Notes on moving house

I cannot express the dread I am feeling at having to find the strength to pack up and move the house. I wanted to tell the story of the last move. The one that brought me to this house but it seems too much work. Let me cover a few points instead. Things I have images for.

mov051bThe image to the right is actually the last time I had the strength to face normal chores. I could not get myself to the supermarket to get food and I was being overwhelmed by pain to the point that I had called Life Without Barriers and begged for assistance. The house had to be emptied and there was no time for doctors to get me back to health or even to cushion the effect of the battle to get everything packed and moved to the new house. This was the time that I was too ill to handle moving all my sculpture and art supplies and actually left several tonnes of hard-won materials on the side walk for the garbage collector and scavenger.

mov050bIn the image to the left I have been fighting pain and illness for several days while lifting and carrying as much of my possessions as I could. My face was going grey and the muscles sagging as the damage to my heart increased steadily over the whole time. There was no mercy. It had to be done and nothing stopped the pain.

My amazing mother flew from Queensland because she knew I was coping alone. Several friends had promised to help as had people from one or two organisations but at this time we were on our own. The only thing that helped was some prescription painkillers someone gave me. In the picture below you can see that Mum is all-in. I did everything to try and make her stop as she almost faded while I watched but she insisted on cleaning that house in case the owners decided to give me a rough time about the bond money even though the house was being demolished. It would have been in keeping with the themes in my life if they had tried that on.

Mum’s condition also deteriorated over that time and she had the first of several strokes. I almost want to cry as I write that. Like me she never really got her strength back after this really tough movemov052b. I think this is an image of my mother fighting for her life. She has gone white and her skin was pasty. As I said this set of images was the last time either of us was well or had anything like normal strength so you can imagine what I feel about the coming need to pack and move. It is not the fact that the outcome may even be death for me but it is certainly all the battling with pain and weakness for such a pathetic outcome.

mendennisThe last image is a guy called Dennis Mentis. He is the owner of the house I live in now. There is no way I would have thought he would throw his lot in with the estate agent when nothing I am doing actually affects him or the shape the house is in. I keep it pretty well.

He seems like a nice guy and I was sure my assessment of him was alright. He told me he felt the place was in good hands and he was reassured that I and my neighbour in the other half would stay here and keep the place in good nick and the rent coming. Which I have done. I wonder what they have told him to get him to write me off so casually. Perhaps he also thinks he has rights and I should not!

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