Wake Me Up Before You GoGo

I heard the possum get caught in the trap this morning, at dawn. At first I felt pity, hearing it shouting in possum 'WTF?!&*%$##', then a faint schadenfreude set in as I packed up my earplugs, hopefully forever, never to be woken again by scratchy native feet coming and going in the night through a portal that is positioned exactly above my insomniac head.

It's up there now, in a cage, probably sleeping, waiting for its release, which thankfully the Possum Man will give as required by law, somewhere within a two hundred metre radius. It might find a comfy tree to crawl into, or someone else's roof peeling at the edges. I dread it may even try to break back into the patched-up roof above it used to, until this night, call home.

I know how it feels, being moved on. Renters, we who act like we own the place and taint the joint with our bothersome animality.

I wish I could take a little hot joe up there into the roof and stroke the sad thing, explain how it has to leave because I can't bear to lay awake every night in fear it will wake me up. How I've had to strain to find any wandering earplugs that've fallen to the farthest corner under my bed, embedded in dust. I'm tired of looking up from my pillow at the stains from excrement piled up and seeping through. I'm tired of being moved on too, from developers, rent hikers, divorcing owners who want to sell. I want this small corner of our new house, this pretty lady-cave I've claimed, all to myself.

Fast Paced World

Being a parent has its perks, like holding the purse in the toy shop, and writing letters to the teacher why your child was absent, and you don't even need to forge your mum's signature.

This morning we had to get our first late pass organised at the school office. When it came to filling out 'Reason for Lateness?' I wrote:

'Fast paced society'

(as in trouble keeping up with).

After shoving my late daughter into an already filled classroom, I disappeared over the horizon to the seaside with my son who at two, has no concept of time nor lack of it.

His main objective for the morning was to do a poo on the beach. Luckily for me (or unluckily) an elderly couple were cruising by, trying to tear their minds away from the enormous pollywaffle gracing the sands. I embraced the truth and asked for a spare tissue (old ladies are famous for carrying them) - she gave me two. Bless her. I vow to carry a box in my purse from now on. 

We marvelled at the beautiful, empty(ish) Sydney harbour beaches in the Autumn. 

At 3.20pm when school was due to finish I bought up the 'Slow Movement' with another waiting school mum (not to be confused with the earlier one).

She seemed nice, normal, maybe even more feral than most, and even admitted to only putting her sons through swimming and some other extraneous hobbie slash improving activity (I started to drift off). I noted her eyebrows rising when I mentioned the Slow Movement. It obviously rung some far off bell for her. Why do parents insist on swimming lessons in the Autumn? For god's sake - it's fucking cold. My child enjoyed cavorting with his pants off, but when I washed his dirty bum in harbour water, I tell you, he wasn't happy.

I used to be the A student, the overachiever, and look where it got me.

Today's excitement came in the form of a 244GL Volvo, powder blue, driven by the octengenarian owner of KHE XXX (best he remain nameless - you know who you are), we were both doing 10 kph over the speed limit, and STILL, we had people on our arses. Is it the coffee they grow these days or what?????

Folk don't believe me when I say I don't suffer road rage, I love tormenting other drivers. Especially tailgaters. But like old ladies hogging isle four of Coles supermarket, you can't just shove us into the honey section, you've got to wait till we decide to actually move. That's what it's like with the Kombi. Heh heh.

So me and the Blue Volvo are growling along River Road, we are holding up all the traffic in the race of the turtles. I'm not sure who won. Me probably. We took turns. Winning is for losers. We both won. We both got to drive slowly, at 10 am, the road ours. If you are late or early for the peak hour, that is your fault not ours. Hmmmm, maybe I'm passive aggressive road rage.