced seafood and produce, having friends down for weekend breaks from the city.. Less fun writing about financial hardship; unemployment; depression; rocky relationships; and the wish that it would just be easier.
The work hasn't turned up for him. So we are sinking further and further into debt. The bills get paid, the rent and car loan and banks get their money. But we don't have anything left over after petrol and food. No take away, no weekend trips, no new toys or clothes or Christmas presents. Which is a revolting first-world complaint, I know - but made our measly gifts to family at Christmas embarrassing. And those were paid by the security deposited being refunded from the awful unit, which we escaped in Deccember. So now, for a little more money, we wake up to birds chirping, cows mooing, and kangaroos on our back porch. Worth every cent.
I am a different person than I was 12 months ago. Less carefree, certainly. Not that I have ever been irresponsible - or even flippant. I am a sensitive, left-handed, middle child. One of three girls, loving parents, university educated and somewhat travelled. I ponder on decisions, then announce them once my mind is made up. I am someone who has been trained to hear what is left unsiad; read body language; pause before inserting an opinion, and remain guarded and objective. it has made me a good friend to others, sometimes a food friend to myself.
I'm going to write now, because whether it's a beautiful love story or not - it is my story. I may not have the typical life, it may not be what I dreamed of - but I did get my fresh air.. The freedom is a matter of perspective, I guess.
