the faraway place

garden walk 1

I am so over this whole responsible adult person role that I have been playing for way too long. I really do think I have been typecast and it is time for the damn second act to allow me a little of improvisation.

Don’t you just get fed up to the eye teeth with the alarm ringing, roll out of bed at 5 am every weekday to climb over the sleeping dog and kick your toe on the way to the bedroom start to the day?

Not to mention, but I am, the deciding of which costume to wear to perfect the character that you need to be that day . Am I professional take me serious woman; learning is fun teacher; reading is not a bore librarian, I have my own style and refuse to be a stereotype and yes I can wear pearls with everything if I want to individual, or my brain has gone on a long beach holiday in a foreign country and left my true identity in control and that is not good I anyone’s book boomer?

What to wear versus what is ironed/clean or fits me. Then lunch…sandwich or wrap, salad or frozen meal? A can of tuna… Onto the highway and its more of that get out of my way I may just drive over the top of you but the thought that it might damage my car and cause me more inconvenience (going to jail will do that, inconvenience, I mean) and why are you all passing me when I am exactly on the top legal speed (my cruise control confirms it) commutes that leave me way to much time to contemplate my wretched condition and as I drive 40 minutes each day I am tired of all my recorded music and the radio is driving me mad with their depressing news and information or inane breakfast shows.

A day of lamenting that parents don’t teach their kids respect or responsibility, or much of anything any more. Kids shouting their rights to you but never considering that maybe you have rights too. A life of buckling under management teams that all seem to be bad copies of each other – all inept, deaf, blind and dumb in the sense that they always have to take to road to nowhere and expect you to sing happy songs as they throw you off the cliff and point fingers at you.

Years of people making promises to fix the washing machine on Wednesday but to call on Thursday and say they can’t make it for two weeks and then still now show up and a world where everyone is willing to critique your performance, your life, your actions, but never stop to self-reflect at all. People in glass houses shouldn’t stand up in the bath, matey.

No suitable ending in sight, except the big light calling, calling, and to some that is no ending at all. Life’s a shit and then you die. Nobody cares, nobody dares, off we go again.

Yes, Friday and not enough weekend ahead to do anything to change my mood, my life, my chances. Drink will rot my liver, pills make the head hurt, chocolate goes to the hips and everywhere else. I long to lie in green fields but the fire ants would bite, the snakes would slither and bite as well no doubt and the crows would pick over what was left.

Turn off the clocks, shut all the factories, stuff the children in the closet. Let’s go to the faraway place where we always expected to be. Burn the bridges behind. I’ll boil the kettle you can get the teacups from the cupboard in the corner. Then sit down, drink your tea and shut up or I swear I will hit you with my stick. I swear I will.




11 thoughts on “the faraway place

  1. I hear you! I have been there. I gave up full time work over three years ago for the chance to find out who I really am and what I want out of life. The journey continues – new issues arise as I struggle to find a new identity outside of the position I had in the workplace – no regrets though 🙂


  2. How perfectly you summed up existence. If it weren’t for the glimpse of an amazing flower, or a bird or the antics of an animal that make me smile I would be lying in that field with the ants, snakes and crows.
    We’re having a lovely rain today, and since I just planted 32 new strawberry plants that makes me very happy.
    Not to mention that they called at 630 am to ask me to work today and I said No and went back to sleep for two hours.
    Now off for the grocery. I am hoping for no traffic so I don’t have to get out my “traffic bazooka”.
    I am sorry you are having a day of longing for that “faraway place”. I admit that since I have quit reading the news/politics I have felt a bit better. Ignorance truly is bliss. Oh, to be that ignorant! Ha.
    I must say that the way you expressed your distress made me laugh so thank you for that.


  3. I hate to admit it, but I regret giving up teaching only a little bit. While I miss the energy of working with young people, I do not miss the rudeness, the lack of consideration for others, the attitude that your instructor and other staff at the school are there to prop up your fragile self-esteem, or if you break something that belongs to the school, well, whatever, dude, not my problem. Nor do I miss the attitude of administrators who seem to think the public image of the school is a lot more important that actual work done there, and the teachers should be grateful for having a job at their marvelous institution, even if it doesn’t pay beans. I’m not surprised at meeting teachers who have been at it for 10, 15, 20 years, and are jaded and wishing for the faraway place you describe.

    I wish I could console you, but I suppose until you reach retirement age or win the lottery, you’ll just have to take comfort in small things: the grandchild, a cup of tea, a nice meal at a lovely restaurant. I hope you treat yourself well over the weekend!


  4. oo that’s a biggy. It would be glib for me to say it’s all a matter of perspective (but I have) and patronising for me to ruffle your hair and say “buck up, matey, it ain’t all bad” (oops, done it again)
    I don’t think it hurts to focus on all the kack in our lives once in a while. It’s cleansing, cathartic and frankly what blogs are for. I left teaching at thirty knowing it was the right thing to do. Very very occasionally I regret the loss but not much. I’ve lived a few lives since which I may have missed if I’d stayed locked up in that classroom.
    Life is shit. We wade through it sometimes spotting the shiny bits and smiling.


  5. It’s time to join me on my deck for a cup of tea – perhaps a glass or two of wine would be better – and a hug. Or two. We’ll watch the birds, hear their songs, enjoy the green and the blooms. And have another glass of wine. Then it will be better.


  6. Every weekday, I begin thinking of work while in the shower (which really annoys me and generally spoils the pleasure of a shower). Since I’ve quit caring what my coworkers/bosses think of me (since it’s clearly bad), my biggest decision is “yoga pants or real pants”? Then whether or not to put on just mascara or “a real face”.
    But PowerBall is up to $350M and I have tickets, so I should be rich after Tues night and not have to bother with such trivialities anymore – just lounge in my pjs all day (wouldn’t be nice if that happened?!?)


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