I ought to have been a tree- I hate moving house.

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I really ought to have been a tree, sitting on some very remote mountain range, with a decent broadband connection. I have lived in 28 different places in the last 35 years, not including moving my mother 3 times. To give you some idea, I’ve been in the last four locations for 23 of those years. A little hectic, perhaps. Add to that the fact that I’ve been here for ten years, and you can imagine what’s built up around the place. Given my normal approach to these situations, which is that of a rabid rat with few social skills and no patience, I’ve been doing the preliminary archaeology, and have discovered the inevitable supply of things which were completely unfindable. Some of them, I honestly am not sure what they are, or in some cases, were. Now, a case study- Just think how much thought and memory goes into moving house. One becomes philosophical, and begins to ponder the vagaries of moving from one part of the Great Suburban Paradise to another. The fact that every second could be spent doing something else. The fact that things have to be stuffed into other things that don’t fit in the things they’re supposed to be stuffed in. The fact that mountains of books are extremely heavy, and in summer in Australia always seem twice as heavy. Then there’s the fact that I’m doing about a million other things at once, including writing four books, and I really could do without any distractions, let alone earthquakes. The transience of it all, like a movie made by idiots for people who don’t want to look at it. The passing parade of things one would much rather never have seen, or even considered to exist. The ongoing supply of irritating people whose lack of talent in being hit by passing asteroids is so appalling. Just to round off the joys of the experience, the endless passage of mindless cretins on TV being “interesting” whether anyone cares or not. Ever notice that everything looks utterly useless when you’re in the process of trying to get something important done? It’s a perspective worth keeping. On the other hand, some things can be as transitory as possible, as far as I’m concerned. The “neighbor”, a substandard, insane, chimp-like thing below, for example, a monument to the 1970s, a virtual two-legged sewer of itself. That particular form of defamation of humanity, passing forever from view, is one of the good things about this move. Sic transit expletive. Fortunately, this move, I have lots of time to plan. I can ferment and plot away happily knowing that…. but if I was a tree, I wouldn’t have to do any of it. I could sit happily around dropping branches on things and wondering if I was deciduous, or just indiscreet…