There are certain everyday rituals that I cling to – for an anxious neurotic like me they make me feel grounded and safe. They are my comforts, my constants, my luxuries and without them I am er, less comfortable, more anxious and way more unhinged.

I love closing the curtains at the end of the day. The actual act of closing out the day makes me feel cocooned and safe, it signifies the hurry and stress of the day is over and the family are about to be together at home, shoes off and relaxed. The reality is often different because of stupid things like homework and dinner and you know, reality. But somehow I still take comfort in the closing of the day.

Next on my list is a bath – a bath for me is like immersing myself in heaven except I don’t actually believe in heaven but it’s the closest analogy I can think of. I bloody love a bath – it ‘s warm, quiet and provides an ideal reading space.

The last ritual that I must perform at least three time as day is drinking tea. Drinking tea is like the portable version of having a bath except nothing like having a bath at all because the only thing the two things have in common is being warm and liquid.

As you can tell from my creature comforts – I am a home based kind of girl. I love nothing more than being at home with my people and dog around me, if the people are out I am equally happy just being at home with the dog. The only thing better than going home is actually being at home. But for the past 4 weeks I have been homeless.

Our beautiful “old” house is now in the possession of its new owners and although although I keep expecting them to call and say thank you to us for letting them buy the most beautiful home, I think my connection with that house has truly come to its end. The new house, which was going to have a small renovation but is basically being rebuilt because Mr Pencil is a frustrated architect/builder/designer/spender of huge amounts of money and kept changing all the things, was not ready for us to move into and so we came to this temporary accommodation in the home of a beautiful friend.

The oil has excellent wound healing sildenafil professional properties. The good news is that, you can find remedy to gout pain and prescription free levitra reduce its painful symptoms, and prevent it from occurring with the help of Booster capsules. Stress is one of the important factors that discern personalities and determine djpaulkom.tv viagra price occupational achievement. Although your doctor knows the suitability of this pill for your body, it is always better to have a glance about levitra prices what is diabetes and what is exercise. The house does not have curtains which close off the day, the bath is not my own and for some reason, which I am sure the owner will explain on her return, there seems to be no kettle for making tea.

This house is not my home and although I am so deeply grateful to my friend for letting me stay here while we were homeless it is someone else’s home – with someone else’s furniture and plates and cutlery and everything – except a kettle.

Today we went to check out the new house which is meant to be habitable (although not finished) by Tuesday when the person whose house we are staying in comes home, It wont be ready. It is still a building zone. And worse – the woman who owns the house we are staying in is actually coming home two days earlier than I thought she was .

Tomorrow we are homeless again. There is no way we can move into the new house until Tuesday at the very earliest – although our stuff is only coming out of storage the following Thursday. First World Problems

Pass me all the valium. And a stiff drink. For someone whose calm comes mainly from being at home these are the worst of days for me. But they too shall pass.

Thank God for my sister. Three human pencils, one fluffy pencil all descending on my sister’s family for two nights.

It’s been a hideously unsettling few days for my little family. We’ve moved into a temporary house for the next 4 weeks while we wait for the new one to stop being a building site.

It’s not actually a temporary home, it’s someone else’s very permanent home. Just not mine. And it’s hard to live in someone else’s home no matter how gorgeous and lovely and kind those people are.

It’s harder even to pack up everything you have and decide just what it is you’ll need for the 4 weeks you have no access to any of your stuff.

I’ll divert at this point to tell you that I’m the worlds worst packer and have never once got holiday packing right. So the fact that I packed 4 weeks of clothes for myself on a very warm day means that I have nothing to wear in the cold.  Did I mention how cold it is at the moment?

I knew moving would be hard because as I revealed before, I am very bad at change. I don’t like chaos and I hate moving. What I didn’t expect was just how anxious it would make me.

On Saturday (the day we took our “stuff” to the temporary house) I became so anxious I could feel my insides unfurling.  I actually needed to hug myself to keep them in. I would have asked my husband but I don’t think I was behaving in a way that warranted hugging.

This was all  BEFORE I went to pick up sushi for us for lunch and the lid of the miso soup came off the container and souped up everything including my mood.
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To add to it all I still have lingering symptoms of flu. And diabetes.

But the very worst thing about moving was something that I never ever expected – a letter from my new temporary neighbours

This is the worst letter I could ever receive. Ever. And it may be the reason I am never leaving the house again.

If you are looking for me I will be at home hugging the dog

So yes, this week has been a blast.

Exhibit A : the house is not ready for us to move in

“I’ve had an epiphany” my husband screams from the bedroom as I fret in the lounge. I am siting at my computer reading the invoice from the removals company for perhaps the 18^th time that day. It is around 9am.

“What kind of epiphany?” I manage to mutter thinking for sure he’s going to say something about the joinery that he has been designing for the new house. I brace myself for him to tell me that the extra 2mm he’s “epiphanised” will make the cupboards even better.

But no.

“I understand why you’re so anxious about moving” he says. “It’s your childhood, it all makes sense to me now”.
But it doesn’t. Mr Pencil can blame my childhood for a lot of things but he doesn’t realise that all people get stressed about moving. Or don’t they?
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