Leaving Home

I celebrated by bringing up my lunch.
Today, finally, I moved out of my flat. I say finally because the process has taken me three full days.
And today, the third of those days, I projectile vomited against the wall of my shower recess.
But lets not get ahead of ourselves… I have a story to regurgitate.
Two and a half years ago I bought myself a place to live - Chateau Guildford Road Embankment. It sounds frightfully grand, but really it’s just a first floor flat in a Maylands complex. Nevertheless, it was my first little home of my own. I redecorated, painted, re-did the floors and window furnishings and so on. Oh… and I put in a new shower screen because my boyfriend managed to break the last one (I doubt he did so by disgorging his a steak pie at serious velocity, as was a possibility today).
I’ve loved living there but decided to move out to save money – especially as my plans to relocate to the UK are becoming more and more advanced. I figure I was going to have to move out sooner or later, so why not sooner.
But can you guess where I am right now? Where am I sitting as I type this?
Yes, that’s right. I live with my Dad. I’m in his spare bedroom, at my computer, draining a goon-bag and looking at the piles and piles of boxes and bags and absolute sh*t that are stacked up around me. I’m too tired to do anything about them and I now won’t get to them until Wednesday night at the earliest. *groans*. I’m too tired because it has taken me those aforementioned three days to move out. Two days lugging crap and furniture and all of today to clean.
Enter the vomitus.
I have made a startling scientific discovery. I plan on writing an exhaustive paper to the appropriate learned society.
I have discovered that mixing very large quantities of CLR Clear and household bleach on the bathroom floor in a bid to clean the tiles does remarkable things to your lungs.
In fact, it strips them of oxygen completely and then introduces you to a bizarre new way of coughing. It’s a deep cough that not only comes from the depths of your lungs but also the pit of your stomach. Literally. It literally brings the contents of the pit of your stomach with it before announcing its arrival all over your freshly Pine-O-Cleaned shower screen.
And the mix didn’t work.
Curiously, I can’t remember if I cleaned it up before I left the house and gave the keys to the agent.
That should be a nice surprise for someone.