There are usually a few things I begin to notice about myself as I approach my limit of compound living. I've just done some quick maths and worked out I am 5 weeks over my due date for a sanity break. This means I cannot be held accountable anymore. What are the signs you ask? Well, they can often be found to be most prevalent when I am behind the wheel.
Like all good, alert expat mother/spouse types, when I drive I am aware of my surroundings and constantly on the lookout for the dreaded car-jacker (while singing happily to Pacific tunes on the local radio). In so doing, I ready myself for the unexpected and run through in my mind how I would respond. Generally, if I am undertaking this exercise within 1-2 weeks of returning from a nice long overseas break, my response is generally one of acceptance, knowing that this is a reality of the city I have chosen to make my home, and I readily give up the car and walk away, calmly radioing into base. If however, I undertake this exercise after 11 weeks of impoundment, well. My foot hits the floor and I run the bastards over. In fact, I found myself preparing to do that only hours ago ... as it happens the nice men were just in the middle of the road having a conversation and did not appear to want to prevent my vehicle from passing. But yes - I am at the 'just run them over' stage.
Better leave soon.
Another sign; driving through the busiest intersection in the city at the busiest time of the day when the traffic lights were out, occasionally closing my eyes and hoping for the best. I fully expected to be in an accident. The sign of my impending insanity - was that I did it anyway. What can I say? I needed some fresh milk. That was last week.
And then there is the local supermarket. My life-source since the freeway has closed, it has become my Myer, my David Jones food court, an artisan bakery, a whole foods market, and organic butcher, and the daily social outing for my two year old. Quite frankly, that's a lot to ask from SVS Harbourside, and it is understandable that the little supermarket is not often up to the job. I'm trying to stay positive, really. The other day, desperate for a pick-me-up, I walked the isles of the new pharmacy hoping to find a fun thing to buy. I bought Neurofen. So, putting it all onto SVS, I walked in, inhaled the air and paced the isles trying to find a treat. What did I come up with? 250ml of cream. What a great treat!
I am at the stage now where I go in to buy something for dinner and come out with laundry powder. I cannot eat another local zucchini and have turned largely vegetarian in response to the meat fridge. I numbly put dust covered, out of date items in my trolley and passively pay four times the usual cost for them. I have also given up restricting what my small one puts in the trolley, allowing her to roam free and get whatever she wants. Yesterday we came home with a broom, a mop head, one single newborn nappy, and four packets of the same bread roll, when in fact what we needed was phone credit. Fine with me.
Luckily for us, we have tickets to ride .... to Melbourne that is. The timing couldn't be better. Our girl is asking to go to cafes and keeps reminding me that she needs to ride on a blue boat. I have no idea where this notion has come from, but assume we can meet all these needs in the city of cafes, shops and good living. Oh hooray! Hello mini laneway bars, adoring grandparents and mild weather. Hello Easter sales and a reason to bother getting dressed every day. Hello public transport, roads and infrastructure, extensive menus and wine lists, and frivolity.
And goodbye .... to potholes, road closures and use-by dates that are in the past, as opposed to the future. I shall go away, just long enough to miss you so that I may return fresh as daisy, ready to navigate the isles of my local supermarket with good humour and a readiness to feed the family on Black and Gold 'Clinkers' for a week or two.
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