New Beginnings (The Stress of It All)

My back hurts. I have just shifted 300 books from the landing back into my bedroom, not because the decorating that forced them out there in the first place is finished, but because my brother and his girlfriend are coming to stay tomorrow.

I’ve had this hanging over me for months. How strange and pitiful that must sound! A simple visit, from family. But outsiders (Joyce, the girlfriend, included) rarely enter this house, and each time they do it incurs much strife and anguish.

The fact that she is staying is the main problem. I’ve had friends over for drinks and even food many times these past few years, but only once has anyone stayed (excluding the odd stray sexual encounter) – a very drunken Dax, who just crashed in the spare room once. I think only my brother-in-law and perhaps my uncle have been through to the kitchen and back room in the last ten years, and then only out of necessity.

I’ve had a long time to prepare, and to an extent, I have. Another skip was recently half-filled with bits of wood, old kitchen units, pipes, and miscellaneous bric-à-brac that I had grown tired of. This is after two other skips filled with rubbish. Not forgetting the dozens of bags of refuse and recycling, and boxes and sacks taken to charity shops. Still, there are parts of the house that are jammed full of half-forgotten furniture, clothes and other items, many of which have never been worn used.

The front room will be done – that is, impeccable for the first time in 20 years or more. No boxes of crap hidden behind armchairs, no bags of old clothes stuffed into corners. It will be tidy enough to present to anyone, friend or stranger. The hall, too, will be cleared, although not fully decorated, as damp has not been eradicated from the outer wall and windows. The stairs, landing, and bathroom will be fit for purpose, the bathroom having been more thoroughly cleaned than at any time in its history. The toilet, sadly, is a mess, in the sense that further damp forced me to strip the wallpaper, and I have been too slow at redecorating – so the walls are bare. But it will be clean. The guest room, nominally my brother’s, is a little cluttered for my tastes, because he still treats it as a dumping ground for bags and suitcases, mostly filled with old clothes. That’s not my problem – the room will be clean, the beds made.

But the back of the house… Even if I magically finish everything I have to do – including tidying the vestibule, which is currently both filthy and crumbling – I won’t be able to push the back room, passageway and under-stairs cubbyholes beyond "full". The kitchen can be cleaned, and will have to be, but it’s not pretty, as it’s half-dismantled, awaiting a promised replacement. I have decided, after many sleepless nights, and much stress, that I will request that Joyce not go through to the back. It is a restriction I have imposed on my friends, and is both odd and annoying, but I simply don’t want the added stress and humiliation of feeling that this is my fault.

I haven’t done anything like my best since I moved back – the house is far more habitable and ordered than it was before, and has been for as long as I can remember – but I have done a lot, but certain areas would still shock outsiders who haven’t seen how it was before. To be honest, for a couple of days I’ve been wishing they wouldn’t come at all – but that doubles my shame, because I have had the time to make things better, and that is the stock response my family has hidden behind all my life. So I have around 19 1/2 hours to do what must be done – and hopefully get some sleep as well.

Meanwhile, I am also stressed about my new degree. I’m less concerned than I was, as I now know I can pay my fees, and have applied for a couple of part-time jobs in the department to help pay my commuting costs, but I have hardly touched any textbooks (I only confirmed tonight that there were any recommended by the department), and feel totally unprepared for the change in lifestyle.

I will be going from a completely free existence – with no deadlines, no routine, no genuine stresses – to a very busy, structured one, commuting 3 1/2 hours a day, five days a week, and filling my time between classes and lectures with studying and hopefully work. I know it could be a great thing for me – regulating my wayward bodyclock, increasing my calorie burn while decreasing my intake (I’m hoping to be too busy/tired to eat a lot), providing me with lots of social contacts, challenging my mind, re-engaging me with the world – but the shock will be great.

I just have to keep reminding myself of the things I’ve managed to do in the past. I might read a few entries from my first term as an undergraduate (a shocking 8 years ago next month). I did that – went to university, stuck it out. I moved to London, worked in the City. I went to Australia on my own, and it was a breeze. I know the commute, I love the city and the subject, I have my home comforts when I return at night, I have friends and family…

But I’m still not settled. I know from experience I won’t feel calm until I’m there.Atilde;¢â‚¬â„¢ÃƒÆ’‚¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¡Ã‚¬Ã¢â€žÂ¢ÃÆâ€ââ€Å¾Â¢ÃƒÆ’ƒâ€ Ã¢â‚¬â„¢ÃƒÆ’†â€™ÃÆâ€ââ€Å¾Â¢ÃƒÆ’ƒâ€šÃ‚¢ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â‚¬Å¡Ã‚¬Ã‚ ÃÆâ€ââ€Å¾Â¢ÃƒÆ’ƒâ€ Ã¢â‚¬â„¢ÃƒÆ’‚¢ÃÆâ€ââ€Å¾Â¢ÃƒÆ’ƒâ€šÃ‚¢ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã…¡Ã‚¬ÃÆâ€ââ€Å¾Â¢ÃƒÆ’ƒâ€šÃ‚¢ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã…¾Ã‚¢ÃÆâ€ââ€Å¾Â¢ÃƒÆ’ƒâ€ Ã¢â‚¬â„¢ÃƒÆ’†â€™ÃÆâ€ââ€Å¾Â¢ÃƒÆ’ƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã‚ ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã¢â€žÂ¢ÃƒÆâ€ââ€Å¾Â¢ÃƒÆ’ƒâ€ Ã¢â‚¬â„¢ÃƒÆ’‚¢ÃÆâ€ââ€Å¾Â¢ÃƒÆ’ƒâ€šÃ‚¢ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã…¡Ã‚¬ÃÆâ€ââ€Å¾Â¢ÃƒÆ’ƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã‚¦Ãƒâ€šÃ‚¡ÃÆâ€ââ€Å¾Â¢ÃƒÆ’ƒâ€ Ã¢â‚¬â„¢ÃƒÆ’&Atil