Fuck This Town

I'm so over this place.  Hubs has his last shift on Friday, we are getting a bit of flack from our semi-senile, shingle covered landlord about Shea being an indoor dog instead of a yard dog, and my phone has been silent for weeks.  I have been away too often to socialize regularly, and I think I've fallen through the cracks.  I just want this place in my rear-view mirror.  I fantasize about a Christmas spent in limbo, camping/touring/stripping our way to Adelaide and back.  I wonder how much we would need to save to comfortably explore some 4,000 km of coastline.  Working away these past twelve days, I earned as much as Hubby would in over two months.  If we were going to be hippies ever in our young days, now is the time.

Out the Other End

Hooray, we all survived the 12 days!! Hubs make it through his first really long stretch of solo parenting (although it hospitalized him in the end. - more on that one later)  I made it through an emotional birthday away from my family and everyone I know, and Shea recovered from her spaying and is a completely different dog from the one I left behind.  No more moping!! She's like a little rip tear machine around the  yard now!  Presley learned to say "Yes" and is honing his "shea shea" which currently sounds like "Yesh yesh"

I have so much to write about after my 12 day adventure.  No internet throughout the time, and no computer access at all means I have like 45 little bullet notes on my ipod I now want to type out and expand upon in more detail.  But of course, that takes time, and today's to-do list is alarmingly long.  I'll get to it over the next couple days.  I'm pretty excited about it actually.  It was an eventful time.  A lot of good stuff happened.

For now, Bubs has just given his "woke up from my nap mum" yell, so I'm off.

Dear Mr. Lovesick

Dear Rodney.
Dear Blondie.
Dear Sweet, Awkward 19 year old.

I think we are approaching this from slightly different realities.  I can't assume to know what your reality looks like, but here's what is going on in mine.

If we met within these walls, in this dim lit thumping box of sweat and music, with the sticky carpets and the stage, when I look at you

All I see is money.

We aren't going to be lovers, we aren't going to exchange digits, or meet at any of the wonderful locations I'm sure this town can offer.  We aren't even really going to be friends, (but I'll pretend to be interested in what you have to say, like a friend would.)

In short, there is no relationship.  Its just part of the fantasy the club offers.  It is not real.  And after this dance, despite whatever wonderful adventures you have offered me, your face will lose clarity, and be gone by the time I shake the next hand.

I hope this helps clear things up for you.

Sincerely,

N

Reality

This week has been hectic and full on, so I haven't had time to dwell on it. Or perhaps, I wouldn't let myself.  I can't ignore what's going on for much longer though.  I leave in less than 5 hours.

Twelve. TWELVE days away from my little family.  The longest I have ever done, times 3.  Longer, actually, when you factor in the day of driving round trip. So 13! :(

So. Long.   I know I will be busy, but wandering around my house this afternoon while Prezzer naps, gathering up all the stuff I'll need on this trip I'm actually feeling quite sad.  Hubs just came home for his lunch break, a perk we won't have for much longer once he switches jobs.  He gave me a big cuddle, told me to watch out for roos on the road, and we repeated the mantra "12 days isn't too bad" and I hope its the truth.

I cope by pre-portioning 12 doggie bags with food and laying out 12 outfits on the red table for bubs, prepackaged food for day care and bachelor nights.  I take a million pictures of Pres on my i-pod, trying to capture just a few of the awesome faces my little one can pull.  I tell myself not to be so goddamn melodramatic.

Butt Naked and ...

I've already got my exit dance planned.  The last stage I think I will ever be doing, on the eve of my retirement.  Well, I've got one detail planned:

-I'm going to dance barefoot.  The damned sexy shoes we strap onto our feet are a bitch to dance in! I can't get the fluidity, the sensuality that being barefoot provides when I'm wearing 7" of plastic.  Its an actual physical disadvantage, and a cynical part of me wonders if there is a subconscious pleasure in seeing women flounder about with that hindrance on their legs.

Note the horrible state of my toe nails, which I didn't notice until after I took this pic.
   I'm very overdue for a pedicure!

Anyway, club rules and hygiene risks be fucked.  On my last night, no matter where I am, I'm doing that final stage barefoot.  They'll have to drag me off stage with one of those shepherd's hooks!  I can't wait.


 Practicing at home now to Queens of The Stone Age, who I absolutely LOVE.  (Thanks Hubs, for the introduction to the band)

Dear Daycare

Dear Childcare Worker Person

First of all, thank you.

Thank you for watching the Pres-ler this week, all those hours that you did.  He was happy on Thursday afternoon despite the shitty diaper he'd been sitting around in.  And when I arrived to get him today and some other boy twice his age was dragging him around by his pant leg, he hardly cried at all. I saw firsthand this weekend the hours you ladies work. There's a LOT of baby-ness craziness that goes on in that place in the afternoons, and man, kudos to you.  I barely cope with one, so I dunno how you do it all day long.

Thank you for providing care even though, technically because I was at home this week with no real plans or obligations, I didn't need Presley to be in day care at all. Thank you for giving me that break.  Want to know what I did for roughly half my hours of freedom ? I alternated between sleeping and dozy daydreams, in a darkened room with a heater blanket on.  Four hours. I think I'll call it cocooning.  And man do you come out of it feeling like a different person!

3 p.m. on my second day of cocooning was when my guilt caught up with me.  Rather abruptly too, sneaky bastard.  One minute I was fine, the next I was all "What am I doing leaving my bubba on the other side of town so I can watch afternoon t.v.?" and "Where are my car keys?"

Motherhood, Child Care Worker Person will actually change the way logic works for you. Be warned.

Anyway, thanks for the break from reality, the chance to laze around and knit like a mutha-fucka when I was awake.  I think you're underpaid as a profession, but I'm still upset about your accidentally charging us full price for 3 weeks and never saying a goddamn word about it.  Its an internal conflict.

Thanks to whoever taught him to blow raspberry kisses today. That one's super cute :)