What might have been

For a brief few days last week, life was perfect. The sun was shining, the weather was warm, I had money in my bank and ideas on just how I was going to score brilliant marks in my latest uni essay. I had two great flatmates sorting out the logisitics of getting ourselves into a new flat. I was getting messages from my Mum asking what goodies I wanted her to bring over next week. Kiwi was having a birthday, so I had a legitimate excuse to shop. For those few days, all was well in the world. And then, my life slowly reverted to the series of disasters that it always is.

See, I have the theory that my life is more like a chick lit book than I like to think. Yes, this theory might be partly inspired by my current focus on my thesis topic (although which came first, I wonder, the thesis, or my life as inspiration for it?). I am a middle class twenty something woman who still tends to think of herself more as girl than woman. I am one of the professional classes, really but am neither deeply in love with nor terribly good at my job. I am a mess with money and have a deep love of shopping that I rarely get to indulge - which is perhaps the reason why I love the guilty pleasure when I am allowed to unleash the plastic. I have supportive parents who are willing to talk me through any of life's dramas, but often choose not to confide in them due to need to assert my own independence. Moving to the other side of the world didn't hurt my ability to fit into the chick-lit category either; chick lit heroines are often isolated from their families, meaning they need to face up to their problems on their own, essentially. Until recently, I had no love life to speak of. Kiwi is fast approaching the point of being the longest relationship I've ever had. I have a small collection of good friends scattered around the globe. And, like Bridget, Becky, Carrie - hell, Lizzie Bennett, Evelina, you name her - I have wanted more but been unable to put my finger on just what it was.

But with the return of disaster to my life, I have some inkling of what it might be that I want. It's a short, simple list. In no particular order, I want sunshine during summer and a little snow during winter, with neither season invading the other. I want flowers but not hayfever. I want showers that don't leak. I want a bank account that doesn't leak, as well, but think that may be asking a little much in the present climate. I want to be able to turn on the radio, the TV, open a newspaper, without being assaulted by a barrage of disasters. I want to be able to perform brilliant analyses effortlessly during study, and to design and detail buildings that would put the Franks (Lloyd Wright and Gehry), Zaha Hadid, Corb, Mies, Foster, and all the other arhictectural heroes, to shame.

Hang it all, what I really want is a holiday. Thank god it's a long weekend coming up.