Category: on being 39

If you need me, I’m on the bus, looking out the window and laughing

‘You should see a life coach,’ someone said to me.

I had been talking about turning forty: and my lack of focus now that the boys are both at school; and my aimless wandering from one unfinished project to another; and the general blah blah blahs I get when I look at my To Do list, the same list that used to make me feel excited and motivated; and how my mum was 46 when she died and didn’t get to use her long service leave and I’m not going to let that happen to me, but look here I am on the couch doing nothing to make sure that doesn’t happen; and my growing financial dependence on my partner which is, right now, freaking me absolutely out; etcetera etcetera etcetera (I know, being around me is a bundle of laughs right now – but trust me, no one is more bored by me and my woes than I myself am).

I wasn’t really sold on this life coach idea. Thought it might be a bit of wank. But then I did a bit of looking around, and I thought, ‘It can’t hurt’. It’s kind of just career counselling, but with a bit of other stuff thrown in. And geez I pay a tarot card reader, an acupuncurist and hairdresser to fix my life, why wouldn’t I pay life coach?

So, I sent off an enquiry email or two. You know, as they suggested. Gave a brief outline and where I am and what I’d want out of life coaching.

Then I started looking forward to it. This is just what I need, I thought. Bit of a talk about what’s good, what’s realistic, what’s dreams. Yeah. This’ll be great. Bit of life coaching and I’ll be on track. Set to blast into my forties with a sense of purpose. There’s still time to change the world.

And

Guess

What

NO ONE HAS GOT BACK TO ME.

New experiences

We went through one of those new self-serve checkouts today.

I must admit, I appreciated the opportunity to not interact.

On the other hand, checkout chick was my first job. In the Grote St Coles. Pay came in your actual packets. Pay packets. Yellow envelopes they were.

We had 1 and 2 cent pieces back in those days and everyone paid for their groceries in cash. If anyone gave us a fifty dollar note, we had to ring the bell, hold the note in the air and say to the girl next door: ‘check fifty’. We used officious tones for that, and we didn’t have to say ‘please’.

…

*I am not at all sure how to use parentheses correctly, and right now I know I should go and double check, but I just don’t feel like it. I’ll put it on my to do list for next week.

Is it me? Do I smell?

Last night, I realised that it has now been several weeks (at least) since I sent ‘be my friend’ messages to the three or four people on facebook who share my name.

And not one of them seems to have accepted!

Why on earth not? Isn’t that what it’s all about? Obviously, I have misunderstood this social networking getup.

second week of school

I was asleep when today became yesterday and then again when today arrived. The mister, who left for work I know not when, didn’t re-set the alarm. Eldest Boy was too engrossed in the latest Captain Underpants (something to do with booger boys) and Youngest Boy is about to hit the wall after riding high on the wave of excitement which is the beginning of school and so slept even later than I. (I racked my brains for a third metaphor, to try and make the mashing a poetic one, but none sprang to mind, and I’ve got real work to be done.)

Anyway, fifteen minutes after school had started, we snuck past the Guardian of the Book with that most Intimidating of Columns ‘Reason for Lateness’. Though in truth, I’m not scared of the book, and I would’ve been more than happy to write: Mum Slept In.

Tomorrow perhaps I will tell you of my First Regret Experienced while Being 39.