Sydney Life

I suppose this is testament to how badly I manage my time - I have been a blogger here for a couple of weeks and despite my most valiant efforts have totally failed to post an entry. As further insight to my personality, I have a list of entries I wish to post next to my computer here, and I have an entry on my iCal To-Do list saying to blog, but this priority seems to have been totally usurped by other more important (probably less important and more titillating) things.

Anyway, here I am. Typing, in the box, with intent. I know the first entry is going to be the hardest, because I can't say stuff like 'since you last read about me, this has happened!' or 'remember last entry how I said I wanted to go out drinking? Well..." Instead, I guess I have to just relate some recent events of interest.

One thing that I wanted to chronicle was moving out. I'm in third year, but I'm only nineteen (a baby, as my friends so lovingly condescend to call me) and I have lived in the same house all of my life - until recently. It was by sheer coincidence that my friend and I went and had yum cha in a group and afterwards reflected on how much we enjoyed spending time together.

"Ah, I love spending time with you!"
"Yes, me too! Gosh, I wished I lived with you."*
"Well, actually, you can. Our housemate is going away for six months and the spot is free for someone that we all get along with, are you up for it?"

*I don't actually say "Gosh".

And so I was given the opportunity to move in to a new house - an adult house - away from family - in Erskineville, a hop skip and a jump from the amazing Newtown, and of course also uni, for insanely cheap rent plus utilities, with friends, away from my nagging sister undertaking the HSC, near to a train line, for only six months if I didn't like it.

My parents were... hesitant. So I set a date and paid my bond and went anyway. The only thing stopping me was that I was concerned about my medication (I have to take meds every day, it happens, and is one of the complications of my life in general) and money. Considering that most of my income is from private tutoring sessions and debating adjudicating and teaching primary school kids how to play the flute, I was not too sure whether I would manage. But hell, what an amazing opportunity.

The final setback happened about a week before I was supposed to move my things in, when, on the Easter Weekend, I stupidly was in a daze as I drove my Vespa down the road and was pulled over for speeding. Double demerits, and new P-Plate laws mean a license suspension as well, not to mention the fine. But before you commend me on how badass I am and how hot it must have been to see my red LX zipping down a road, Speed Racer-style, let me inform you that it was not even speeding in any kind of cool way - it was 60 in an 40 zone. Essentially, driving at normal speed in a zone arbitrarily marked with a speed limit (not a school zone, a main road). Even my mother admitted to me that she always drives at 60 down that street.

I felt dutifully guilty. And stupid. I was planning to take Lexie my Vespa to Ersky with me to complete my arts student lifestyle with a fashionable motor vehicle. Also, considering how much I have to zip around for tutoring (I visit kids' houses) and how lazy I had subsequently become after riding for more than a year, I was a bit worried about a sudden conversion to public transport. Mum and Dad told me to stay home so that Dad could give me lifts to tutoring on the back of his Harley Davidson. Despite how much I love riding on the back of the Sportster, the idea of relinquishing all of my newfound potential independence for a few lifts with my retired and bored father strangely enough didn't really appeal to me. I insisted I leave, pointing to my hysterically screaming and stressing sister as evidence of this house being an unhealthy environment for me.

Turns out everything was OK. I get around just fine without my scoot, despite the fact that the RTA has yet to send me the license suspension notice. I am fine with money, with seven hours a week of tutoring being more than sufficient for $105 a week rent. I thought I would miss my old room, which was wonderfully (absurdly) large, with a window seat, and a built in wardrobe

but it turns out that my new room, despite its tininess, makes me exceedingly happy.

Being close to uni is the best bit, though. I walk up to campus in about fifteen minutes, and I can cycle in about five to ten. There are cats that I talk to along the way, and all the parties I go to seem to be around here as well, so I don't have to pay for a cab home. I eat well, I sleep well and I am strangely a lot more healthy than I was at my old place. This is definitely already 'home' for me, and I don't really want to leave. The old housemate told us that he might not actually come back, or that if he came back and we were all settled and happy he would find a new place. Which is very exciting.

I have found new aspects of my personality - I am houseproud! I have bought little accoutrements for the place, including a toothbrush holder, egg cups, egg timer, hot water bottle (with a jumper on), and a big mounted movie poster of Breakfast at Tiffany's (joint with my housemate friend). We redecorated the living room and I keep the kitchen clean. I even sweep the leaves. I love washing day. Etcetera.

So that's really quite a long enough first entry, even though I have yet to tell the story of the mouse. Oh well, you will just have to wait.