Nirvana


from the ABC set other things

I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care

Nirvana’s very good for Saturday traffic because you turn it up loud and then you really don’t care. It’s unbelievably crowded here today – lots of happy smiling people with swishy hair, and that puzzles me because I thought we were all supposed to be poor, and miserable, and buckling down to it. I can’t see anyone who fits that description. Except possibly me, if I look in the rear view mirror, but even I’m feeling a bit better because of the music.

I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care

I do though. It doesn’t matter how loud it is. I should be going to Zachy’s party in London and I can’t. Instead I’ve started the house selling process, and three estate agents are coming next week to give me a valuation. They all sound exactly the same over the phone – bracing, upbeat and breezy, and they all have names like Crispin and I bet they all wear the same Barbour jacket too – with a little tweed tie just peeping out from underneath.

Anyway, they’ll be rolling up next week with their clipboards and they sounded very positive on the phone – “oh yes we sold thirteen last week” – which is just as well since I want to get shot of this house and the whole gloomy process as soon as possible. I was beginning to worry that there might not be anyone left in England with enough money to be able to afford my house.

So I’m desperately trying to make it look well cared for and beautiful, for when they come. I know people say not to bother – that they can see past clutter, but I have to give this my best shot. I hate the whole process though – the uncertainty, the cleaning, the smiling at potential buyers, the terrifying survey – the breath holding moments as he goes around – the bit where he stops and writes something down and you imagine the worst.

It’s not just that though. Not this time. It’s the leap in the dark afterwards that's making me stop filling bin bags from time to time, wondering suddenly if I should chuck the whole thing in – stay here forever, not sell at all. I could easily phone them and say there’s been a mistake and I’ve changed my mind. It’s not too late.

Waiting to turn out into the busy main road, a man in a transit van smiles at me and lets me in. People are nice here – kind - and even the weather’s not too bad today – sunshine, fifteen degrees, lovely autumn colours. There are so many beautiful trees.

Later, in my garden, through the big glass doors that I’m cleaning, the sun streams in, and I can see a magpie pecking at the lawn. I stop what I’m doing and wait, holding my breath, until I see another. A part of me is – not frightened exactly – I’m not scared – it’s not that. It’s just…

I have thrown so much away. Each bin bag I fill, each drawer I clear, reminds me of how awful it’s been, how unhappy I was. There are things – clothes, shoes… things I bought, that I never even took out of their cellophane bags. What was I thinking of? Perhaps that it would make up for how horrible everything was? It never did of course. Such a waste. And then I get to the older stuff, from when my children were little – the first teeth in the envelope, each one put carefully under the pillow, the hand drawn mothers’ day cards, the school photographs. When you have little children, you’re so busy, so tired - there’s no time to worry about anything else.

Then it goes further back still; love letters, a bank statement from 1982 – how old fashioned it looks now! And two little stars, one black, one red, that Joel gave me, and I threaded them onto earrings. I put them carefully into a jewellery box.

It’s all ended now – all of it, and I have to go. I have to. And I want to go to Tucson. It’s definitely the right thing to do. I’m happy about it. Although it’s going to be hard work, I’m happy and excited about it

My back’s hurting. I open a window, stretch, and light a cigarette. Outside the leaves from the huge oak tree are blowing across the wide front gardens, and two pheasants are calling to each other. It’s so peaceful here; no traffic noises – no-one’s even mowing their lawn. I am doing the right thing.

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Comments

celticman | October 31, 2010 - 10:15

Ah, smoking. That always ends badly. A wonderful snapshot.

Highhat | October 31, 2010 - 10:18

Yes it is very uprooting with all the memories and the easiest thing would be to stay put but then you would never know would you? And you have to convince yourself that it is the right thing and I'm sure it is when you haven't been happy. I like the way you write this with an inkling of despair as an undertone. You just have to get it over and done with the house selling and then move on and forward. Hope you have a happy life Insert. I wish you all the best. Keep writing. Its a bit exciting following you and you are so good at putting it into words.
;)Pia

skinner_jennifer | October 31, 2010 - 13:55

Hi insert,
Ah the nighmares of selling a house, it can be so
daunting and you have told so well. Having moved
house alot of times, I can understand this story
only to well.

Thanks for a great read. Congratulations on the
cherries.

Jenny.

insertponceyfre... | October 31, 2010 - 14:06

Celticman I think smoking is the only pleasurable thing I've mentioned in the piece! It will probably end badly, but it's keeping me sane in the meantime.

Thanks for reading this, and you too Jenny and Pia, I am really pleased that you're enjoying it. Perhaps you could all keep your fingers crossed that someone will come along and buy it? Is there a spell for housebuying and surveys Jenny? That would be so useful!

Thanks for the cherry too!

skinner_jennifer | October 31, 2010 - 14:25

The way to sell your house, is to just keep
believing and imagine hard where you want to be.
There is no easy way to sell a house, but a simple
spell is to take a white candle, engrave on the
candle your wish to move, put love into what you
are doing and envisage yourself wherever you want
to be. Circle your finger five times around the
candle, then light the candle and look into the
flame and ask for your house to be sold very soon.
Leave the candle to burn out completely on its own.
Don't attempt to blow it out. Look into the flame,
meditate and imagine people coming into your house
and buying it.

I cannot promise that this will work, but I wish
you good luck.

Jenny.

insertponceyfre... | October 31, 2010 - 14:32

thanks very much Jenny,and for the luck too. I'll give it a go!

Highhat | October 31, 2010 - 14:55

This is wonderful with a good spell. You are terrific Jenny ;)
Pia

skinner_jennifer | October 31, 2010 - 15:32

Hi Pia,
your words are very kind.
Thankyou.
Jenny.

rjnewlyn | October 31, 2010 - 22:10

Well the candle thing sounds better than sticking vanilla in the oven to make it smell like freshly baked bread (although perhaps less certain than avoiding cooking cauliflower on the day of a viewing). It's just a dire and horrible experience. We did it about three years ago and, even though it went reasonably well, I still shudder at the memory. You get across those early stages very well here.

Rob

insertponceyfre... | October 31, 2010 - 22:33

Thanks Rob. I did it four years ago and i am dreading doing it again - I even phoned one of those dodgy companies who take a huge percentage of the value - but they just give you the cash there and then - that's how much i'm dreading it. I never heard of putting vanilla in the oven. I thought you were meant to grind coffee, or just make some. The candle definitely sounds like a better bet.

Highhat | November 1, 2010 - 09:03

I was once a co-dependant and was slightly addicted to hash and alcohol. My drug addict lover died and I said goodbaye to my alcoholic partner. Now I say goodbye to partners because I may become dependant again and the partners I have had weren't good for me or my kids. I don't think I am so much of a co-dependant anymore but my relationships with other people tend to have signs of it so I am very wary. Got rid of my habits as well. I hate to see it happening for others.
Sending you kind thoughts Insert.
Sorry to be so honest.
;)Pia

fatboy74 | November 1, 2010 - 09:06

Really took me somewhere else for five minutes Insert - even though it felt a bit like a Busman's holiday (we move next week, surrounded by unpacked boxes)only far more enjoyable! I need to be a bit more ruthless with the throwing away. Congrats on well deserved Cherry. :-)

insertponceyfre... | November 1, 2010 - 09:37

thanks for your good wishes Pia - I'm so pleased you're feeling in a better place now.

glad it took you to another place fatboy and you are SO lucky to be through all the uncertain part. I think a skip is the way to go!

MistakenMagic | November 1, 2010 - 13:00

I know what you mean about sanity and cigarettes, insert! They're what got me through this summer! Anyway, this is another wonderful piece. I love the way you convey the idea of transition. Well done on the cherry!

Magic xxx

seashore | November 1, 2010 - 15:09

I like this very much. I also like Nirvana!

insertponceyfre... | November 1, 2010 - 19:22

Thanks Magic and seashore - Nirvana is almost my favourite for driving music

insertponceyfre... | November 2, 2010 - 18:16

thanks for the kureshi tip blighters - I like him - I'll put it on my list. I hope to see something more by you on here soon? thanks for the good luck, and for reading and commenting, I'm grateful for all of it. I think if you aren't doing what you want to do after forty then you should have another look at your life because it's very short. (not "you" - "one") - and that's exactly what I"m doing. So there. xx

barryj1 | November 3, 2010 - 16:20

The imagery came alive. Haven't moved in twenty-five years. That's how traumatic the last dislocation proved. Don't envy you but, on a more positive note, nice bit of writing.