lobelia321 | I am 12, and not in a good way. (Reply)

There is the possibility that t'h may get a job offer from Stanford University in California. We would not, however, be living in

, my favourite house in the world.

Over the weekend, I had a good feeling about this. I was elated. I googled houses, schools and cafés in a state of high agitation.

Yesterday, I felt really, really low about this. I was almost depressed. I didn't know what to do with myself. I felt a hollow feeling of dread in my stomach. It was as I were already in California and having to pretend that everything was jolly and fine. "Hey, children, let's do something fun today! Let's ride on the rollercoaster at Santa Cruz! Oh, you'd like to have some friends over? Sorry! You haven't got any friends! We tore you out of your friendship circle!" I kept imagining a sun-drenched street, a strange maple-wood-panelled house with a scrawny yard and tanned men called Dean and Mitch coming up the driveway to help me carry in boxes.

This morning, in the shower, I identified what it was. I was experiencing all over again my move to Australia, and specifically New Year's Eve 1974. I was 12 (see subject line of post), and my parents went out to dinner and left me with t'young siblings to look after and have 'fun', with the special promise that we could stay up till midnight to watch the fireworks. I put on a jolly face but felt dreadfully lonely inside. T'young sibs fell asleep before midnight and were not to be roused. I stood alone at the window and watched the fireworks and cried. I had no friends! I was lonely! And this was what I was re-experiencing yesterday!

I am channelling my own 12-year-old self within the prospect of this move to California. Thank the divinities for Freud, eh? I do love