PARTY

There were so many people crammed into the apartment I was waiting for the floor to collapse beneath us. I was hoping the ground would swallow me whole.

Trevor turned 31. What had started out as a small get-together of five guests exploded into a room of more than 17 people.

Among them, my new extended family who watched me with a keen eye.

“That’s your fourth wine isn’t it?” my new cousin, who had dragged her screaming child to what was clearly an adult function, asked.

I smiled sweetly. ‘And I’ll have to have at least a dozen more to make you interesting’ I thought sourly.

“No, my third. I’m not driving tonight.”

And so it begins.

For 25 years I was a complete fraud with my family. I lied. I acted. I was everything they could want in a daughter.

But I wasn’t me.

It took five years of kicking and screaming to shed that skin and get them to see me for who I was.

In this time I sold all of my possessions, ran away to a foreign country and sought an American Beauty experience. I sought freedom and happiness. And by God I found it. I reshaped myself, or rather freed myself, and then spent a lot of time reshaping my world.

Family and friends resisted but with a lot of persistence I prevailed.

“So, how’s married life treating you?” my new Aunt asks, no doubt fishing for some chink in the armour.

“Same as single life, only more washing,” I laugh lightly.

For four gruelling hours Tom and I hid in a corner and avoided making eye contact. We busied ourselves and were grateful for the few minutes we could steal in the joyous company of Milo or Sarah.

At times I fled the building for fresh air, descending the stairs to the basement where I was confident my new family wouldn't follow.

All we could do was wait until Tom's family went home around midnight before we finally kicked back and relaxed. Before we could be ourselves again in the safe company of friends.

So the battle is on again. I have a new family now and, as if becoming an instant mother wasn’t trauma enough, I will have to shape them too. For the years before now they have only known me via rumour. They have known me as Trevor’s friend.

Suddenly I’m family and they’re going to treat me with the same pious, judgemental, condescending attitude with which they treat their blood relatives.

Tom’s not so worried. “Tell them to get stuffed.” He huffs.

One day I will but for now I’m happy just to avoid them.

TIME

The shifting sands of time have swallowed me and I’m going under.

Not really, that just sounded like a rather melodramatic start to today’s entry. For the first time in forever I have official, paid holidays coming my way.

I’ve officially been working three months here – odd because it’s been more than 12 months since I walked through the door – and now I have my first week of annual leave.

Once again everyone’s asking what I’ll be doing and once again I tell them I’m planning to do nothing. As you saw last time however – plans go astray.

“You’ll have to get the car serviced,” Tom suggests.

Crap. One thing I have to do.

“Oh, and don’t forget you’ve also got to paint your unit.”

I really could do without his help.

“Then there’s the cupboard that you’ve been promising to paint.”

And with that I’ve pretty much got most of my five days covered when you include washing, mopping the floor, vacuuming and cleaning the neglected bathroom. Then there’s the oven as well and the fridge that could both do with a clean.

Perhaps the first sentence was correct. Time is just slipping away. It’s been almost four months since I got married and I have no recollection of where the time has gone. My birthday, the eternal marker of passing time, is creeping towards me.

Soon I’ll be 31 and I don’t feel at all prepared.

Then there’s my novel in a constant state of inactivity. It still rattles through my brain. It calls to me in the middle of the night just begging to be completed.

But I don’t have the time for myself let alone the fictitious voices crying to be heard.

And the phone rings once again and I’m back at work and I have no choice but to ignore the voices and ignore the plans. Another day slipping away as I do what I can to earn enough money to, one day, stop doing it and get on with the things that matter.