I still remember the story my Aunt told my mother when I was younger, about a friend of my cousin’s and his trip to Europe. Turns out, my Uncle wasn’t the most anally retentive gardner in the street and one of the neighbours had a garden gnome that took pride of place in the front garden. As my cousin’s friends were heading to the airport they pinched the gnome and took it with them throughout Europe. They sent home post cards to the gnomes mum and dad and in the middle of the night the gnome returned from his European adventure with a little cardboard suitcase full of souvenirs.
Last night, as I was lying in bed, trying to go to sleep with a headache that made it almost impossible to put my head on the pillow I got to thinking about the 1960’s TV show Gilligan’s Island, or more accurately, why Mrs Thurston Howell the 3rd went on a 3 hour trip with a wardrobe that rivalled the mythical samples closet at Vogue.
Sometimes you just need to take a day off. Friday night I went to the pub. I drank wine. I listened to people sing Karaoke and I sang along quietly to myself. I don’t sing in public. I wish I could just let go and have fun. I get terrified at the thought of doing anything in the spotlight. So I hung out at the back of the bar drinking wine, and somewhere throughout the night started smoking again.
Remember the days when to meet someone you had to something strange and surreal like leave the house, maybe join a community group or even nag your friends into hooking you up with the hot guy no one knew was gay or straight? Dating seems to have come a long way baby, but frankly I can’t tell if it’s a good long way, or a kind of deconstructed long way, similar to what you see on those cooking shows where they make a deconstructed salad that’s an empty plate.
Over recent weeks I’ve had a problem with sleeping. Whenever I lay my head on my pillow, my brain takes off at a million miles an hour and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. It just goes on and on in a constant loop. Last night, while watching an episode of Bones I dozed off. I got a phone call and by the time I got off the phone my brain was running. To say I was dismayed is an understatement.
So today has dawned and it’s quite warm in the sun. I’ve travelled to the ends of the Earth – well EastLakes in Sydney – to house sit and puppy sit for friends for the week, while they go and build huts for nuns on Hamilton Island. For a week I get to pretend I’m a responsible grown up, with a home of my own and a pet dog. Saturday I return to reality, but until then I’m going to play house.
When I was a kid there was a book series I loved. It was called The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole aged 13 and 3/4. The secret diaries told of his love for Pandora, his adventures in the housing estate in England in which he lived and the break down of his parents marriage and the sister he ended up with along the way. Years after I read the series, when I was an adult – and so was Adrian Mole – I came across a book called The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole: The Cappuccino Years. It was like visiting with an old friend whose life hadn’t necessarily turned out the way he had expected.
Recent changes in my world – not the least of which is the speed with which August 2nd, and my 40th birthday is approaching – have led me to a lot of questions. Do I watch another episode of Criminal Minds Season 7 before bed time? Do I have coffee after 2pm or will that affect my ability to sleep? Why do my cats keep attacking imaginary monsters? Will I ever get another job? But the most pressing question I’m yet to settle on a answer for is “What does a control freak do when his life no longer has anything to control?”
Over the past few weeks I’ve been dancing between a couple of different ideas. The first, as written in here recently revolves around writing a Fantasy trilogy, which I hope to have traditionally published so I can walk into the local Dymocks store and curl up on the floor holding my book sobbing and shouting “OMG Yippee!”. The second idea – again discussed in here previously – revolves around writing an eBook and selling it on Amazon.
When you’re baking a cake, the easiest thing to do is go to your cupboard, pull out a packet of already prepared cake mix, throw in a couple of eggs, a cup of water and hey presto, about an hour later you’ve got a piping hot, super moist vanilla cake just waiting for the ready made icing.