Tuesday, 13 August 2013

Having To Move, Yet Again

In the 28 years since I was born, I have been moved ten times. The longest I have spent in one place was 13 years. The shortest, which is my current residence, will be two months by the time I have been moved out, and so I will be on to my eleventh house.

I don't think it's hard for me to come to the conclusion that all I've ever wanted is a secure place to call mine, something that no one can take away from me.  Yet why is that so fucking hard to achieve?

I finally thought I had found somewhere that was secure, that was mine.  My little nest.  Yet once again, some mechanism of fate or luck or plain old spite has thrown a cog and broken the machine.  I got rid of all my cardboard boxes for crying out loud.

Stop the carousel, I want to blow it up.