The house as agent of change. Discuss.
It seems, here in Pimpland, that we have entered a season of change.
Me, I tend to be a bit of a change junkie, compelled to hurl myself at it as if into the path of an oncoming tornado. Mr and Miss Pimp, however, are by natural inclination somewhat change-averse. They like to eat the same things over and over for breakfast. They like the feeling of a stable universe, of having a sense of what’s what. So over time a sort of bi-seasonal weather pattern has evolved between us in which there are loooooooooooooong periods of calm, followed by periods of intense shake-up. I don’t actually like change but I do seem to need it. I’m that sort of person who loves it when weather disrupts train services and lunch breaks and Society As We Know It. If I were fifteen and a half I’d call myself an anarchist no doubt, but I’m not and that’s all by way of a rather self-indulgent red herring…
The thing that I love and hate about change in equal measure is that it’s not a governable thing. It’s an unruly beasty, is change. You can make space for it and invite it in, confident that it can be contained within your pre-designated co-ordinates. But it never, ever works out that way. It goes where it wants, snapping other spaces open around your ears, unfolding things quick-fire like some crazy origami trickster. I often noticed this in my work – the therapy would help ignite the process of change in a person and pretty soon there were reports of subsidiary changes happening all around them.
So the point of all this verbiage is that Mr Pimp is going to be taking a job for a year (or 18 months) in Singapore. (Funnily enough, he’s being brought in to implement change). Ms Pimp and I will be staying here. She has university to start, when she’s done being a Snow Tragic (she teaches skiing), and I have to manage the house project. It’s something we are all in eleventy minds about. There are a lot of uncertainties about how it can be managed, worries about just about everything, but there is the one incontrovertible banner blazing in the sky and what it says is ‘Spondoolicks’. It will mean we can do the house without living in fear of the inevitable unforseens that will happen. It will mean we can do it justice. It might even mean (though I doubt it) that I can have my own version of the oxidised brass kitchen island that’s been floating in and out of every corner of the blogosphere. (And that latter fact ain’t going to stop me from flying it here).