Linguaphiles

I Capture the Castle
This is exactly how I feel about trying to move house — I keep telling myself to wait until next year — and I fear all my thoughts would sound repetitive and possibly demented and so I bite my tongue. Or refrain to post about them, whichever. I twitch with protective jealousy any time some lifestyle magazine mentions one of the towns on my shortlist. I have a headful of train timetables, commutes, flood risk maps, financial planning, T&Cs. I wish I could afford a place with a garden in a favourite, convenient city, but that’s unlikely. I wish I had done the sensible boring thing and arranged for driving lessons at 17 like everyone else instead of learning now (short history of excuses: they were expensive/I could manage without, then bereavements, then I injured my shoulder). I’m very glad I have enough stability in my life to learn now. But I am longing to move. I think about soil types and read local events calendars and look at the relative position of the kitchen vs bathroom in any given house. In all likelihood, I will only get worse.

I do love my job and my colleagues; I want more to do. I have a list of things I will need when I move house and I have most of them sorted out. I am, completely contrary to how all casual acquaintances think of me, an extremely impatient, extremely exacting, sometimes impulsive person; and I have to keep all those tendencies in their right proportion if I am not to speedrun burning myself out. B’seder. 🙄