loudly, relentlessly

I wrote this post in the thick of winter, from a boundless marsh of illness, with a clingy baby and a moody not-quite four-year-old who whose daily meltdowns sucked most joy from our waking hours. Things have evolved, somewhat, but much still applies.

There is so much I feel I need to say about life right now. But life speaks for itself. Loudly, relentlessly.

Our days overflow. There is no stopping until we are dizzy with exhaustion. I feel in a state of constant drowning, often swallowed by screaming kids and mess and chaos. Unable to attend to the demands of work, because needy kids. Unable to meet the needs of kids, because work.

We've had weeks and months brimful of moments so calamitous and trying they are best put behind us. The dance between two houses continues to wreak a toll. I cannot fathom how we have been doing this for four years. The equivalent (in travel time, in packing/unpacking, in fullness of itinerary) of an interstate trip every fortnight, with two small humans in tow. It's unsettling to say the least. We have so little downtime. We have aged at warp-speed. I realise it's probably a thing among mothers of (multiple) small humans, but I have lost a lot of my bliss.

This island, these four years have been beautiful and astounding and we are ever grateful to have landed here. We've laid down memories steeped in saltwater and sunsets. Childhoods begun in the sand. Eyes drinking in the exquisite ocean-bound world. And there is all the bliss to be found here in these moments.

I think I am allowed to say, we have reached a place of in-between. We are dreaming up changes, mentally readying ourselves for life beyond the lighthouse. It's impossible to know what will evolve, but we are ready and willing and offering our best selves up to what the future may hold.

* Small point, but hat nappy up there belies the fact that I was cloth nappying until recently because nappy changes have become the penultimate screamfest.

au pair

I have hovered here a few times lately and not known where to start. I have fallen off the blogging horse. Given in to tiredness, end-of-day-brain-fuzz and the never-ending night-time settling / early rising (which seems to suddenly lift and then... whack-tumble-splat, another wonder week).

I have wanted to write for ages about life with a live-in au pair. Which has worked out a lot better than I could have hoped. I dragged my heels completely on the whole issue, but in the end it was the only way I could have returned to work (and we needed me to for many reasons), which I am doing now part-time via a telecommute arrangement. *I've got a golden ticket!* Yes, I completely realise how lucky I am in the work stakes. I have a hugely supportive boss (and executive director) who I have worked with for several years, who trusts me implicitly and has herself telecommuted way back when her kiddo was younger. Returning to work has also been great for my head, to give me a bit of breathing space. I have also recently managed (for the time being anyway) to hang onto my job when vast sections of the permanently employed public service in this Neanderthal state are marching out the door. I'm just hoping my luck continues.


So the au pair. I had dreaded sharing our space, and all the stuff of family life that inhabits it, and having to be sociable when I want to just be in my cave. But overall it has been really positive, and is sort of like the old travelling/sailing days. We're onto our second au pair already, after our first finished her three-month stint. Though I still do a lot of domestic work and commandeer the boy when I'm not working, the extra hands around the house has been nothing short of bloody fantastic. I think I got lucky with a boy who demands a lot of attention and doesn't like to nap on his own (and some of my own stupid high moral ground about no TV), so every day was a battle to get even just the bare minimum housework done, manage to feed and caffeinate myself AND fully engage with him.

The help with chores is freeing me up a bit and I am mostly managing to get some other stuff done - though I find a lot of this other stuff is all about him! Like keeping him clothed and shod, reading up on kid-stuff (devouring this site), procuring toddler chairs and potties (!) and organising photo prints (we didn't have any beyond his humidicrib days (!!), prepping activities, war-planning our missions off the island and keeping our household administrivia at bay with a big stick. I still need to get back into yoga and walking - these have slid quite a bit since I returned to work in August.

As great as it's mostly been, I have also suffered a bit from the guilts at having help. About having someone else helping with the boy, even though we have tweaked our routine so he spends most of his time with one or both of us. (Though having someone new here has been brilliant for Ellery - he has LOVED both of them and will sometimes choose to go and hang out with them.) And also it is just plain weird (though indulgent and utterly lovely, why do I even have guilt about this?) to have someone else be the dish pig!

Despite the current super-clingy and unsettled wonder 'week' (and a kimchi that is going to take me at least three days, not including fermentation, to prepare - but that's another story) I can sense that things are slowly getting easier. There is still a ridiculously huge amount of work that goes on behind the scenes to keep us living the life remote - and so much stuff that doesn't get done. But, y'know, it's getting better.

a general malaise

Perhaps not quite the headline you'd expect after the preceding tales of love and seaside holidays. If, in fact, you were expecting anything at all, following an entirely silent September here. Life's been roaring along. But something's amiss. I've not been able to quite put my finger on it til today. Self-diagnosis: a delayed bout of post-holiday blues. Fuelled along by an unusually rainy and grey Spring. I've never seen it rain like this... nor missed the sun so much in Queensland.

As usual, work is the nub of my irk. The return from holidays was not so bad... in fact, work was entirely reasonable for a couple of weeks. In the post-holiday glow, I conceded that I would never be entirely on top of it all. Seven peeps to manage, a shirtload of work and an information environment that makes my multi-tab webtrawling a playground. Nevermind that it is kind of a playground. Anyhoo. So the work is amping up. And I've come to a disturbing realisation. Sheepishly, kind of late in the piece. After most of this year warming this particular roost, I've realised that perhaps I don't really like it so much. I don't want to be responsible for other people any more. I don't want to continuously struggle to stay on top of the ridiculous information flow. I'm sick of churning out god-damn widgets. And I hate having to always be 'on', no matter how crap I feel. There's no checking the news, attending to personal errands or taking time for lunch. Sure, I was happy to give it a whirl, and hang about for a bit while they needed me. But now, on the cusp of potentially yet another extension, I feel very much backed into a corner. Like I've been stealthily groomed for it. Maybe I'm naive. I should have anticipated. It gets worse. Next week I am being the Director (bah!) and have to go to Sydney to represent Queensland at a national thingy. Sheesh. I do not feel the love.

Anyway, it all still hangs. Perhaps I'll get to go back to my policy post. I'm trying to remember why I latched the desk shackles back on, chill out a bit and enjoy all the great stuff outside work. But still. I went to the fabulous Women of Letters last week (my cousin said go, then K's sister invited me: fated?). The premise is that a bunch of talented writerly folk read letters they have penned to their most treasured posession. It was funny, inspiring and revealing, and totally worth it even though it made me feel old. (Especially so when I heard the next day that, after I'd bailed, K's sister who is an editor partied on into the eve with the booky-cool crowd, performing a karaoke duet with Marieke Hardy!) Anyway, moving on. Reflecting on the evening's monologues, I realised... I could write like that! I can write like that! I did write like that, once! What has happened to my writing?! Of course, thus ensued my own monologue, along the lines of 'what am I doing with my life, I'm creatively driven, why am I still chained to this god-boring public service desk? Gah! Double gah!! Holy GAH!!!'.

And that's where I'll end this little rant. It's way past my bedtime. And I'm 'on' first thing tomorrow. Any advice about what to take for a general malaise would be much appreciated.

the remaining daylight hours

The cold has arrived. And it's mostly dark. Though it's light when I walk to work, before I close myself off from the world for the remaining daylight hours. The managerial gig has been given legs til October. And we've just clocked into what is being billed as The Most Hideous Month of the year. Oh joy. It's official: I have no life. I'm wracked with tiredness. Food-ism is gone. Lunches are coffee, and whatever I have scavenged in the morning (thank goodness for muesli bars and leftovers). I realised last weekend, after a much-needed massage from the musculoskeletal guru, that my back has been a crunchy Rubik's cube of stress for who-knows-how-long. I could barely turn my neck and didn't even realise it until I left with big arse cupping bruises on my nape and a slightly new feeling of movement. Ick. Mostly I don't see, hear or read any news (or any cultural communicado, for that matter), aside from my new fascination for TweetDeck. Which I hook myself up to in the evenings like an information junkie. (I have a theory about that - in a nutshell it's about how my twelve thousand emails a day is changing my brain to need to respond to stuff. Which I get barely the slightest chance to skim over.)

Ho-diddly-hum. I'm aware I'm whinging. But this lifestyle SUCKS. I am so terribly frustrated at the lack of balance. I work my arse off for solid hours daily. Meanwhile my whole body falls apart and I have no time to enjoy life. Weekends are catch up and attempted recuperation.

I realised (as did the mindful observer) that I'm probably approaching burnout. And that it's situation 'dissolve into a molten pool of angst', or take a break. So we've cancelled work for August. All of it! We are thinking of selling my little car, getting a second-hand four-wheel drive and camping the east coast, starting or ending up in Gippsland. We would've liked to go west and central, but thought four weeks might be cutting it fine. And I would be the happiest little camper if all I did is hang out at the beach (probably in my thermals with current weather, but that's completely fine), read, do morning yoga and just walk and potter with camera and pen. Maybe revisit Hat Head National Park, Ben Boyd and others a bit more off the trail. I have whole-body cravings for horizons and shorebreaks and salt air. Which I realised last weekend when we escaped down to Burleigh for half a day, which is where the above was snapped.

So, this week I came home to a present: a swag! Now, to survive the month from hell. I'm afraid I'm not going to want to go back. Again...

loveapalooza long play

Oh. Finally, time stops. Work work work work work. Stress. My brain is full with it. Flitting on the interwebs grasping inspiration in nanosecond doses. If there is one thing that frustrates me, it's the impossible lack of balance in my life at the moment. The work shenanigan makes me so tired I've got nothing left over, not even for basic proper self maintenance. Nuthin! Well, maybe a little bit of cooksy, but even my kitchen mojo refuses to participate lately. I'm also rapidly developing goldfish memory. I put it down to WAY too much info in my work world at a pace I can barely pretend to keep up with.

*Sigh*

Oh, in keeping with previous statement... my news, almost forgot! I got my job, the policy gig I've been doing for past year. Permanent tenure as principal advisor in the policy realm. A relief not to have to go back to the previous work-life, and validation in policy world. Not that I'll be doing that job for a while. Looks like I'll be extended where I am in manager-dom til Sept. Once Estimates over, I can plan hols - woo!

Anyway, irks aside. Good things; K's sister's wedding last weekend, Loveapalooza, (Q's bday eve). The honeymoon came before the vows. The bride wore Akira, we did photos at New Farm Park, followed by the main act (the vows, on stage) and reception (the carousing) at The Zoo, Brissie's most respected live music venue. Oh yeah...

Here's some shots of the peripherals - for the main game, go to the links above...

empty stage...

the groom, best guy and photo-dude wait...

 

 stalking with camer-am-era....

some of the Lusks...

dancefloor moment #one

dancefloor moment #two, with ms k

dancefloor moment #three @ the party end of Loveapalooza

Yes. Naturally the shots of me with choclate mud cake in my mouth, and whooping it up on the dancefloor with K's mum (with my rocknroll face on) are on the cutting room floor... :p

the devoted bureaucratica

A last dash to press publish on something here in May. Time is slippery and work all consuming, to my utter dismay. All my energy at the moment is devoted to desk [cringe]. And despite the solid manic hours at desk, I have done the thing I loathe most - brought work home.

The past couple of weeks have been quite the little stress-fest. I was thrown out of my depth, delegated to attend a workshop with Commonwealth peeps which required considerable push back from the states (ie, me on behalf of Qld). Eek. I don't love that stuff at all. The policy gig I was doing for nearly a year (until elevation to the current temp desk) also became permanently vacant, so equal parts energy-angst were devoted to making a pitch for it. Outcome unknown, but I think I did okay. It's a level up from my substantive foothold, so would significantly help future escape schemes. Which, have I mentioned I am coveting after a solid year and a half of administrivia/bureaucratica. Oh rosy leave balance, light in my tunnel.

So while my brain went to custard, housecleaning and cooking went to hay. General attention to things going on in the world dropped to nil (not through lack of interest). Never mind things like creative pursuits (luckily I had a couple of foodie posts up my sleeve). But hail the silver lining: K's talent for a killer Chinese chicken stir fry revealed... and deft handling of me in meltdown mode. And while I must remain under my rock, he is my preferred news feed, with wonderful op-ed pieces over the dinner table (when not fawning over new man-crush Alan Davies)... hehe!

But thank goodliness, I think I'm emerging from this little twister. Looking forward to K's sister's wedding in a couple of weeks. And while both our current work arrangements make holiday-planning complicated, we have eyes on a getaway soon-ish. Oh delight.

Vale Barry... (hello Noosa)

Hmm. Where to start? Life has been chaotic, in good ways, and not so good. K has had a trifecta of crap luck... starting with him sitting on (and cracking) the screen on his phone, escalating to his camera dying while we were (luckily at the tail end of) a (paid) photogig at Wivenhoe a couple of weeks ago. Fast forward a week from then... the Friday before the Anzac long weekend, his car (and some might say, four-wheeled companion), 'Barry', was stolen. Barry was all packed for a weekend of beach camping at Straddie, with the kayak on top. And a lifetime's accumulation of tools and other man-stuff in the back (there's no garage at the 'Hill), and sentimental bits like dot paintings from the desert. Vale Barry...

We were sooo in need of a break so I ended up splurging on an apartment at Marcus Beach, a stone's skip south of Noosa. And I mean literally 'at' the beach... a barefoot stroll through the sand and heath to the shoreline... 

We had barbecues, seafood, wine, swam in the ocean, walked on the beach and through the national park to the headland... rounds of morning coffees with multiple weekend papers... and a spa bath with bubbles and more wine! There were even once-in-a-guitar and every-other-harmonica appearances! We even arrived in brand new little flashy hire car courtesy K's insurance... it was all rather extravagant and we felt like different versions of us!

It was an incredible contrast to the ultra crazy blur of life in the new work gig, with its never-more lunch breaks, days that resemble Tetris on 11-speed, drowning in emails, deadlines, inordinate Commonwealth requests (oops probably not supposed to say that) and the revolving door to my desk (I don't have an actual door - I'm still a pleb cog in the machine). I feel very much the parody of the ineffectual middle manager but am optimistic things will get better (though my brain has clearly turned to mush this week after three goes at posting this baby)... ho hum...

Anyway, despite the gripes, there have been equal amounts of goodliness. Here's some snaps from recent celebrations, and meanderings at Wivenhoe to prove it!

once in a lifetime

Several lifetimes ago (actual time, about six weeks), I ordered a new laptop. Dell charged me for said laptop immediately upon receiving my order. Then made me dig through their website to find my order details, which upon kindly revealing to me (the one whose credit card got hit up lifetimes in advance of receiving anything for the privilege... grrrrr!), didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. Which wasn’t much. When I tried to phone, they kept me on hold for insane amounts of time and finally, after a few tries, I got some joy (I use this word loosely), a month into my wait, from an Indian lass who told me there was a parts shortage. Her niceness saved her from hearing about several kinds of shortages I was experiencing.

In the intervening lifetime I've been limping along painfully with my crusty, old, fickle malfunctioning Dell. Double grrr to the power of grrrrrr! It would have done me a favour if it had just carked it outright. But nooo. It lulled me into thinking it was halfway operable. And me, like a moth to the flame, limped along while it drove me halfway round the bend.

Anyway, this week it f-i-n-a-l-l-y arrived. My new Dell - hereafter referred to as ‘Kit’ because he is a slimline glossy black number and though he doesn’t talk to me with synched blinking red LED lights, he has ... facial recognition technology!

[chorus of angels appears while marching girls in top hats and stilettoes parade under a spotlit shower of glittery tickertape and a booming voice announces the beginning of... a new world order]

Well. Perhaps not quite. But a very big leap back into the land of things that just work. Oh the joy!

And. Since I'm told the relics now must tune into the blog to find out what’s going on in my life...  a work update. Nearly three weeks ago I finished doing the latest acting stint and went back to the policy desk. I barely warmed the seat before being offered the opportunity to return to the acting post, which I did this week. The one with the team (and a stuffed dog called Poochie, who in my absence, has been elevated to bona fide team member status with his own capability and achivement plan - woof), in a foreign land where numbers and data rule. 

Thankfully they have words there too.

Oh, and on the weekend we went out to Wivenhoe (Brisbane's now very full catchment) for a photo shoot at a property with big rolling paddocks and eyefuls of water... photos to come. I wonder if Kit can install his own Photoshop?

i made it

Last month I made it to inner circle of recipients who receive a 'pinch and a punch' text message from K's Mum. (I think I also scored points for being the only sibling or partner of sibling to reply... but I digress.) This month, her phone was broken. So the first of the month kind of passed without me really realising it... or its significance. It took me until this morning, on the walk to work, to realise that I'd made it to my goal. 'The' goal. The one that I returned to Brisbane for... long service leave! My leave balance now stands at 64 days... or about three months leave on full pay, or six months on half pay. 

Wooooo! I made it!

Now we just have to work out how to use it! Of course there's no shortage of ideas... road trips through Central Australia and Western Australia, reconaissance to Tassie and central coast New South Wales... and a further school of thought (that I'd rather not hear), that says 'save it'. Still, plenty of time to decide... and it's a rather happy decision to be charged with, kind of like the 'how I'd spend a windfall' daydream.

greenmount... and other stuff

Just back from a beachy weekend at Greenmount, which (if your Gold Coast geography is as negligible as mine), is basically the most southern part of the 'Goldie' before the NSW border. We'd stopped there months ago and had beers on the beach at dusk, the tide crashing about our ankles. It's retro beach chic is still somewhat intact (think vanilla brick low-rise apartment blocks with big sandy lawns).

It was our first chance in ages for saltwater swimming, curtailed somewhat on Saturday by bluebottles. Which meant ... cue the kayak! Our first paddle in many moons, up the Tweed. Woohoo! We also spent some time catching up with some of K's friends. And despite some previous bah-humbug sentiment in this camp about the origins/intent of 14 Feb, had a lovely Sunday at the beach, trawled through a vintage market, and relaxed with beers and fish and chips on the foreshore at Burleigh on dusk (a replay of our first ever dinner - aww!)

Anyway, the sun and salty breeze was much needed tonic. We have been missing its presence. I've been going hard to get the new web project sorted, because it's actually live and scoring hits from Google. Which is great, but also kind of not, since it's incomplete... and probably doesn't make a lot of sense under its current (temporary) domain. And really, I should be keeping this to myself so you don't go and Google it! But it's kind of exciting! 

Oh. And stuff happening on the job front. Today was day one in a new job... only a short-term backfilling gig. But in an area I know nothing about, and leading a team... eek! But also nice to have something new to get into.

another list, the resort of the overworked stressed-out deskhound

Getting on the blog theme bandwagon since life moves quickly (or faster than I seem to have capacity to blog) and any creative energy I had is pretty much sapped by day's end. And I do love a good list.


Hot.
Musculoskeletal therapy and cupping. Out of dire desperation after about six weeks of intractable (even with physio) lower back pain I had THE BEST massage last weekend. Cupping? I cocked an eyebrow at the "musculoskeletal therapist" but agreed to give it a go. A three thousand year old Chinese therapy made current by Gwyneth, 15 minutes is supposedly on par with three hours of remedial massage. My back has not felt so normal in a long time. Unfortunately this normalcy lasted about two days. Hmmph. And now Kaja (the "musculoskeletal therapist") is climbing Mt Everest. Of course.



The kind of tax return refund you get for not working a full year. Yeah!


Work is suddenly busy, after months of gouging my eyeballs out for entertainment. Am working on a sexy secret squirrel social inclusion / welfare reform policy project, a mandate straight from Anna's desk. Finally, some actual social policy work! Unfortunately it's been particuarly subject to political whims and now has some pretty squirmy timeframes on it, resulting in missed lunch breaks etc.


Subtropical electrical storms. One of the nicer things about summer in this part of the world. Oh, and the most exquisite local manzanella olives. And a new vintage sundress (without the pricetag which now goes along with vintage garb).



Looking forward to at least ten days off work over xmas and chilling out at Bingi with the relics. 

Not.
Coming up to about six weeks continuous lower back frustrations - see Hot. Hurts to sit. (Even after the heavenly massage, and even on my gymball.) At informal work meetings I stand. Long ago I changed my seat at the desk for a knee stool... unfortunately work is still a... pain in the arse!


My lame double entendres.


Saying no to January sailing on Pelican. Fun work. Paid work. I must be crazy. But this is my trade off for holiday-hoarding in anticipation of the can't-stand-desk-anymore (or at least can't sit at one) leap into the land of no reliable income. Bring. It. On.

And. I'm not sure which part of the list this belongs in, but last week was the one year anniversary of my return to Bris-vegas.

creativity angst

Have found myself mired in extreme creativity angst of late. Weekends seem to expire with the list of boring chores mostly knocked over, while the (wish)list of arts, crafts and higher pursuits remains untouched. I simply cannot work out how other desk-hounds tweak their schedules to maintain creative dabblings.

I have been wondering whether it is just a time thing, whether I just have too many interests to maintain, or whether something more sinister might also be going on.

Was recently beavering away on a piece for dumbo feather (and have two pieces in the Spring issue – saving me from complete creative woe), for which I was leafing through blog posts from about mid-last year, retracing some of the anarchic thoughts I was having back in drop-outsville. And was sort of astounded at the writerly zest I (me?) seemed to wield back then. And appalled that said zest seems to have leaked from my brain. Though sadly, not onto the page. Or into anything remotely creative.

Back in the Life After Desk days I seemed to have some sort of vague insight into Stuff. And seemed to be able to relay it with some sort of mild humour and zing. Now, I aim words at a target with functional intent. Unpretty, linear information widgets…

Just like a…

Ministerial brief...

Gah! GAH!

The desk. Desk, desk, desk. Sounds like a reprimand. Thief of creative expression, abstract thinking and sweet unproductive time. I have found this year much harder than any other stint in my working life. My current mission: to make more room for creative play. Hmmm.

glee. a weekend retreat

Life has been a bit of a slog lately, largely due to a full-blown case of work irks. I can handle just about anything the desk throws at me. It’s when they stop throwing it that I start losing it. Thanks to Queensland school holidays and a progressive female Premier, the past few weeks in the Army have been so DULL I’ve wanted to bore my eyes out with a rusty drillbit. Dwelling on the dismal imbalance of it (time is short, there are so very many things I want to do, and there is so very much to be done) has been doing my head in. That and doing the shuffle between the 'Hill and the bus (which is now in Brisbane after K relocated from the coast), which is driving us both a little nutty.

So it was perfect glee to spend three whole days (and one of them a Monday!) in Cougal, New South Wales beside the Border Ranges National Park with friends of K’s who moved from 'the Rock' earlier this year to run a guesthouse on 200 acres. This weekend they hosted a bunch of women on a dance retreat. With a baby due any day, K's mates invited us to hang out as back-up hosts in case baby decided to show up, which, thankfully (not being acquainted with home births) he didn’t. So we hung out, washed a few dishes, pulled a few weeds and made daily trips down to the creek to swim and sprawl on sunny rocks with books. Aah! We awoke after slumber-licious nights to the sound of bellbirds and whipbirds (not at all like the crazy alarm-birds at the ‘Hill which have learnt to mimmick every alarm clock in the south Brisbane neighbourhood). We played with a dreamy-eyed toddler and an old dog from the desert. And chatted to I and T about their life running a guesthouse in the bush. And daydreamed (well, I did) about the many possibilities in their extremely large commercial kitchen...

Photos to come, since my camera inadvertently went home with K in Barry, in the continuing saga of 'where's my stuff?' that accompanies the dance between two homes.

an unbecoming gloat

Phew! I won a stay of execution. I am not going back to the communications perch anytime before Christmas. And possibly not even after. Or ever [dreamily].

I snagged the recently-referred to temporary policy role (my second). Actually [enlarged ego warning…] I ACED the field of seasoned policy practitioners. WOOO! Though I must qualify that by adding that selection was based on a written task given to shortlisted candidates. And I’m sure I would not have scored so highly had I been required to talk. But still. There I was, floundering in my little pond of self-doubt, thinking I didn’t have the goods to make it in the social policy realm because I lacked the somewhat critical requirement for content expertise. Which is kind of stupid logic really, because exactly how much expertise could I have expected to amass in my two-and-a-half months at a policy desk. So. I’m sticking this feather in my cap and flouncing down the catwalk with it! The coolest thing about this is that I have done the previously unthinkable – a sideways (and slightly upwards) transition into a whole new field of work.

[winged cherubs with trumpets appear]

Not counting the cooking on boats stuff. Or the writing for interesting publications stuff. And not nearly as cool as either of the above but a) salaried, b) ongoing and c) potentially interesting and worthy enough to hold my attention and let me derive some sense of meaning and purpose while I keep on squirrelling acorns.

I started the new new job – in the same wider policy team but a different branch – last week. And I am locking the jury out, despite their door-battering attempts to make some rash (read unfavourable) judgements about the new environs. Unbecoming it may be, but I have time yet for a little more swooning around with this feather. Tra-la…

lumps, crumbs and irony

So that little lump of sadness is dissolving in a fizz of urgency for life. However am very impatient with current lifestations. Probably because I’ve just returned from ten days jamful of friends, family, Dali, winter food, mushrooming, open fires, wine, wombat chasing and the wild woolly Prom. To desk. Which is currently proving very blah.

I like to think I have a high capacity for work and usually (at least after coffee) contribute something of value and substance – even if the terrain has seemed rather pointless at times. Now I’m on meaningful terrain, but for reasons largely beyond my control, contributing mere crumbs. I found out last week that a return to my communications perch seems likely, since the seat I’m warming will shortly be reclaimed.

My former boss (the one who I love – I think – for keeping me on a yo-yo string and letting me explore it's furthermost limits) asked me to come work with her (again) in a super stealthy strategic area of the new mega-department. Whispers are the Army has too many spin doctors, so the team is being scattered to the winds. Including super stealthy strategic areas of the department.

I need to go back a few years to explain why this is so ironic it makes me want to puke. I was basically minding my own business at the old desk (thrice removed) when I got lured by an agency to go work in a flashy role in the old human services department, ie, the same department which earlier this year sucked up my department along with several others and became one mega human services department, ie the one I work for now. Follow? After working like an absolute dog on high-profile social marketing campaigns under stupid amounts of pressure, I choked on a hairball and took a rather spectacular nosedive (and watched in horror, mid-freefall, as my ‘superiors’ ran away with their safety net). Whereupon I found myself back at my little old desk batting away flies and self-loathing. Grrr. Shortly thereafter, I renounced my field of ‘expertise’ (bah), put a hex on life at desk, packed up the nest and flew the government coop altogether.

In hindsight, one of the best things that ever happened to me.

So. In effect, my old boss (the one who has me on the string), has asked me to join her in roughly the same place I was when I made that spectacular nosedive.

$#@#%%%$ huh…?

Could this be some rude circuitous groundhog plot, designed perhaps to remind me why I left in the first place? HTF could I end up back in the SAME place which cured me of my desk ambition and sent me packing to the northernmost tip of Australia (which btw is not Cape York but Boigu Island, where the crocs have names and you can feast on mudcrab for all of $2).

There is one small ray of hope, in the form of another short-term position in the policy dynamic. Gah. Maybe I need to embrace the buddhist reality and accept that temporary is just the way things are.

good things

Two weeks ago I unshackled myself from the communications desk for a temporary stint at a remote Indigenous housing policy desk. After I had the week from hell doing my manager's job without recompense, she felt sufficiently guilt laden to let me go at a week's notice, for three months. I love karma.

However the desk is about to change again as half the remote Indigenous housing policy team unlatches from the program area and reattaches to the soon-to-be-portfolio-wide policy unit, which if you believe the hype, has a Far More Strategic Focus (aka softening the Rudd machine to dance to the beat of Bligh’s army). Call me tasky and unstrategic but I am quite enjoying shepherding through the first home ownership application on Aboriginal reserve land, despite the necessary proximity to know-it-all lawyers. I am also quite enjoying not having to dance an eight-hour, 300 beats-per-minute jig. And loving the lashings of time to read about policy stuff (which I secretly did anyway whilst dancing the 300bpm jig). And it looks like - thanks to a dearth of accommodation - we'll be moving to one of the plushest offices in Bligh's army, which is a hop away from the gleaming financial district (though even farther away from my faithful campos coffee house).

I also started a dinghy sailing course a couple of weeks ago. So the last two Sundays have been spent learning how to avert collisions (unintentionally), capsize (intentionally) and get very bruised knees scrabbling round in the back of the boat in a tangle of tiller. Anyway, things now make a lot more sense. And am v chuffed that (in a rare ongoing left brain victory) I Still Know My Knots. If I was more handy with html those last five words would be decked in a gaudy bells and whistles font.

Um. And. More small but happy developments in the realm of good things... stay tuned.

layers of crud(e)

You may have noticed. The whinge about Easter and repeated failed attempts to get out of the city. The tendency to bang on about work. And salivate over other people's travel. Yep. I've got cabin fever. Good and proper. Despite the hellish pace at work over the past few weeks - I have had novelty punching bags delivered to my desk by colleagues who appear above the partition sporting worried ‘appease the wildebeest’ faces... at day’s end I go into a coma on the couch at nana o’clock, waking like a drugged automaton amid mysterious puddles of drool - I've been rampantly bored at desk. Crafting the same old word widgets. Dancing the same old jigs for clients. I've become a very industrious, obedient, purposeful ant. Scurrying to and from the nest, busily occupied with nation building, in exchange for the daily dispense of crumbs. I've become one wired little wage zombie. With little space for much else.

Last weekend I finally let a little light in. I woke late, grabbed food, notebook and music and fled like a possessed survivalist, driving two hours to Alexandria Beach. Stunning blue day. Salt. Sun. Little breeze. I walked in the back way, through my favourite snatch of coastal heath. Womping great banksias, pale yellow, lime, amber, umber, bronze and char. Prostrate ‘birthday present’ plants with leaves clumped like birdsnests of finely spliced ribbon. Skirted grasstrees which shimmy amongst lush green drenchings of shade. Lolloping saw-toothed palms threaten to fold in on themselves. And all of it leaning landward, as if receiving a secret. Straining to hear above the din of the shore.

On the beach I sit. I eat. I want to swim but my body yawns so I lay in the dunes. Then walk. And walk. I breathe it all in and try and hold it. I think of the plant I keep on my desk who I call ‘Sol’ to remind me of mine. And marvel at why the forgetting always happens so quick.

Suddenly the sand beneath my feet is not white anymore, it’s black. Stained with oil. The shit of life has its claws on everything. Even this sunny little sweep of beach in all its unfettered nudie joy. A little tear appears in my renewal. Two young guys are sticking their toes into the slick, looking, maybe wondering. And I wonder too, how long it will take for this forgetting to happen, for the miles of beaches to forget. And recover. I'm sure it will be longer than it takes for Us, probably already coveting the next shiny (imported?) widget and jumping in cars for the next long weekend.

turning circles

Was highly amused today by colleague’s description of current machinery-of-government changes: “government agencies have the turning circle of a large aircraft carrier”. Well. I thought it was hilarious. Maybe I’m just a wee bit over-invested in work. Hardly surprising I guess given my daily remit to turn tepid horse poo into something highly desirable. On the turning circle of a gnat. With the reflexes of a reef fish.

Humph.

You know when you exclude something from your life for a higher cause (like chocolate, though that’s just stupid) it automatically appears all around you like an evil cherry to tempt you from your commitment?

An adventuring friend emailed last week enquiring my interest in

"Diving in the caves of Mexico
Walking across the Pyrenees from Atlantic to Mediterranean.
Ride around Ireland. I think it would be neat to then ride around northern France.
Annapurna crt or even an Island/Mera peak trip in Nepal.
And something still tugs at me to go back to NZ and paddle around Marlborough sounds and hike some of the classic areas in the south.
And I keep coming back to the idea of a trip into Northern India."

Money in the bank. Money in the bank. BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH can’t hear you can’t hear you not listening WHAT?

The trips in bold are my picks. I will covet and store these away, to be dusted off when I've grown the acorn stash a bit bigger. And meanwhile content myself with curry-from-scratch, the ABC’s India and Ravi Shankar's back catalogue.

I love my little pad. I love walking to and from work (pity about the intervening hours). And yoga. And having stuff. Like a garden and a sandwich press and proximity to friends. But as you can see from my capacity to be disproportionately amused by inconsequential tripe (above), sometimes life at desk just doesn’t cut the ghee…

bligh's big broom

I can’t believe it’s only TUESday. I am too knackered for it to be only TUESday. Am wondering whether this recurring fatigue stalking me is perhaps a latent viral thingie. Ironic, since today at work my pod-sters started calling me ‘the canary’ in a weird tip of the hat to my rampant health. (Which I actually prefer to 'Prouds' - an antidote to there being two Sams in the pod. My brother was called 'Prouds' at about age 13 by all his sweaty ruffian mates, and I really don't need these kind of flashbacks at work.) Anyway. To explain. My rampant health is sort of known. I’m the last chick standing after successive sustained lurgy attacks through the office. The girls in my pod think I'm an over-achieving health geek. So naturally, they laughed themselves silly at the chance to declare me the barometer for office ventilation issues after I went all queasy when the air con crashed.

Anyway. The real news at desk is Don't-Fluff-With-Me Anna has pulled out her broom and made a clean sweep of the army. My whole department has been abolished!!

[Delighted evil giggling.]

Super departments focused around ‘issues clusters’ are the future. Ironically, I now find myself back in the department (it's a new department but with the name of an existing one) that seeded my loathing for my bread ticket. DFWM is promising no job cuts, but there WILL be rationalisation of corporate services.

[Practically explodes with delight at prospects for life at desk. Or not at desk.]

The changes are in name only at the moment. But the broom is out.

BTW, am completely over all things ‘stimulus’. I’m with Satyajit Das. So hair of the dog.

hobson's choice

(HOB-suhnz chois) noun The choice of taking what is offered or none; an apparently free choice with no acceptable alternative.

This week I was asked if I wanted to do my boss’s job again. When I say ‘ask’, I'm being overly generous. The 'offer' was disguised as a question, but before I had time to respond I was told the work would probably fall to me anyway so I may as well get paid for it.

SIGH.

I wouldn't mind so much but there are some icky team issues that do my head in.

I must have sent my hesitation flapping up the flagpole, as the next day, my boss 'offered' a retraction. In the vein of "don't feel you HAVE to do it, I can always do [the big cahuna's] job and my job".

GAH! (money in the bank, money in the bank, ommmmmmmmm)

Glimmers on the horizon:
a new bike
camping at Easter at Bunnoo Bunnoo
dinghy sailing course in May, yay!
Dreaming Festival in winter
idle daydreams of running away travelling with Ren